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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 month

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Words: 9,001 (yeah, she's a beast!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria S9, post-Negan war, before the bridge Warnings: language (duh, it’s me), violence (no sexual violence), injuries to main character, blood, some kind of dark Saviors shit (not like line-up level dark but kinda fucked), mild angst, Protective!Daryl, hurt/comfort Summary: The war is over, but it isn't all peaches and cream. The Sanctuary struggles to function and Daryl and Y/N struggle with ghosts of their pasts after Rick asks them to take things over there. Deciding they've had enough, they decide to depart for Hilltop but Y/N stays behind for a couple days to help Carol get started taking over. The past comes back to rear its ugly head... A/N: This is an epilogue to the Sacrifice series, but you don't necessarily have to have read all 29 previous parts to appreciate it (though you def should!) [Spoilers (or reminders) for context start here -> -> -> The war is over, Y/N was once one of Negan's wives in order to protect her brother, she went back to Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, Daryl ends up shooting Negan to protect Y/N when a plan of theirs goes awry and the war ends, Y/N was also shot in the process but survived]

_ _ _ _ _ _

You and Daryl stood off to the side, watching the group of people gather around Rick, flooding the open space on the Sanctuary’s factory floor. You gently touched him on the arm and his blue eyes landed on your face. “Are you going to talk to him tonight?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I gotta. I can’t—we can’t stay here any longer. I dun want you here either. Bein’ in here, in these walls again, it feels like it’s slowly poisonin’ us…” He glanced at the fresh graffiti someone had sprayed on the wall. We’re still Negan. Saviors Save Us

Your hand slipped down his forearm and you laced your fingers with his. “I know. It’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “Ain’t sure Rick’s gonna agree though…”

“Rick isn’t the one here dealing with all these people, reliving everything every day. It’s too much,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” Just then, Rick finished talking to the gathered group and there was a smattering of applause and murmuring. You gave Daryl’s hand a gentle squeeze as Rick wandered over. “Good luck,” you murmured.

Soon, various business that needed to be discussed was concluded and the already dim torch and lantern lights on the Sanctuary factory floor were all but put out. Daryl and Rick retreated up to the catwalk.

As they stood side-by-side, looking down at the shadowy, rundown building below them, Daryl sighed heavily and Rick could feel the tension between them. Rick broke the silence first. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

Daryl gulped and straightened up, looking his friend in the eye. “I don't wanna be the one leadin’ these people anymore.”

Rick’s expression was impassive. “Okay... Why?”

“Bein' here, behind these walls again... It just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been. And I’ve got Y/N to think about. After what happened to her in here—with him—”

Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Things happened to you in here too,” Rick said, perhaps realizing for the first time what he’d really asked of his friend, his brother…

“Yeah, well I care more about her than I care about myself. This is where her life was a livin’ fuckin’ nightmare. His wife…” he murmured under his breath. “She wasn’t his wife. She was his damn property. Her brother died here. He destroyed her group just like he destroyed ours. What d’ya think this place reminds both of us of?” He asked, turning sharp eyes to Rick. “Hmm? Did ya even think ‘bout that when ya asked me to come back here? Didya stop to think that ya might be askin’ us to relive some of the worst shit we’ve ever gone through?”

Rick hung his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. A wash of guilt and shame came over him. He hadn’t considered the full extent of it, no. But there was no one else to do the job and so he’d asked too much of Daryl, too much of you. “But you and Y/N have kept this place together. You’ve kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened,” he said.

Daryl shook his head and paced a small, agitated circle. “Man, s’gonna fail anyway. Nothin’ grows here. It's a damn factory, man. Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothin's changed,” Daryl argued.

“It's different now. We give what we give willingly,” Rick retorted.

“And how long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another.”

“Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work,” Rick said, leaning forward on the rail again.

“Man, there ain't no ‘us’ anymore. Everyone's everywhere,” he pointed out. “I feel lucky that Y/N and I are even in the same damn place.” He let out another weighty sigh. “That small group we had back in the beginning... plus a few more of the people we picked up along the way, we could do anythin’. That was right. That’s what I know.” Daryl leaned forward beside Rick, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way.

“Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?” Rick asked. “You and Y/N?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. We'll go back to Hilltop, check on Maggie and the baby.”

“Well, you go, someone's got to take your place here. Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home.”

Daryl only let out a small huff.

“We're not together because things have changed,” Rick said again.

Daryl stiffened. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed. His blue eyes turned to Rick again and they were intense. “The thing is, you changed ‘em, Rick.” The tension felt hot and pulsating in the air like liquid mercury. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “But I get it.” And then Daryl took his leave.

On the staircase, Carol backed away as quietly as she could, only to be startled by your voice softly behind her. “Well, that didn’t go great,” you whispered.

Carol turned to face you, her face drawn. “Daryl is right though. Rick shouldn’t have asked that of the two of you after—after everything you went through here. And he should have known Daryl would have a hard time saying no to him.”

You nodded and straightened up, stepping toward her. “Rick’s his brother,” you agreed. “And there really was no one else. But Daryl’s right. We can’t stay here anymore. It’s—it’s wearing him thin.”

“And you?” Carol asked, worried.

You gave her a tight smile and shrugged. But when you spoke again your voice broke. “I’d almost rather be anywhere else…”

Carol nodded knowingly and then grabbed you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. her mind drifted back to her own abuse at the hands of Ed and she felt a swell of affection for you and for Daryl, for both of you taking this on at all after everything… When she pulled back, she cleared her throat, pushing her emotion away. “I’ll—I’ll take over here a while. You and Daryl need to get out. I want to help.”

“Carol—”

“Don’t argue with me. My mind’s made up,” she said firmly.

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” you said. “I’m—I’m gonna go talk to Rick,” you said. “Make him understand.”

Carol nodded. “I’ll check on Daryl. Let him know what I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Good idea… Hey—Carol. This is—what you’re doing to help, it’s huge for us. So, thank you.”

She gave you a warm smile and you passed her on your way up the stairs to find Rick. He was still leaning heavily on the railing, clearly in deep thought over his discussion with Daryl. But he turned at the sound of your steps on the metal catwalk and straightened up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted him stopping beside him and also looking down over the factory floor. No one was milling around anymore. Most people had drifted away to bed. “You okay?” you asked, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.

Rick laughed a little wryly and nodded. “Yeah… Just—tryin’ to figure out if and where I went wrong,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Things I’d do differently now…”

You nodded. “You have a lot of weight on your shoulders. Daryl knows that.”

Rick met your eyes again, clearly realizing you’d overhead their conversation somehow.

You straightened up and tilted your head toward the hallway down the catwalk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Rick followed you as you stopped to grab a lantern and then led him down the hallway. This part of the building was mostly empty these days, except for a few people who had carved out some private spaces for themselves. The warm orange glow flickered past many doors and other halls before you turned right and came partially down the next corridor. The nauseous feeling and the heavy pit in your stomach grew as you walked, and before you knew it, your hand was trembling slightly holding the lantern. This place was full of ghosts.

Rick looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tremble in your hand translated to a shakiness in the shadows cast by the light on the walls and it was easy to see.

“We’re almost there,” you said softly.

You walked in further silence for only another half a minute before you stopped in front of a gaping dark space in the wall, barely bigger than a closet. Rick gave you a questioning look and you lifted the lantern to illuminate it. The floor was filthy with layers of smeared dirt and who-knows what else. “This is where they held us. Me, when my brother and I were captured, and Negan singled me out from my group. And Daryl after the line-up with Alexandria.”

Rick stared at the dirty, dingy space and he could almost see Daryl huddled there in his mind’s eye, wearing that filthy sweatshirt. His brow furrowed and his face contorted.

You pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your head felt a bit light and foggy. “I—I had the doors that used to be on the cells removed, because—I just couldn’t stand the sight of them closed up like that. I kept—kept imagining Daryl was still in there every time I had to walk past. Or that somehow, I was going to end up back in there.” You glanced over at Rick who was staring straight into the darkness. He watched as you raised your free hand to rub at your bad shoulder, the one Negan’s bullet had pierced. “They took all his clothes at first. Left him in there naked. Cold. Shot. Hungry. Wondering what happened to the rest of you. And the thirst… Then, Dwight humiliated him and they fed him dog food and blasted music to keep him awake. The same song, over and over. Then, they made him work outside in the heat and humidity in that filthy sweatsuit, chaining walkers to the fence for Negan or doing whatever awful chores they could invent. He had to clean up after Negan punished someone, mopping up shit or piss or worse… Dwight made him look at pictures of—of what happened to Glenn and Abraham.” Tears burned in your eyes and Rick’s shut and he dropped his head.

He lifted a hand to wave you off. “I—I understand,” he said in a low voice, his heart breaking. He’d been careless to ask Daryl to come here, too focused on his beautiful dream in the memory of Carl to realize what this would do to you and to Daryl.

“He didn’t want to say no to you when you asked him to come back here. You’re like a brother to him. He didn’t want to let you down even though—it’s literally the last place either of us wants to be.”

Rick sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I don’t have an excuse… I—I shouldn’t have asked it. Of either of you… I just—I was tryin’ to make this all work.”

You nodded. “I know. So does Daryl. But that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been… We’ve both been reliving our trauma having to be back here. And we’ve hit our limit. That’s all.”

Rick met your eyes again. You hadn’t even talked about yourself, about what you’d been through here in the cell and with Negan after, not really. You’d mainly focused on Daryl. But Rick could guess well enough what it would have been like for you being one of Negan’s wives and living in that constant fear for your brother and yourself, what you’d had to subject yourself to.

He glanced again at that dark space in the wall. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Carol said she’ll take over here for a while,” you said, turning away from the cell and starting back the way you came.

Rick looked surprised but nodded, walking along beside you.

“I’ll—I’ll stay a couple days to get her going here and up to speed. And then I’ll go meet Daryl in Hilltop.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded. “It’ll have to work for now. But I can’t help thinking it’s a patch on the issue and not a fix.”

You laughed wryly again. “Aren’t most things these days? Rick, Daryl wasn’t wrong about The Sanctuary. It’s a resource sink. It doesn’t produce anything. You’re still going to have to square with that one day. I get what you have been trying to do, making peace with the rest of The Saviors, and not all of them are guilty of the awful things that happened during the war. But things are still festering here under the surface.”

Rick looked over at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, about ready to part ways with him on the catwalk again. “You saw the graffiti. Negan might be dead but for some of them, it’s not over.” You gave him one last look. “Daryl and I know you have a lot on your plate, but it’s time for us to get the hell outta here. If we don’t… this place will consume us. We can’t move away from what happened while we’re here. It’s like—it’s like having it shoved down our throats every day.”

You took your leave from Rick then, leaving him again in deep thought. You knew where you could find Daryl, at a spot outside he liked to go where most people wouldn’t be able to disturb him. It happened to be someplace the two of you sometimes went to watch the stars. When you got there, stepping just one foot outside the building, you had to smile to yourself. Daryl and Carol were just sitting together, side-by-side, enjoying a moment after being apart for so long. You decided to leave them to it.

You made your way back to the room you and Daryl had claimed together in a different part of The Sanctuary. You hastily changed your clothes and got ready for bed, knowing he’d come find you there when he was ready. And it wasn’t long before he did, coming in to see you already cozied up in the bed you shared, reading a worn paperback.

You smiled as he came in. “Hi,” you said.

He stopped in the doorway and took you in, giving you a small smile back. “Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Daryl drawled, sinking down beside you on the mattress. “I was out sittin’ with Carol.”

“It’s alright. I know you were. I didn’t want to interrupt,” you said, reaching for a strand of his wavy hair and running your fingers down it gently. “You haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his boots. “Get this. Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” he said, giving you a conspiratorial look.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand. “Oh my God!” you burst out.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Well? What did she say?!”

“Ah… She ain’t ready yet,” Daryl explained.

“Wow.” You thought of Carol and Ezekiel together after the close call at the museum. They were good for each other. “Maybe someday?” you asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” His hand came to rest on the graceful curve of your neck. It was cool from the nighttime air. He leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling back just slightly to study the colors in your irises. “Listen—I told Rick—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted him gently. “I could hear the two of you. And Carol talked to me too. She’s gonna take over here for a while.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. So, we can go. We dun have to be here anymore. Figured we can head to Hilltop tomorrow. Check on Maggie and Hershel.”

You nodded and then ducked your eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna stay here with Carol for just a couple more days. Help her get started and settled. Then I can meet you. I’ll take one of the horses.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. You could see that he was getting ready to argue.

“It’s just a few more days,” you whispered, gently grabbing onto the front of his vest. “It’s the least I can do since she’s doing this for us, leaving her family and world in The Kingdom.”

Daryl’s stomach churned a little, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous. “She’ll have Eugene,” he pointed out.

“Barely. He and Rosita are heading to Oceanside next to get the fishery going.”

Daryl sighed heavily and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped. He was chewing on his bottom lip. You knelt behind him and draped yourself against his back, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the curtain of his wavy hair, breathing him in and leaving a kiss on his neck. “It’s just a couple days,” you said again.

He gulped. He didn’t know why, but there was a pit in his stomach. “I dunno…” he mused aloud. “I dun like ya bein’ here without me. Here of all damn places.” His mind went back to that graffiti sprayed on the wall.

“I know. I don’t either. But I want to help Carol as a thank you. And then I’ll come straight to Hilltop.” You moved around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “Hey—Look at me,” you urged him. “I can handle myself. Or did you forget?” you teased him, bumping into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know ya can handle yerself. It ain’t that… Somethin’ just—I dunno. Somethin’ dun feel righ’.”

You sighed and nodded knowingly. “It’s never felt right being here.”

“Yeah… maybe tha’s just it. I dunno,” he said finally, but you noted that he still looked slightly troubled. It had been a long day, and his talk with Rick was intense. He stood up and started getting ready to climb in bed with you. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, crisscrossed by his scars, as he pulled off his shirt. You crawled back beneath the sheets and waited until he slipped in beside you.

“C’mere,” he murmured softly to you as he settled into his pillow. You moved into him immediately and he pulled you against him. You tangled your legs with his and gazed into his bright blue eyes. He draped an arm over you and his hand moved to find the hem of your t-shirt before slipping underneath it and pressing against your bare skin, tracing absent patterns on your side, your hip, your back. Daryl leaned in and kissed you, one that was deep and full of wanting.

You felt a pooling of heat expanding in your chest as his lips moved to your neck. Daryl listened to your breathing hitch as he kissed your pulse point and grazed the shell of your ear. His hands wandered over the shape of you beneath the draping of your shirt. In no time, the two of you were completely lost in each other, melting into sensations and quiet gasps of pleasure, bounding hearts and heaving chests, skin on skin. Daryl’s fingers laced between yours, his other hand firm on your hip. Then, after you both reached your blissful highs, you fell asleep in his arms and neither of you woke until the sun was coming up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You walked with Daryl to his bike and stood beside him as he strapped down his gear, giving him a smile when he looked up at you again.

“Are ya sure ‘bout this? Ya dun have to stay. Carol will be fine,” he said in a low voice. That pit in his stomach had returned almost immediately when he awoke and thought about separating from you.

You gently rested your hands on his sides, stepping in close. “Everything is going to be fine. Go help Maggie. Check on her and Hershel. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

He looked worried, but nodded. “S’yer call. Two days,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Two days. I promise.”

“Alrigh’…” He leaned in and kissed you deeply, clasping your face and pressing his other hand into the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. You kissed him back heatedly and hungrily and sighed when you broke apart.

“Miss ya already,” he said, breaking contact with you and getting ready to climb onto his bike.

“Same,” you agreed, giving him a tight smile. “Love you,” you added, waiting until the last moment of separating to unlace your fingers from his.

He nodded and studied you, drinking in the view. “You too.”

Then, in a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust he was on his way. You didn’t see him glance back at you over his shoulder before he completely lost sight of The Sanctuary.

You found Carol already on the factory floor standing with Eugene, looking over whatever list of action items were on his clipboard that day. You were absently rubbing your bad shoulder as you came up. It had been aching since the day before. Had revisiting the cell stirred things up? Probably. Carol noticed immediately.

“You okay? Shoulder bothering you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Just a little. The old war wound acting up a bit,” you said with a wry laugh.

Eugene looked up from his clipboard. “I could potentially formulate a topical balm that may relieve some of your chronic pain symptoms, though most ingredients would not sufficiently penetrate the muscle in order to reach the origin of—”

You cut him off with a smile and a laugh. “It’s okay, Eugene. I’m fine. It’s not too bad. What do we need to tackle today?”

The three of you chatted briefly about what needed to be done urgently and then each picked your tasks to start with. Several hours later, you were nearly done trying to treat the small number of plants that were still surviving in the raised garden beds for some kind of insect pest when you were interrupted.

You turned at the sound of footsteps to see one of the Sanctuary residents approaching. You stood and dusted the soil from your gloves. “Hi. What’s up?”

“The guys getting that scrap metal from the upper floors found a water leak. Can you come take a look at it? We might be able to fix it, but we’d probably have to shut the water off completely for a while.”

You sighed heavily and pulled off your gloves. “Always something new, isn’t it?” you said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll come take a look now. Lead the way.”

You passed through the factory floor, noting that the graffiti discovered the day before had been freshly painted over as Daryl had demanded. Carol and Eugene were bent over a table in deep discussion over some new plan. Your stomach flipped as it always did as you passed the oven where Negan used to heat his iron or branding rods. You turned your eyes away.

Soon you were on the upper floors, walking through the dim hallways. It always felt eerily quiet up there. The resident you were following pointed ahead to the next doorway and then stopped to grab some work gloves from a pile of gear set in the hallway. You passed him and stopped in the doorway, expecting to see the group of other people working, but the room was empty. And there was no sign of a water leak. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “Hey, are you sure this is—”

And then everything went black.

Carol was walking somewhat aimlessly back and forth across the factory floor, weaving through the supplies and little bunched groups of people. She craned her neck trying to see if she could spot you anywhere. The two of you had planned to meet for the evening meal after everyone was done for the day but Carol was suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen you since that morning.

Her stomach began to churn. She bolted toward outside where evening was beginning to fall. The garden beds cast long, deep shadows between them, but she didn’t find you crouched among them. The final place she checked was the room you shared with Daryl, now mainly bare of your items since the two of you had begun packing your belongings to leave. Daryl had already taken his few things away on his bike.

There was no sign of you.

Her heart started to pound. She’d questioned everyone she could think of as to your whereabouts. Where could you possibly be? An anxious thought flitted into her mind. Her stomach tightened into a fist. It wasn’t like you not to arrive somewhere you said you would…

The last thing to do was to search the rarely used upper floors. She knew a crew had been working up there earlier in the day, collecting and hauling scrap metal to be reused to patch the roof and fences. Perhaps something had come up and you were still up there assisting with a problem.

Her boots made a lonely, echoing sound as she rushed around corner after corner. There was a weighty silence and the farther up she wandered, the sicker she felt. Something was seriously wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She called your name out but it strangely didn’t seem to pierce the thick vapor of silence in front of her. Every step increased her heart rate and poured adrenaline into her bloodstream. She felt almost shaky as she loosened her knife in its sheath. Just in case, she thought. In case of what?

Another minute or two passed as she searched. Each moment felt excruciatingly long. And then all of a sudden, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Carol bolted toward the crumpled form halfway down the hall in front of her. “Oh, God…” The front of your shirt was soaked with blood and you were lying on the cold floor unconscious. Your face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts and smears of blood on your skin. But what held her attention horrifically was that whoever had done this to you had taken a knife and began to carve a word into your chest, just below your collar bone. SA and part of a V. Carol didn’t need to guess what they’d intended to spell. They were making a gruesome point. Her hands shook as they hovered over you for a moment. She said your name again and then gently clasped your face and gripped your arm. She jostled you a little. “Wake up. It’s Carol! Please, wake up!”

You began to stir a little and a grimace contorted your features.

“Oh, thank God,” Carol sighed, hanging her head in relief for a very brief moment before the nausea seemed to rise into her throat again at your condition. “Y/N? Open your eyes, hun!”

You let out a small pained noise and then your eyes did open blearily. You were immediately trying to sit up, pushing yourself up on the palms of your hands but your head felt split in two and your muscles felt rubbery and weak. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“Whoa—okay. Easy! Take it easy!”

You reached up and touched the back of your head. It was swollen with a lump and tender and your fingers came away slightly sticky. You looked down at them and registered the deep color of drying blood. Your chest burned. You looked down to see that the whole front of your shirt was stained crimson. Your body ached and panged with sharp pains. You could feel your heartbeat in your face.

“Is anything broken? Can you stand up?” Carol asked, her brow heavy over her eyes, but the light inside frantic and quickly turning furious.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” you said softly. Your jaw ached. You gave it an exploratory wiggle left and right and immediately regretted it. Your bottom lip was split and swollen. You winced again. “What the fuck?” you murmured. “I mean what the ever-loving, royal fuck?” you growled. The hot rage welling up in you was pushing some of the pain back.

“Let’s just get you up and off the floor, okay? Slowly.” Carol helped you to your feet. Your head swam and you squeezed your eyes shut, not letting go of her hands for a long moment until you felt steadier. Her expression said enough about what you must look like… “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?” she asked.

You shook your head a little, absently pressing a hand to the burning sensation on your chest, but you stopped as the burn surged when your palm landed flush on your skin. You took in a sharp intake of breath through your teeth. “No. Well—I saw one of them… they lured me up here. Told me there was a water leak they found while doing the scrapping and—and then someone hit me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. But I don’t know why. I mean, why me?”

Carol’s expression was taught. Anger swirled in her eyes. She knew exactly why. You couldn’t see it yet, but the word was partially carved into your chest. That graffiti on the wall out on the factory floor was just the tip of the iceberg. Things were rotting here just under the surface, and since you’d once been Negan’s wife, she imagined you were a perfect target for those who wanted to make a point. “Let me see the back of your head,” she said. There was a small split in the skin where you’d been struck, your hair stained rusty red, but she didn’t think you’d need stitches there and she was extremely relieved that it wasn’t worse... not much anyone could do from something like a skull fracture in the apocalypse. She sighed heavily as another flame of rage wicked upwards in her chest. “Okay… Let’s get you back to your room. Hold onto my arm. Can you make it?”

You nodded, gripping her to steady yourself on your shaky legs, and allowed her to lead you away. You glanced back over your shoulder and were sickened to see the smears of your blood shockingly deep red on the tile behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol had you sitting on the edge of your bed and she set down a first aid kit beside you. You were looking up at her from behind a wall of swelling and bruising on your face. You tenderly wiggled your jaw again, testing opening and closing your mouth. It felt ready to lock up. She could tell from the way you’d moved on the walk back and how you were slumped slightly forward now that there was probably substantial bruising beneath your clothes that she couldn’t see. Your movements were tentative and cautious.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. You were afraid to. The pain was bad enough. The fogginess in your head was bad enough. You were worried if you saw the results of the beating, it would only make it worse, more real.

Carol began unpacking supplies. “Tell me everything you remember,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “Not much. Like I said, I was out working in the raised garden beds and somebody came up to me.”

“Who?” Carol pressed you. “If you don’t know their name, what did they look like?”

“Uhh… his name starts with a ‘G’ I think… Give me a second.” You filed through names in your head until you got the right one. “Graham. I think that’s it… He’s tall. Long black hair past his shoulders.”

“Okay,” Carol nodded, opening an alcohol swab. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I could come look at a leak they found while they were moving all the scrap metal. He said they thought they could fix it but they’d have to turn the water off. I went to see and I was barely in the doorway of the room he pointed out. There wasn’t a water leak. I was just standing there, about to say something and—something hit the back of my head. I don’t really remember anything after that. Some foggy pain maybe but… mostly nothing.”

“Do you think there were others waiting up there? Or could it have just been him?” Carol asked, dabbing at a wound on the side of your face. You shut your eyes from the fumes of the alcohol. She was starting to worry about just how many traitors could be in the walls.

“There was at least one other person. When I got hit, I was looking back at him ten feet away from me down the hall.”

Carol sighed heavily and nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes drifted down to the cruelly carved letters on your chest. Your chin tilted down as you tried to look but her hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Hold on,” she said. Her face contorted with emotion she was trying to hold back. “Better you see this now. I’m so sorry.”

You gave her a perplexed look. You knew you were beat up but what was she—

Carol grabbed the small mirror off the little sink in the corner and held it up so you could see yourself for the first time. Initially, all you saw was the swelling and bruising on your face but then your breath caught in your throat. S-A- and part of a V, cut into your skin. The cuts were deep and she had already had to apply some butterfly bandages to hold certain spots closed. No wonder your skin had burned and stung there since you came back to consciousness.

You felt like you were about to be sick and Carol must have seen you pale because she hastily put down the mirror and gripped your shoulders again as if she was afraid you were going to faint. “Whoa. Deep breaths.”

Your eyes shut and you did your best to swallow down the nausea. “What the fuck,” you muttered, reeling. You blinked away angry tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I think I have some of my special ointment in my bag. If you apply it at least once a day it’ll minimize any scarring…”

You let out a wry laugh. “Minimize,” you repeated. “But I’ll still have half of ‘Saviors’ carved into me for the rest of my life.” Tears burned in your eyes again. It wasn’t bad enough what you had gone through with Negan, with his men, with the war—now this? Would it ever be over?

Carol winced. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea things were this bad here.”

You sniffled and mopped gently at the tears that had broken out onto your cheeks. “I knew they were pretty bad but—can’t say I saw anything like this coming.”

“Well, who could? It’s—horrific.” She gave you a sympathetic look and then surprised you by pulling you gently into a hug for a long moment. Her eyes were teary now too when she pulled back, but she pulled herself together quickly. Back to business, she returned to the first aid kit and continued her ministrations. Your mind was endlessly turning.

“I wonder why they didn’t finish,” you suddenly said softly.

“Mmm,” Carol hummed, nodding, tossing down another soiled gauze pad and reaching for a new one. “They must have gotten interrupted. Maybe heard someone in that part of the building.”

Your eyes lifted and met hers. She paused at the expression on your face. “Do you think they were going to kill me? Leave me there with—with this cut into me to make a statement?”

Carol’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone flat. Your question had been asked matter-of-factly and Carol was suddenly reminded of all you had gone through in the war and even before any of them had met you, when you’d just been a stranger with a mysterious backstory. “But obviously they knew they couldn’t take you in a fair fight. Fucking cowards,” she growled. “Had to ambush you to even have a chance.”

You sighed, shaking your head again, your eyes dropping to your hands. “They sure beat the shit out of me though,” you mused aloud. “It’s probably good Daryl isn’t here. He’d lose it,” you said, fiddling with another gauze pad which Carol took out of your hands and taped down over the now cleaned cuts below your collarbone.

She cleared her throat. “About that…”

You met her blue eyes again. “You radioed him? He’s probably way out of range by now. He’s probably already in Hilltop,” you said.

“Rosita rode out on the quad immediately to get within range. Eugene is doing a headcount as we speak to see who, if anyone, is missing…”

Another wry laugh left you and you nodded. “That’s why you took so long. And I just thought you couldn’t find the damn kit,” you said, shooting her a look, tears burning in your eyes. “Daryl is gonna go on a rampage,” you said softly.

Carol nodded. “Probably. But he should be here with you. And if I didn’t radio him, I’d be on the receiving end of that rampage. And I think we should focus it on the assholes that did this to you instead.”

You nodded and a sob tried to burst out of you. You suppressed it as best you could and it came out as a hitched breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little strained.

Carol quickly grabbed you into a hug again. “Everything is going to be okay. Daryl will be here soon and we will figure this out.”

You hugged her back and nodded into her shoulder, grateful again for your found family.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was there in an hour, stomping through The Sanctuary with Eugene at his heels, mostly ignoring the stream of words out of the mullet-headed Texan’s mouth. Rosita finally grabbed Eugene’s arm and stopped him, clearly realizing Daryl wasn’t hearing a word of it, didn’t give a shit about anything but going to see you. He was at the door of the little room the two of you had shared before anyone could come to tell you he’d arrived.

Daryl froze and made himself knock lightly, rather than barely in. The last thing he wanted was to startle you. His stomach turned as he waited to hear your voice on the other side, inviting him in. “S’me,” he drawled, the jittery feeling that permeated his body translating to an ever-so-slight tremble in his voice.

You sat up in bed. “Come in,” you said hurriedly, already feeling the tears burning in your eyes again. You were in clean clothes now and thoroughly patched up thanks to Carol, but that wasn’t going to change how rough you looked and how hard it was going to be for Daryl to see it.

The door opened slowly, measuredly, and he took shape in the doorway. He froze for only a split second as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the swelling and already deep purple bruises. Then he rushed to you and hugged you in against him gently. That was all it took for you to go to pieces against him, clinging to his leather jacket. “Jesus, what the hell did they do to ya? ‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I wasn’t here. I shouldn’ta left ya. ‘M so sorry, babe. I shoulda been here,” he said into your hair, kissing you on the top of the head, holding you gently so he wouldn’t hurt you but firmly so you knew you were safe.

You sniffled and mopped the tears from your cheeks as he clasped your face and brushed your hair back. “Don’t—don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” you said, looking up into his blue eyes. They were stormy and turbulent. “You couldn’t know…”

“Lemme see ya,” he said, looking you over. His heart ached as you showed him the bruising on your stomach and ribs. “Sit back. Rest,” he said, climbing into bed beside you where you were propped up against the headboard and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You tucked in against him. He left a kiss in your hair again.

“Did—did Rosita tell you what they—that—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell me anything specific except that some assholes had hurt ya bad, beat ya up, and that I needed to get back here,” he said. “Tell me what?” His stomach churned around a hard knot. His mind began inventing all kinds of horrific scenarios immediately. What did you mean?

You could see him whirling and quickly tried to explain. “I was unconscious but—” Your hand landed on the gauze pad taped over the wounds below your collarbone. His eyes flitted down to it. “They used a knife and—” You couldn’t get any more words out so you simply lifted the bandage to show him, gingerly peeling back the medical tape and bandaging. Daryl froze completely. Every part of him stilled. He stared at the brutality someone had inflicted on you and hot rage boiled inside him. More tears leaked out onto your cheeks as you saw what it was doing to him to see that on you. You hastily covered it back up.

He softened again, coming back to himself, letting his anger flow away, and wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Hey—it don’t matter to me what they—how they marked ya like that. Ya know that, right? Ya got every right to feel however ya feel ‘bout it. Ya do. But to me—” He shook his head. “It don’t matter, okay? I just see you. It’s all gonna be alrigh’.”

You collapsed into him again, finally letting yourself completely break down, wondering how the fuck you’d gotten so lucky as to find this man. He held you against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. He could feel the bump on the back of your head where they’d hit you. He could feel the swelling on your face and under your clothes, and he internally yelled at himself for leaving you behind, even if it was only supposed to be for a couple days, even though no one would have guessed that anything like this would happen, even though he knew how strong and capable you were. “‘M so sorry,” he murmured again. “I shouldn’t have left ya here… here of all places, with them.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’m gonna track down every one of these assholes and put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground,” he growled.

You couldn’t stand him blaming himself and you pulled yourself together. “It’s not your fault, Daryl. And—maybe… maybe I should have known something like this could happen…”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean?” He took a beat, his heart seemingly suspended somewhere in a gaping space that had opened in his chest. “Did somethin’ happen before this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your eyes still glassy. “No. No, not exactly. Nothing happened. I mean, people have—said things to me before. Made comments. I just—”

Daryl frowned, his brow heavy over his eyes, casting them in a deep shadow. “Like what? What kinda comments?”

You sighed and turned to face him more fully. You rested your hands on his sides. “Just—little shitty things. Because of what I’d been here,” you explained. “As Negan’s wife…”

Daryl was boiling again inside with anger. “Ya weren’t ever his wife,” he said. “That word means somethin’ else.” Your fingers went to touch the wedding band on your ring finger, the one Daryl had made with his own hands and given to you.

“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly. “I just wrote them off and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be a big deal and I knew how upset you’d get. It just felt like shitty people being shitty at the time. Mostly…”

“Mostly,” he growled.

“I never thought anything like this would happen. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

Daryl sighed and ducked his head, running his hands gently up and down the soft bare skin on your arms, marred with bruises and abrasions. “Don’t apologize. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I get why ya didn’t tell me… and yer righ’. I woulda beat the shit out of anybody sayin’ or doin’ anythin’ like that to ya. But tha’s my job. I wanna protect you.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve just had so much on our plate here. I didn’t want to add something else. And I never thought—I didn’t think—” You grimaced as a wave of pain and dizziness hit you.

“I know. I know. Hey—it’s okay. We’ve talked ‘bout this enough. Ya need to rest. ‘M here now. S’okay.”

“I am really tired,” you agreed, shutting your eyes and waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

He clasped your face again, his eyes flickering from this injury to that, and then he kissed your swollen lips as gently as he could. You managed to give him an overwhelmed, somewhat sad smile which he returned. “C’mon. Let’s lay down.”

Daryl helped you settle down on the mattress and fitted himself beside you. You tucked yourself against his body, breathed in his smell and safety, and shut your eyes. His fingers brushed through your hair, reassuring and grounding.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl was awake early while you slept on. He carefully, ever so slowly slipped out of bed and pulled a change of clothes on. He snuck out and headed to find Carol, Eugene, and Rosita.

He spotted Eugene first and nudged his head up in a nod as a greeting. “Well, what d’ya got to tell me?” Daryl asked hurriedly.

“We were short five of the former Saviors at the headcount last night, and five again this mornin’. Carol and Rosita have been questionin’ people all night. We don’t think anyone here knew anything about it. They weren’t exactly gentle with their lines of inquiry.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’. As I thought then... Cowards took off right afterwards.”

“Indeed. I suspect they knew Justice’s hammer would fall hard and swift on them once their atrocious deed was discovered,” Eugene agreed. “No way to know now where they’re headed.”

Daryl sighed. “Hopefully righ’ into a fuckin’ herd of walkers,” he drawled. “Alrigh’. Well, we need to send out runners to get word out to The Kingdom and Alexandria so ev’rybody can watch out for those pieces of shit... Y/N and I will take news to Hilltop today, and keep our eyes open for any sign of ‘em on the way. If I get sight of ‘em, I’mma strangle ‘em with my bare fuckin’ hands…” He sighed again, even more heavily this time. “Thanks. For everythin’ ya’ll did last night.”

“Of course,” Eugene said sincerely. “How is her condition today?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “She’s still asleep. She was exhausted. ‘M gonna get back up there. I dun want her wakin’ up here alone and ‘m still afraid there could be somebody in here—” he hesitated to speak his fear lest it become real. “She’ll be alrigh’. She’s tough. But she was shaken up pretty good and I can’t believe how bad they beat her up... and what they did,” he said vaguely, referring to the letterds on your skin. “But she’ll be okay.” He patted Eugene on the shoulder gratefully and headed straight back to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

With hasty goodbyes and thank you’s to your close, chosen family, still at The Sanctuary you departed for Hilltop on the back of Daryl’s bike. You held extra tightly to him the whole way, and often his right hand left the handlebars to smooth over yours for a moment. The Sanctuary shrank smaller and smaller behind you and then disappeared into a cloud of dust. Neither of you knew it at the time, but you’d never come to that place again while it was a semi-functional community. It would be only ruins when you sheltered there during the storm eight years after the war.

On arriving at Hilltop, Maggie threw her arms around you and tears of shock filled her eyes when she saw your bruised and swollen face. Enid insisted on checking you over again, but gave you the all clear after much expressed anger and concern. Maggie quickly carved out a space for you and Daryl to stay, close to the room she shared with baby Hershel in the big house up on the hill.

Your body had stiffened overnight and on the bike ride. Every movement caused aches and pains to shoot through you and Daryl was attentive and worried as you settled into your new home. When you settled into bed at first, Daryl kissed every part of you where he could see a bruise or injury. His fingers were light and gentle on your skin, and you were amazed as you always were that he could be so soft when he was so strong. Finally, the sun sank below the horizon and you were again laying side by side, your head tucked up under his chin, listening to the whoosh of air in his lungs and his steady heartbeat.

“I had an idea,” you said softly, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Maybe when I’m all healed up, if—if it scars bad, I can get someone to do a tattoo over it to cover it up.”

Daryl smiled. You were already thinking ahead to the future, thinking of solutions. That was a good sign. He hugged you more tightly against him. “What would ya get?”

“I don’t know. Something pretty… to cover up something so ugly,” you mused aloud. “Like, there are these flowers that only bloom once in their lifetime and it can take decades to happen.”

“Nah, tha’s no good,” Daryl said quickly.

“What? Why?” you asked, looking up at him with surprise from beneath your lashes.

“It don’t fit ya. Yer bloomin’ all the time. Every day. Ya always have been, even when ya couldn’t see it,” he drawled. He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead.

You smiled at him sleepily.

“Was that too cheesy?” he asked with a gruff laugh.

“No. It was just the right amount,” you said. “Okay… maybe I’ll just get ‘Property of Daryl Dixon’,” you joked.

“No good. Ya ain’t nobody’s property. Ya belong only to yerself. ‘M just lucky that you share with me,” he said, his fingertips tracing vague shapes on the bare skin of your hip, exposed from the way your shirt had draped.

You sighed and nuzzled in against his neck. “I was only kidding,” you said, closing your eyes.

“I know. But it’s true.”

You yawned. “Maybe. But I do also belong to you, by my choice. I have since that night you fell through that rotten floor,” you said with a laugh. Daryl’s chest moved as he joined you with a low chuckle. In another minute, you were asleep. Daryl whispered ‘I love you’ into your hair, and shut his eyes too.

He meant what he’d said—he’d find whoever had hurt you and end them if he could, but after that, he wouldn’t allow the shadow of the past to dim another day. He’d walk with you forward, facing the sun in the same way you’d been doing together since the end of the war. And he hoped this time all of it, all the Saviors, The Sanctuary, the fear and pain, was really behind both of you.

#sacrifice #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfic

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starstruckunknown-princess · 17 days

Text

Honeysuckle - Roy Kent x Reader

Honeysuckle (Lonicera) - Meaning: Devotion, affection

Summary: Reader is sick, Roy takes care of them.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Reader

Word Count: 646

Warnings: Language, Reader has a nasty cold, workaholicism, Roy tough loves the reader, Roy being adorably attentive and protective.

Here's a quicky for Day 13! I may have written this cuz I've been fighting a sinus infection and want this hairy foul-mouthed bastard to take care of me cuz I know he'd be amazing at it.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

“No fuckin’ way, love,” Roy declared, snatching your work phone from your hand despite your protest. You’d managed to sneak it up to your bedroom without him noticing. Or, at least, you thought you had.

“Roy, come on, I need to—” you said before another wave of hacking coughs overtook your airway, making it impossible to continue.

“No, you’re not fuckin’ workin’ when you’re fuckin’ sick. Taxes your immune system too much, so no I won’t be giving your fuckin’ phone back,” he explained, tucking your work phone in his back pocket and well out of your reach. “But I will give you your iPad, which I disconnected from your work shit.”

“You do know my work shit directly affects you, right?” you asked through a smile. You ran the Richmond AFC account for KBPR, which was a pretty hands-on assignment.

“And Keely told you they would handle it while you’re out,” Roy reminded. You were loath to take a sick day, let alone two in a row, but Keely had insisted over FaceTime that everything would be handled while you got better. She and Roy had practically bullied you back into bed this morning.

You groaned, leaning back into your pillows. “Fine. I won’t work today. I’ll just sit around and watch daytime telly like a lazy, boring lump and have no purpose.”

“Oi!” Roy’s sharp tone almost made you startle. Bewildered, you looked at him and saw his brows were drawn down, the firm line of his mouth and tightness in his jaw all suggested his frustration. “That’s enough outta you. You are not only the hardest working person I know, you’re also fine as all hell and fuckin’ deserve to have a few days off, especially when you’ve basically become a mucus factory and can’t even breathe through your fuckin’ nose, alright?”

This was the tone he used when players were being too hard on themselves. The tone he used whenever he was trying to boost someone’s confidence. His tough love tone. Yeah, it was tough, but it was fueled by his love for you so you took his words to heart.

“Okay, okay,” you cajoled and he nodded sharply, disappearing from the room only to return moments later with a tray — where did he get a tray? You were sure you didn’t own one — full of things. He put it on the empty spot on your bed where he usually slept.

“Alright, ya got your iPad, tv zapper, tissues, meds, that cinnamon tea you like, a little pot of honey, some cough drops, some chocolates, that trashy romance novel you’ve been reading, and I put your mug warmer on your nightstand in case the tea gets cold. I gotta go run training, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on ya. If you need anything in the meantime, text me, yeah?”

“Yeah, Roy, I will,” you promised.

“I mean anything, more tea, whatever. Don’t lift a fuckin’ finger, I’ll send Will over to — ya know what, I’ll just have him come over now in case—” He looked down at his phone, starting to text, but you put your hand on his forearm to stop him. Your heart swelled with love for this man, and you couldn’t help but beam at him.

“Roy, you don’t need to send Will to babysit. I’ll be okay until you get back.”

“You sure, love?” he asked, looking at you like he wanted to secure you in bubble wrap.

You coughed, then stretched a little. “Yeah, I’ll probably just go back to sleep.”

Roy nodded, “Good. Get your rest.” His phone chimed. “I gotta go, Beard wants to meet early about Man City’s defensive line.”

“Right, you go, I’ll stay here and nap.”

Roy bent over and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Love you.”

You beamed up at him, “Love you more.”

#writing challenge #fanfiction #in bloom #fluff #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #sick fic #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent

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multiplicationdivision · 5 months

Text

Abott Inc.

The manufacturing plant was abuzz with Tony Abott

Two of him handled a repair on the bottom floor, replacing a slipped wheel in record time. Another watched, ready to jump into motion at any evidence of a problem. Six others manned the quality checks, spouting off curses and shooting the shit as their muscle memory handled all the heavy lifting of searching for faults. Two were out to get lunch, carrying in tow the same burger order for a factory’s worth of the same exact man.

Only the forewoman was unique, a beautiful buff woman who acted to make sure that their unified state of mind never got them in trouble. She kept them out of trouble just as a single Tony kept the factory full of identical copies of her safe in turn.

It was good being Tony.

Years of education in all manners of factory positions, skill in any task that this facility could need. A physique built by an equal time training practically, nothing gained from the gym. Each muscle was built for practicality and each of him could handle a world of weight just on his own.

This body had once been a man named Braedon. He’d been college educated in computer sciences, a prodigy of his field. He could code anything given a couple hours alone, so long as he had coffee and some good junk food. He was set for a comfy corporate throne after a few years on the bottom, rising high and fast.

It had been boring.

Years of brutal education gave way to months spent in bureaucracy, unable to complete a task that would’ve taken minutes without weeks of back and forth with incompetent bosses. Emails that took longer to write than the quick line of code that would fix the issue.

Braedon loved the feeling of a job well done. Reclining back as the circuits ran perfectly and the tasks played out like a line of dominos falling one after one.

Corporate was like watching every step of his Rube Goldberg machine get interrupted by a whiney man in a suit named Todd or Larry. Made Braedon want to scream and tear down his perfectly built systems just so he could be the one to fuck it up.

The factory had been his life line.

It had been a simple invoice. A practical job that promised everything he could ask for. No boss criticizing his work at every step, chipping away at his confidence. No choking atmosphere to his work, watched by a hundred people in the building that thought their business degrees gave them insight on system design. Way more money than he ever thought possible for a blue-collar job. More than he was making at the moment in his bland yet expensive cubical.

There was a catch.

Braedon had no experience in anything outside of the digital world. He’d traded his body and health in exchange for his degrees. One couldn’t become as specialized as him without sacrificing the self-care that was so important in the labor required of a factory worker.

The factory knew that, but they had an easy fix.

Tony Abott had interviewed him. The singular original Tony Abott.

He was a prodigy in his own right. The industry wet dream. Ruggedly attractive and overly competent. Charismatic and eager to please.

He’d been honest with Braedon from the start. They had their hands in some strange technology and they needed even stranger candidates. Each selected for their unique physiologies and mental states that would make them perfect for their shared role.

Tony said that he’d been selected for his flexible sense of self and pathological loneliness. He’d been like Braedon, giving up his social life so he could be the best of the best. Was left hollow when he reached that height and started depersonalizing without staring himself in a mirror to remember that he existed.

Braedon had been selected after being profiled as similarly lost. Doctor’s notes demanding he eat anything that wasn’t processed. Caffeine and cigarettes letting him keep up with hundreds of email arguments over a simple fucking project. The gut twisting feeling of watching what that abuse did to his body, stealing away whatever youth was left and replacing it with something tired and boney. The hunger to be anything except for Braedon, who never wanted to be understood by another person as the gaping pit of rage and self-disgust that had taken root in his heart.

They were a match for each other and Braedon hadn’t cared for whatever physiological horror a happier person might see in this deal.

He’d quit his shitty corporate hell the next day and made his goodbyes to whatever people passed for tolerable in those minimalist nightmare hallways. Wished them good luck breathing recirculated air-conditioned smog as he got ready to breath real fucking air.

He’d arrived at his second “interview” a week later, having spent the last days wrapping up affairs and communicating with the labor board. The factory wasn’t doing anything shady and the government had needed to setup Braedon’s paperwork for his new life. Little benefits and tax write off as reward for joining the latest and greatest of industrial innovation. That alongside the mountain of appointments they’d needed to make for new identification as his old ID photos wouldn’t identify him for shit in the following day.

Tony had joined him for this “interview”. Dressed to his best in a soft dress shirt and new jeans. Boots barely broken into and a new watch. A professional shave and tussled hair atop a cap, branded with the company logo. A shining example compared to the loose clothes Braedon had been told to wear, making him look anything but a put together future coworker.

A second set of Tony’s exact outfit lay next to the door, atop a shoebox and a fancy new duplicate watch.

They’d made a toast to brotherhood, those two lonely men. Tony had supplied his favorite beer, cheap piss Budweiser. It went down watery and flat, nothing like the vodka tonics Braedon felt most suited to when he was in an alcoholic mood. The slight burn of it travelled down his throat, soothing yet peppery. It brought a head high like nothing else, feeling as if the golden liquid had flowed into his brain and body before it could even reach his stomach.

Alcohol didn’t feel like this, but this wasn’t exactly Alcohol.

Tony had tried to explain whatever biochemical cocktail was laced into the drink. It was all for the sake of complete transparency, they weren’t in the business of trickery. Something to do with forced recombination and stem cells. Braedon was a highly intelligent man, but there was a reason he’d never dipped into biology. Tony seemed the same, rattling off a scripted explanation that he had probably practiced time and time again to look like he understood what he was saying.

Braedon sipped his beer as Tony attempted small talk. They were very different people. Tony seemed awkward as if he felt judged by every little glance that Braedon gave him. Braedon was used to analyzing a person by now, searching for faults that he could use to his advantage. Braedon had been the kindest person at his old workplace but that had been a low bar and he had still become cruel. Braedon could see every way that Tony felt insecure around anyone but himself, as if he didn’t have every tool at his command to be a juggernaut.

The ichor in the drink flowed through Braedon’s neurons and there was a memory. A kid who wasn’t him being criticized at every turn for jobs he’d sworn he’d done correctly. Credit taken from a pre-teen for perfect machines that could cut production times by half. The same instances over and over, leaving a man desperately trying to prove himself to a system that would use him and give the patent to his boss. That despair and betrayal settled comfortably in the spaces of Braedon’s own memories.

Braedon grit his teeth in subtle rage. His jawline had broadened and his face itched and it felt good in some odd way. Matched that swelling feeling of righteous anger.

The ichor altered how Tony fit in his brain. The insecurity became more and more relatable with every swallow. A memory of the guy’s only partner calling him pathetic, using every shitty doubt Tony had confided to wicked abandon. The breakup replayed in the man’s mind like nothing else, a cacophony of how he was weak and annoying and awful in every way.

Braedon wanted to punch that piece of shit and laugh in their face. Braedon knew to heart what human garbage was and Tony was anything but. Braedon could feel the waves of Tony’s insecurity reach through his mind and falter in the wake of Braedon’s own memories. Braedon wished he could have someone like Tony, over eager to be romantic and prepare for anniversaries. Wished he could inject his own point of view on the guy’s memory of his part love and how jealous and narcissistic they actually were.

The Budweiser began to taste good. Braedon could remember the first time they’d drunk it. A trade school kid picking up the cheapest shit at the gas station on their twenty first, drinking as he carved away at a block of wood deep into the night. The carbonation had made the swill all the more comforting, a bitter spot against the peace of his work station. It tasted like shit, but the good type of shit. Fit him and his sweaty downtime, relaxing as he sculpted pine and oak into art.

At some point their conversation stopped being awkward. The words flowed better and better as Braedon felt understanding coating his mind. Nervous jokes became relatable and the nasty feeling that had sat at home in Braedon’s chest for so long felt like it was shrinking. He found himself chuckling at the stories Tony explained, remembering them in tandem with fresh eyes.

The times Tony had nearly burned down any number of mills and processing facilities. The rampant animals that added chaos to his life, including amongst their diversity a very confused bear and a unfortunately horny moose.

Braedon was crying with laughter as he and Tony pieced together how he’d pranked an old shitty supervisor. Braedon could practically hear that supervisor’s rage as his computer downloaded virus after virus, prompted by a helpful little auto-clicker that Tony had installed one late night after another unpaid bout of overtime.

Tony physically unwound as their conversation went on and the number of empty beer bottles increased. He no longer looked stiff in his new clothes, rather his relaxed muscles filled them out comfortably. His confidence changed him, his smile lighting up the room and his mood infectious.

Braedon hadn’t been gay before this, but a shift in his sexuality had been a part of the deal. Tony’s basic information had been open to him and a little pansexuality felt like a pretty good upgrade to Tony’s own deal.

Braedon could remember all the times Tony had felt wrong in the mirror melding into one. Picking apart himself for looking too old, too awkward and too fake. It was all insane of course, as Braedon could easily dissect. Braedon felt his own mind guide that fragment of Tony in his mind to see what he saw, forcing it to witness Braedon’s own perspective instead of that toxic mindset downloaded into the guy since his father had disowned him.

Braedon could feel all his own shit get digested into the well of personality inside his head. Not destroyed exactly, but reorganized. His own insecurities broken down by the logic of Tony Abott as the logic of Braedon Santoro did the same in turn. Fast tracking therapy with only a couple bottles of booze.

He could feel his own memories of coding alone slot next to Tony’s life of construction. The things that made Tony burned brighter in his mind compared to his own pieces, but they were never devoured. Braedon felt himself begin to lurk behind the soul of the man in front of him, but it wasn’t anything like a mask.

The deal hadn’t been to bury Braedon beneath Tony. Braeden would still be there but the man that Tony was would predominate. Tony would trade him his individuality in exchange for this new self. Braeden would give up his old life in exchange for an equal claim to this new identity.

Braeden became Tony, from inside out as the beer coated his tongue like cold nectar. Felt himself become saturated with the man, siphoning every bit of his personality into his soul, feeling the ichor in his blood tremble as it changed the body to fit the mind.

His scrawny body filled with density, calories from the beer being more than efficiently transformed into muscle fibers and sturdy bones. The tar in his lungs dwindled and he breathed clearly. Tony had never smoked a single day in his life and the man that was once Braeden savored the feeling. Savored the experience of having lived a life with more than microwaved meals, even if that life had its own many faults.

The loose clothing filled, his sweatshirt and sweatpants becoming oversized. He’d taken his shoes off prior to his first drink to Tony’s recommendation. Tony had larger feet than him as well as larger everything. Even his pants fit differently, filled much differently than they were before.

It was strange to no longer identify with a name, but he couldn’t think of himself anymore as Braeden. It didn’t fit anymore, supplanted by the name of the man in front of him. It wasn’t just that man’s name anymore, they shared it now.

They needed to share more than that.

Interviews should never go where they took it, but interviews rarely meddled with identity on such a scale. Tony had more understanding for the man in front of him than anyone else and the call to act on it was irresistible.

It happened when the man that was once Braeden began to strip his clothes off, forgoing the last thing that differentiated him from the other. They’d planned to don him in matching clothes and continue their conversation with the last of the prescripted beers. Head to the facility’s temporary doctor to confirm a success.

Tony had joked that he’d only felt this comfortable with another man once. The new Tony had replied that he knew and the part of Braeden permanently at his core flirted. Some charged comment that made them both blush, something about how it would be easier for them to match if Tony just took off his clothes.

They’d been awkward in it, because how couldn’t someone be awkward masturbating like that. A whole other body added to the scheme, even if that body was one you’d always known. They’d forgotten to remove the clothes of the first Tony entirely, so caught up in the feeling of that lockstep of their shared bodies working as one. Whatever was done would be mimicked in turn, a duet in symmetrical motion.

They’d finished together and the awkwardness dissolved. Both no longer held back by the fear of judgment from the other, when they functioned like two parts of the same being.

They’d gotten dressed together, tying their boots up and pulling their shirts on. An entirely new outfit that both Tonys reveled in without the presence of strangers making them second guess it. The one that was still Braeden in memory could feel the twist of amusement at their preening, his heart racing as he looked at his new twin. Braeden had never strongly cared for his appearance, but the sensation of feeling good in his new boots and new jeans was exhilarating compared to the apathy of before.

They’d headed to the doctor together, excitement in every step. With a clean bill of health and permission to continue on with the next man the following day, they were a force of nature.

One became two. Two prepared for three to become one. Three identical men lining up identification and licenses for a factory’s worth of them. Buying clothes in mass to handle a platoon of them.

The first Tony became lost in the crowd and it felt good. Most people weren’t cut out to spread their sense of self across so many. Tony seemed built for it, the pressure of being the best dulled to nothing as he became part of the best. Seeing numerous of himselves discover their identity as a group in their work and downtime. Using the memories of the men they once were to build upon what it meant to be Tony Abott.

They’d bring all kinds of folks home and show them what it was like to be with them. Give the few a taste of a whole world of confidence built through reinforcement. Strings became strong when wrapped into a rope and they were a realized person together.

Tony Abott, operating Abott Inc. Alone yet definitely not.

Pictures taken from Construction Bros series by GymDreams on Deviantart.

#identical #copy #clones #male shapeshift #shapeshift #male tf #male transformation #personality change #my writing #selfcest #muscle tf #muscle transformation #mental change

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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@ghost-with-a-teacup : Hello! I've never made a request before but I absolutely adore your works, hehe. I'm popping in after reading your latest post about Y/N almost dying after saving the daughters, and you talked about them getting the cadou. I was just wondering if you could write something building off of that prompt; something along the lines of what you think their powers would be as well as them trying to get accustomed to their new abilities with the help of Alcina and the girls? That would be wonderful! Regardless of if you write it or not, keep up the amazing work!! With how much you write I have no idea how you pump out so many ideas, truly leaves me in awe <33 (also your crackfics are fucking amazing LOL). Have a great day~

Thank you so much, friend! That was a good prompt. I had trouble deciding what I thought Y/N’s power would be, but with how mischievous they are, I decided to go with something that they would absolutely wreak havoc with lol! Post this ask is referring to here! Let’s get into it!

You had been mortally wounded trying to protect castle Dimitrescu from hunters intent on killing your loved ones.

You thought you were done for, but Alcina made the decision to try and save you by having Mother Miranda give you the cadou.

It worked. You were so happy to be back with your girls again.

You were very weak when you first woke up but Alcina took excellent care of you.

She fed you and sat with you as you slept. She was just glad you would be okay after all you had been through.

A few weeks after you began recovering, you started noticing that you could… See through things? You thought you were imagining it when it first happened, but Alcina had been sitting right in front of you when you realized you could see her panties and bra from under her dress.

You were so embarrassed that you slapped your hands over your face.

Alcina was startled at your reaction. “Draga?! What’s wrong?” She asked.

You suddenly started laughing like an idiot once you learned what you could do. “I really like that bra, babe. I don’t think I’ve seen that one on you before.” You howled.

Alcina was confused. “What are you talking about, Y/N?!” She said, somewhat weirded out.

“I can totally see through your dress, Alci.” You informed her.

“WHAT?!” She looked down frantically, but her dress was not revealing anything. “Y/N, if this is another of your silly pranks-”

"I can prove it, Alci!” You exclaimed. You focused your attention on the book Alcina had next to her. “Hand me that book, babe!” You asked her.

Alcina was skeptical but gave you the book.

You concentrated very hard and, without opening the book, you were able to read the words on the inside pages.

Alcina’s eyes went wide with shock. “Draga! That must be an acquired skill from the cadou!” She said and brought a hand to her mouth in shock.

You cheered before you thought about something upsetting. “Ew! What if I accidentally see through Karl or Sal’s clothes! Blech, what about Duke or some rando?!” You said, horrified.

Alcina chuckled. “Well, draga. I guess that’s payback for all of the trouble you’ve ever caused.”

You cringed and screamed. “AHH! What if I accidentally see through the girls’ dresses?!” You said. You wanted to claw your eyeballs out.

Alcina didn’t find that part to be as funny. It was mutually decided that you would stay at Karl’s factory until you had better control of your powers. Better to be safe than sorry.

Karl was actually a good teacher. He had trained himself to be able to control his metal powers and he had tips to share with you.

After a few days with Karl, you discovered that you had another power. You were able to make yourself completely invisible!

You pranked and scared the shit out of him a couple of times until he got so mad that he kicked you out. Luckily, you had a pretty good grasp of your powers now.

You returned home to the castle and immediately went to go see Alcina… Well, you may have made yourself invisible first.

When you went into Alcina’s bedroom, you almost busted out laughing when you saw her practicing her smoke rings. She looked so focused and cute.

You snuck up beside her, and said “Boo.”

Alcina shrieked and almost fell back in her chair. Her hat went flying.

You started laughing crazily and made yourself visible again. “Sorry, babe! Couldn’t resist!” You said through your wheezing.

When I tell you Alcina bitch-smacked you so hard, smh. It didn’t hurt, though. You had also acquired heightened healing abilities and stronger skin like the rest of The Lords.

She questioned where you came from and you told her that you were able to make yourself invisible too.

Alcina groaned when she realized that these powers could not have been given to a worse person.

For as much of a troublemaker as you are, though, you keep your pranks with your X-ray vision and invisibility to a minimum. It was just too easy to prank someone that way. You were better than that and took your self-designated title of Prank Master seriously.

And yes, you could totally see, not only though Alcina’s dress, but through her bra and panties too, now. You use that particular skill on her a little bit too much.

Masterlist

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socialjusticeinamerica · 3 months

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Space Karen is a monster. They had opportunities to unionize but they succumbed to pressure from Elongated Muskrat and Texas Republicans and now they’ll be living on the production line. How stupid are you to reject unionization? Now they’re slaves like every other non-union employee in the country.

Republicans in red states pass laws called “right to work”, which is more Republican name trickery. “Right to work” laws prevent unions/organized labor. What it literally means is that companies have the right to make YOU work without any benefits, for minimum wage, without any right to protest wage theft or unsafe conditions, no recourse against unfair labor practices, and to put you on “on demand schedules,” The latter means no set regular hours, 9-5 today then 9-9 the day after, then 1-8, or no hours at all for days or weeks until you quit and can’t collect. “On demand scheduling” is abosolutely cruel. You never get to recover properly, you can never make plans outside of work, you can’t attend school or have a second job, and you miss out on all the major life events of your family. This leads to resentment, divorce, and alienated children who feel unloved.

Even blue states have bare minimum labor laws in place to control abuses by employers. Try going to the state for help in a dispute with your boss. Try hiring a lawyer when you’re poor or even if you’re not lawyers don’t want to touch these cases.

We are already a nation of hopeless wage slaves. Biden and the Democrats are making progress in passing laws to protect workers and unions but it will all be swept away if Republicans regain the White House and Congress. Some people won’t learn until they’re chained to a machine in a building with suicide nets outside the windows like in China.

It took almost two hundred years to get unions, workers rights, and work place safety laws put into place. They’ve nearly all been eroded into a forgotten past since Republican Ronald Reagan, and Fox News, was elected in 1980. Nearly all of you reading this don’t even know a time when workers only needed one job to support a home and family, had pensions, and had health insurance that was provided. Now you live with 2-3 jobs, have no health insurance, can’t afford a home (or rent), can’t afford college or even a new car, and make less than your grandparents. The media glosses this over calling the extra jobs “side hustles” and your lack of a career with dignity is because you’re a generation of “self starters.”

You weren’t born to be a wage slave for billionaire oligarchs and the petty tyrants they hire to be middle managers. Spread the word and unionize. Fight for it. People in the 1800’s literally battled armed mercenaries, cops, and the military for the right to union jobs that let them live and earn with dignity. Don’t let their spilled blood and deaths be in vain. The United Auto Workers and other unions tried repeatedly to get Tesla unionized. Unions are out there and willing to help. It only takes a few phone calls to get the ball rolling.

Muskrat promised his workers free frozen yogurt and a roller coaster ride from the parking lot to factory if they voted against unions, I shit you not. He never delivered either. He did spend millions on union avoidance firms to come in and lie and scare workers into voting no. Now they’re treated like cotton plantation slaves and told they will be literally living on a production line.

To put this into the identity politics millennials are drawn to, unions are the only working environment where marginalized people are protected and have recourse against discrimination and mistreatment in the workplace. If you are mistreated you can file a grievance and if the management doesn’t redress the issue then they are taken to contractually mandated arbitration or court with union supplied lawyers. If you have never worked in a union shop you have no idea what it’s like to not be fearful, to have dignity, and to know people are obligated to protect you from management.

It’s the only non-union automaker in the country.

#republican assholes #oligarch assholes #corporate greed #unionize now #elongated muskrat #Tesla Texas #organized labor for all

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stitchwraith-stingers · 4 months

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godd i hate fazbear frights so much they ruined the lore ://// whats next, fazbear frights tumblr dash simulator??? fuck this

0 notes

🌙 motts-talking

i swear to god my brothers little pets are so freaky they ate my fish and made him into them, like spontanious mitosis or something and now im trying to get rid of them and i swear im so afraid of accidently drinking them

🌙 motts-talking

WHAT THE HELL..... HOW DO YOU HAVE A TUMBLR ACCOUNT, GO AWAYYYYYYY

21 notes

🔎 detective-larson

just got called into work today and they want me to look into this case and they think its associated with the stitchwraith... why do i work here 🔎 detective-larson

its been 3 months since i last posted and i may or may not have not known what i was getting into

14 notes

anonymous asked:

can you stop posting about your werid doll thing i get it ur like rich and shit now but its so hidieous and ugly it almost makes me want to unfollow and vomit

🍀 luckiest-boy-blog

i LIKE my ADVICE DOLL its just this little thing i like and you REJECT IT. YOU HATE IT BECAUSE I LIKE IT

154 notes

🎀 dovewing-kinnie

sorry ive been so inactive on this account, lets just say my mental health has been doing better! :) got some help from a family friend, ill be back to posting soon

🎀 dovewing-kinnie

the junkyard

15,816 notes

anonymous asked: aita for accidently indirectly killing my friend?

sorry for any spelling mistakes, im still shaken up by the whole thing

so i (14F) and my friend, who ill call P (14F) have recently both gone on a school trip to some werid factory (wont bother specifying which as to not doxx me), now i was known for being kinda, i guess "rude"? and while we seperated from the group and P was already slightly nervious about that, we went onto the catwalks and despite her pleading i decide to walk to a sign that said "NOT SAFE" or something along those lines

surprise surprise i fell, near me was a vat of boiling hot sauce or whatever and me, having somehow survived the fall, i decided to play a little prank, i would stay hiding in there for afew days, i think i managed to stay in there for 3 days? before i got kicked out

now first i visited my boyfriends house to tell him that im alive and whatever, and then i went to P's house, knowing it was like 2 am or something, i rang like three times i think and then i heard something fall

as it turned out, P had fallen off the roof of her house (i have no idea what she was doing in the first place) AND HAD SNAPPED HER NECK, i obviously screamed, who wouldnt, now i went from being the most popular girl in school to an outcast because of this

❓ aita-official

What are these acronyms?

🥀 the-ravens-death

925 notes

🐩 useless-dog-lesbian

utah is so werid, what do you mean people have an urban legend about a werid tall thing that has a trashbag with them at all times and can kill people with just a single touch

🥨 pretzel-liker-173

THEIR NAME IS THE STITCHWRAITH ‼‼

💡 yuri-ka

the stitchwraith is 100% funnier if you imagine theyre two kids in a trenchcoat with a halloween mask just trying to clean the planet, like ive seen it but it avoids people like the plauge

🐩 useless-dog-lesbian

what the fuck do you mean youve seen it

10,027 notes

⚡ chucks-vent-blog

are you really living life if you havent gotten an expirience where your older sibling just dissapears or dies

⚡ chucks-vent-blog

like when i was younger my brother had these reaccouring near freak-accidents of him almost loosing an eye or an arm and i was trying to tell him that maybe he had annoyed this one animatronic he tried to freak me out with and he yelled at me and then told me to come find him after school and then it turned out he got hit by a car, i wish i could explain to people normally about this without ti sounding werid

🎫 silliestlittleguy

how normal is this expirience? not my brother but my cousin just dissapeared suddenly, i had saved up so many tickets just to get him a gift from the nearby arcade! :(

🍬 horse-sona

god this is so true, i had a step-sister who dispised me because i was getting all the attention and just out of spite ate my candy that was specifically given to me by the place we were visiting, the next day we found out she had snuck out and the car was taken elsewhere with no sign of her, we figured she ran away or something but its been so long we decided shes dead at this point

🐟 fish-enjoyer

my older brother tried to flush my pet sea bonnies down the toilet because he apparently saw them eating his fish or something, never saw him again after that and the only witness just said he looked blue, i still have no idea what that means

⚡ chucks-vent-blog

i did not expect this to be more common then i thought what the fuck

1,729 notes

🍂 phineas-taggart-official

hello tumblr! sorry for not posting, ive been working on getting some stuff for an experiment and they finally arrived, will keep you updated

🌱 gregsexperiments

phineas taggart had died afew hours after posting this, detectives believe this is the stitchwraiths doing

🦋 restingatdawn

frankenstein behavior

28,275 notes

🐇 bnuuygirl

just saw a girl in the school cafetirea disintigrate into trash, cant have shit in utah

7 notes

🥀 the-ravens-death

i just witnessed my crush talk to some basic girl all lovey dovey in the school and i just ran back home while all i want for christmas is you was playing.. im so tired i fucking hate everyone i hate my life i want to die im so tired

🦇 vampire-girl-shelly

guess all he wanted for christmas is her huh

384 notes

🦉 justanothermiddleagedguy

my collgues are such assholes man first i hear them just kissing in the game testing room out loud for some reason and then when its my birthday and they do some werid freaky birthday surprise they misspell my name, its not hard to spell jeremiah correctly i promise you

1 note

🥈 scrap-metal-enthusiast

might fuck around and kill someone else idk

#calico.exe #this took me forever ... the begining is a joke i am fazbear frights strongest soilder #fake tumblr dashboard #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fazbear frights #long post #fake post #unreality #dereality #<- just in case #I HAD SO MUCH FUN MAKING THIS i should make a part 2 #if my 2 mutuals like this idk #I WAS GETTING LAZY BY THE END IM SO SORRY THE USERNAMES ARE ASS DONT KILL ME

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heisenberg-simp257 · 7 months

Note

Spooky month is right around the corner! You know what that means! Halloween with the Heisenberg family. I wondered who dresses up as who. Karl learning about Halloween and what trick or treating is? Lol probably no trick or treating but i at least see some candy apples being made for the kids as a treat…and the twin boys playing some tricks.

I love this idea!! For reminders, Annalise is the daughter's name and Felix and Konrad are the boys. I hope headcanons are alright! Happy Spooky Season everyone~💖

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

Halloween with the Heisenberg Family

-To be honest, he's never celebrated this holiday in his life. This goes back to cultural things as Americans celebrate a little differently than some European countries. That said, Heisenberg (just to be a little shit to Miranda) has done a deep dive on all things that resonate outside of the village.

-It should be no surprise that Heisenberg loves the horror aspect of Halloween.

-There's still a lot of that he doesn't "get" such as a lot of the "childish" aspects of dressing up or trick or treating and stuff like that. He's more into the actual horror aspect.

-You can bet that he has a secret man cave where he hides all his old American Halloween movies that you guys watch for the whole night of the holiday. If you get scared, you can bet that Heisenberg will hold you close for protection. It's his favorite excuse for cuddles.

-And he might throw fits, but you are getting Halloween decorations. Whether it be DIY or through the Duke, you are making sure the place is festive. While the thought of decorating makes him scoff, he can't also help but find it endearing.

-This is the most you guys would do, and then the children came.

-You would make sure that they learned all about your holidays, Halloween especially. They would get to learn alongside their father! Heisenberg is still trying to understand all the silly stuff you do. It's not just all about being spooky.

-It's about treats as well! And dressing up!

-You would definitely be persuasive enough to have him participate in the kids making things like candy apples (he doesn't see the appeal). But you do catch him sneaking a few, much to the dismay of Annalise.

-But he will definitely steal some pumpkins for all of you to carve. Honestly, it would probably become a contest to see who could make the best one. The kids might end up just drawing pictures on them, but maybe Heisendad will carve something for them.

-You and the kids also convince him to dress up. The kids are all for it, especially the boys, who dress up as something together. Annalise dresses up like a princess or something, stereotypical for a young girl. You dress up as (custom of your choice), and you manage to convince Heisenberg to do that as well.

-If he has to, he picks something on the lines of evil scientist. It's hard for him to think too much outside of the box.

-Also, mad respect for Donna as she made all the costumes by hand per your persistence and begging. She wants at least one candy apple out of this.

-Felix and Konrad love the spooky aspect of Halloween too. They run around in their cute little outfits and try to scare both their parents and sister. Mostly it involves jumping from around corners and yelling "Boo!". They only got scolded once or twice, and it was because they ventured too far into the factory, really startling their father.

-Cue the night ending with watching fun Halloween movies.

-Heisenberg embraces this holiday like it was always a part of his heritage. But now he's not just doing it for him, but also for his children. Some people always mark Christmas on their calendar, but Heisenberg marks down Halloween.

-Also, scaring the other lords is a must. Maybe lighting Mother Miranda on fire. Who knows.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil imagines #resident evil village imagines #resident evil headcanons #resident evil village headcanons #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg headcanons

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wedontdeservethestars · 1 year

Note

redamancy with karl heisenberg please?

This turned out way cuter than I meant it to. Happy accident I guess?

CW for mentions of sexual themes

((Send me a vocab word and a resident evil character and I’ll write a little drabble!!))

KARL HEISENBERG x REDAMANCY: the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

“I think I love you.”

It was the first time you had said it. It just slipped out, taking both you and Karl off guard. It wasn’t that you didn’t mean it. Far from it, actually. It had been months since your first time together, and even longer since your first heated kiss. You spent nearly all your time together nowadays, and not just because you were assisting him in the factory. It was unspoken between you, but it was also obvious that there was something beyond the quickies on the worktable or the nights spent in his quarters.

You expected Karl to say something snarky, make fun of you for the dumb comment. “I would hope you would, by now,” or a sarcastic, “No shit! Really, now?”

But he didn’t say anything.

In fact, he had completely frozen up. Sensing that you crossed a line, you felt your mouth go dry and tried to pedal back.

“Sorry. Was that too much?”

“No,” came his sharp reply, and he was turning to face you, leaving his work completely abandoned on the table. There was something in his cadence you hadn’t noticed before. Nerves? Could Karl even get nerves? “Not at all.”

“Okay, well…good.” A smile crossed your lips, but you were still a little put off by his demeanor. Karl looked like he wanted to say something. He opened his mouth. He coughed into a gloved fist. He turned around back to the forge.

You weren’t disappointed, per say, but it definitely wasn’t the response you wanted. But you tried to set your feelings aside, at least for the moment. He was busy. You shouldn’t have dropped that on him while he was so focused on his work, and besides, maybe it was too early, anyways. Maybe he just wanted to keep your relationship sexual. That was…fine. You could live with that, even if it made your throat choke up, at least he would still be with you, just not in the way that–

Karl’s lips were on yours. You didn’t know how you entirely missed him coming back over to you, but suddenly he was here, and the kiss was delightful, slightly salty from the heat of the forgery but not at all unpleasant, and most importantly it felt different. There was less intensity than you were used to, less recklessness and urgency. Like he was afraid of hurting you, but needed you to know that he was there.

When he pulled away, the tables had turned. Now you were speechless.

“Do you mean it?” he asked. You smiled in spite of his seriousness. He had removed his goggles on the way over, and you had to stop yourself from chuckling at the red rim marks they’d left encircling his eyes.

“Mean what?”

“Do you really love me?” The way he said love said it all. He wasn’t denying you earlier. He was just terrified.

“Of course,” you said decisively. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re sure?”

You frowned, but didn’t falter. “Yes.”

Karl thought for a moment. Then, he took your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. For whatever reason, your skin cells there were apparently very interesting at the moment. He kept his gaze focused on your hand as he spoke.

“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to tell you that?”

You shook your head. “You have?”

“Yes!” His face was red, and you didn’t think it was just because of the sauna-like conditions in the room. “I–I’m mad, actually, that it was that easy for you. I’ve been trying to craft the perfect way to tell you for weeks. I even went to Donna to ask for help on a poem. Didn’t work, of course, she was completely incompetent, and…”

He felt your gaze harshen, and immediately mumbled an apology. You had made him promise to try to get along with the other Lords, or at least act civilly with them, if not to avoid headaches at the meetings with Miranda. After a huff of breath, he recalibrated.

“I always thought I was smart. And you make me feel so, so stupid. Because I can’t figure you out, and I can’t figure us out, and I can’t believe that you just…said it. And it worked.”

“Was I supposed to make it more elaborate?” you teased softly, standing up from the stool you were seated in.

“No! I mean, I don’t think you were supposed to…” Karl’s mouth twitched. “Look, I really don’t know much about this ‘love’ stuff. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve always been alone. This is all really weird for me. But…it’s a good weird. And I’d like to keep going with you. I was just so afraid that if I didn’t say it right, if it wasn’t perfect, you wouldn’t love me the way I love you.”

“Oh,” you whispered, melting into a warm smile. “Karl…”

“I know, I’m rambling,” he muttered, still trying to look anywhere but into your eyes.

“I like it when you ramble,” you smiled back. “I love it, actually. And I love everything about you, the same way you love everything about me. Right?”

“Right.”

“So…there’s no confusion.”

“I suppose not.”

“Good.”

You both stood there for a moment, basking in the feeling of certainty, and then you shared another kiss. Karl still took the time to feel up your butt like he usually did, but somehow this time it seemed more intimate. Not just flat-out horny. It was a nice change of pace.

“Can we have a nice dinner tonight?” you murmured. “One where you don’t, like, bend me over the table when we’re done eating? Or before eating? Or…during eating?”

Karl laughed, and it was contagious. It hit you how much you really did love everything about him–every little scratch and scar on his skin, the way he talked, hell, even the sound of his breaths. It was all so him. And therefore, it was perfect. From the way that Karl was looking at you, you guessed he was having some pretty similar thoughts about you.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

#thank you for the ask lovely anon!#karl heisenberg #heisenberg #re8 #resident evil 8 #re8 heisenberg #lord heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #drabble #resident evil #resident evil village #ask game #vocabulary event #wedontdeservethefics

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stolen-breath · 2 years

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:: ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :: ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ × ʏ/ɴ

: sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ :: ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴊᴀsᴏɴ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴏʙ, ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

:: ᴛᴡs :: ᴍɪʟᴅ sᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ

:: ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ :: 2389

:: ʀᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ :: ɴᴏ

:: sғᴡ | ɴsғᴡ ::

ᴍᴀSᴛᴇƦʟꞮSᴛ

:: ɢɪғ ʙʏ ᴅᴀɪʟʏᴊᴀsᴏɴᴛᴏᴅᴅ,, ɢᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!! ::

JASON

He never approved of your job at Ace Chemicals. Of course he never said that, not to you. He celebrated your promotion with you, ordered take-out on nights when he couldn't be there, listened to you rant even though he couldn't understand a word. But he hated that you worked at the same place that created the most heinous of Gotham's rogue gallery, that you were a single OSHA violation from becoming the Joker's genderbent double.

You didn't know that. Why would you? It happened years ago, and Ace never broadcast that little trivia. It would ruin their PR, bring unwanted attention that could come with a nasty price tag. Only Batman and his allies knew that – and the Joker, obviously. And probably Harley. Maybe a few of the other villains… Okay fine, a lot of people knew, but you weren't one of them, and he couldn't exactly break that news without inviting several new and awkward questions. So he never told you, never asked you to quit, just helped you and supported you while the nagging worries in the back of his mind stayed exactly there.

Now he sprints through the factory, kicking himself with every step. He should have forced you to quit. He should have told you everything, even if it meant revealing the truth about his night job.

Why had he been hesitant in the first place? Fear for your safety? Maybe. You were a pretty tough cookie. You used to joke that you were the tough one in the relationship, and part of him believed it. Maybe he'd kept the secret out of loyalty to Batman. Back then, it made sense. He would have killed for the man if it came to that.

Back then, he thought Bruce would do the same for him.

Jason grinds his teeth together until every heavy footstep jars his jaw. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He should’ve known Scarecrow would pull some shit like this. It was just fucking like him. You were an insurance policy, the prize for remaining loyal to him. “Once I understood your greatest fear, controlling you was simple.” That was the crap he spewed to every person that stood up to him. Every ally that he suspected would betray him. This was all a game to him, the world’s trickiest game of chess, a test to his superiority. At his core, he was no better than the Joker.

He thought he could control Jason by risking your safety – and he was right. If anything happened to you, his brittle sanity would shatter like glass.

But nothing is going to happen to you. Jason only had to hold one guy’s hand in sulfuric acid to find out where Scarecrow’s keeping you, and he is going to get to you. Fuck Scarecrow’s plan to break the Bat. It can wait.

The door may be locked, but that’s not going to stop the walking arsenal. Jason slaps an explosive on the metal door and ducks around the corner to shield himself from the explosion. His armor is top of the line, meant to outdo even Lucius Fox’s finest work, but he’s not going to take stupid risks like that. That was the old him. That was Robin. The Arkham Knight is calculated, and the Arkham Knight isn’t going to facetank C4. (Even though, let’s face it, he could probably walk through the explosion like an action movie badass. Can he glue sunglasses to his helmet? A thought for later.)

It isn’t hard to find you. The only hiding place here is a table large enough to fit at least three people underneath it. He ignores your panicked shrieks as he drags you out of your hiding place and slings you over his shoulder as easily as if you’re an empty sack.

“Put me –”

“Shut up. I’m saving you.” He hates talking to you like this. Hates having to pretend he’s just a soldier doing his job and not your heroic boyfriend. Hates that you’re beating your fists against his shoulder plates instead of sighing ‘my hero!’ and swooning in his arms. More than anything, he longs to rip his helmet off and show you who he is, show you he’s alive and he’s fine and you’re going to be okay, it’s safe now, he’s here – but there isn’t time. The annoying pleasant automated voice over the intercom announces that an explosion is imminent. He has to get you out.

His helicopter is still on the pad. Even from here, he can see the terror etched on his soldier’s faces as they gesture frantically for him to hurry. “I can only go so fast goddammit,” he grumbles under his breath – not that he really had to lower his voice. The whup-whup-whup of the spinning blades are so loud that he could probably yell and no-one would hear him. Still, it feels good to mutter protests like he did when he worked with the Bat.

…no. Not with. For. It never was a partnership – it was always Big Daddy Bat and pitiful little Robin clinging to his cape.

He seethes with frustration as he shoves you into his lieutenant’s arms. The man is just helping you onto the helicopter so he can focus on getting in himself. It’s a time-saver. But he hates the idea of someone else touching you, even like this. He is the one saving you. This isn’t a joint operation. This isn’t Strike Team Alpha or some shit. This is the Arkham Knight, blazing through a burning factory to pluck you from the arms of Death itself.

Well, when he recounts the story later, he’s not mentioning any of these guys. Screw them.

With a single button press, he tunes his helmet’s radio to the frequency of the chopper and shouts instructions to the pilot. The lieutenant wraps a blanket around your shoulders, helping you get comfortable in the cramped and jerking confines as the helicopter rises into the air far faster than it should. He stands up front like he always does, but he half-turns to keep you in the corner of his eye at all times. Let them get fresh with you – it’s a quick way to find out what it’s like to get thrown out of a helicopter. An exclusive offer. Not many people get to say they’ve done that.

“Drop us off there.” He points to the roof of the Doyle building, a tall building that once held crumbling gargoyles and steeples taller than most churches. Thanks to the Gotham council’s brilliant decision making, they had been torn down as part of the renovation project. It is now sleek, shining, filled with windows and fluorescent lights and commercial comfort, but it is still your place. Deep in its foundation lay the memories of the two of you laying on it, watching where the stars would be if not for the smog and light pollution of the city, snacking on greasy street food and arguing which villain could actually kill Superman if they had to.

He can’t think of a better place to ruin all the plans he’d crafted so carefully since his escape.

The helicopter doesn’t land – it isn’t safe, not anymore, this building is made of fiberglass and corporate dreams. Jason drags you to your feet as gently as he can and helps you hop off the hovering, wobbling chopper. He lands beside you as easily as jumping off a curb and waves them away, tossing a few orders through the radio for good measure. Give him a few minutes, at least. He needs this almost as much as he needs to kill Batman – actually, no. He needs it more.

YOU

He doesn’t turn to face you right away. You take a step back and eye him suspiciously, squinting against the dust and dirt spitting up in the vortex of the chopper’s wind. It flies away, heading deeper into the city, and you two stand alone. When he seems to be ignoring you for the time being (never mind that he’s clenching his fists at his sides like a man trying not to punch a hole in the wall), you risk looking away from him at the city. Your city. Even from here, you can see the smoke plumes wafting up from various fires, the eerie orange chemicals drifting into the sky from Ace Chemicals (where you would be if he hadn’t dragged you out, a thought that sends chills down your already icy back). The only cars driving around below you are militarized tanks and armored vehicles, all bearing the insignia of the man standing before you.

The city’s being invaded – that much is clear. This random soldier that you’ve never heard of paired up with the Rogue’s Gallery to take over Gotham and intends to burn it all down. At least he was willing to evacuate the civilians first – you don’t like to give credit to bad people, but you have to hand it to him. Very few villains would even notice the innocent people they trample in their rampages. That alone makes this guy stand out.

Why did he save you? For that matter, how did he know you were there? All the records were meant to show that you’d evacuated with everyone else, just like the other workers that were forced to stay behind to help manufacture Scarecrow’s new toxin. You didn’t know what happened to the others. They came for all of you, one by one, over the course of the night. You’d heard screaming just a few minutes before this guy blew up the door (he blew up a door, what kind of maniac was he) and dragged you out of the factory literally kicking and screaming. You had assumed it was your turn to find out how Scarecrow was dealing with his assets now that he no longer had a use for you.

You assumed it was your turn to die.

“Thank you.” The words are reluctant, forced out between chattering teeth. It’s awfully cold for the end of October – it tends to get pretty cold in Gotham, but this is ridiculous. Still, voicing your gratitude is the least you can do. This villain – because he is a villain, you know he’s here to kill the Bat, you know he’s willing to kill his way through Gotham to do it – went out of his way to drag you from the factory moments before it exploded. Hell, he even had his guys give you a blanket. He didn’t have to do any of that. He went out of his way to do it. The least you could give him, the only thing you can give him, is a thanks.

He dismisses your thanks with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. Couldn’t leave you there. Not your fault Scarecrow left his marbles in the Asylum.” There’s something about the way he talks that’s oddly and eerily familiar, even through the metallic distortion of his helmet’s voice modulator. It’s comforting, yet horrifying. You rack your brain, throwing names and faces at the imagined wall to see what sticks, but nothing works. You have no idea who this guy is, but he’s so…familiar.

“Yeah.” You pull the blanket tighter around you as a gust of wind finds its way through the gaps. Once again, your gaze drifts over Gotham. A chilling scream fills the air, then fades into the various sounds of the city. Your thoughts burn with questions demanding answers. You shouldn’t ask them. A bright light, dimmed through distance, flashes over the two of you. It gleams against his sidearm, a gun that you couldn’t name if you tried but immediately makes you pause. You don’t have to wonder if it’s loaded.

But you can’t stop yourself. “Did you leave yours there too?”

He glances over his shoulder. His helmet is as blank as a sheet of paper, yet somehow you can almost imagine an expression of surprise and delighted disbelief. “If only you knew.” There’s longing in that voice, as if he genuinely wishes you did know. But you’re imagining that, almost certainly.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it. “You’re a killer. You’re here to kill Batman and burn Gotham to the ground and you’re working with Scarecrow of all fucking people – but you evacuated the city first. You saved me. I don’t get it.”

He laughs, a short bitter bark that makes your skin crawl. “I’m a killer, yeah, but I don’t kill innocent people. The civilians don’t need to get wrapped up in this war. Besides, I’m doing it for them. If they’re all dead, there’s no point, y’know?”

Hearing such casual language coming from a robot head atop a soldier’s stiff body is so weird. Did you die in Ace Chemicals? Is this your afterlife? “You think killing Batman is good for Gotham? He’s saving this city.”

“No. He’s not.” The quiet fury that edges his voice forces you back a step. His fists clench at his sides – you imagine that his knuckles gleam like moonlight under his gloves. "Batman is a glorified man in a mask who martyrs himself nightly for a crusade that his own misguided morals prevent him from ever completing."

You almost laugh at the bitter words, at the painful memory they dredge up. “You almost sound like someone I used to know. He had a pretty big grudge against the Bat too.”

“Who doesn’t?” He lets out a soft huff, reaching up to adjust his helmet. His fingers linger on the clasps that connect it to his armor, as if he’s tempted for a moment to take it off. You can’t stop the surge of excitement that rushes through you. Will you, and you alone, know the identity of the Arkham Knight?

But he doesn’t remove his helmet. He simply pulls a grappling hook from his belt, just like the one that Jason used to have. “Stay here,” he orders with a single glance over his shoulder, the screened helmet rendering his expression unreadable. “Someone will be along to get you to safety soon. I have work to do.”

“Thank you for saving me,” you call as he shoots the hook at a construction crane and disappears into the smog of night.

Just like Jason used to.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x y/n #arkham knight #arkhamverse jason todd #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x y/n #arkham knight x you

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thethief1996 · 12 days

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In November, displaced children in Al Shifa posted a video pleading in English to be protected. It was the first of four raids that were conducted on the hospital before Israel burned it down this week. Gaza's Civil Defense Office says all departments and buildings were purposefully destroyed. According to verified reports, two vendors who sold water and food to the refugees at Al Shifa revealed themselves to be IDF soldiers as the raid began and instructed the troops to start the massacre. Anybody who didnt flee was indiscrimately executed. Euro Med Human Rights Monitor estimates that 1.500 people were injured or killed, of which at least 13 were children and 22 were shot in their hospital beds. Some of the bodies found after the carnage were zip tied. Doctors report that some of the victims were buried alive. We have graphic videos of bodies crushed and buried by bulldozers. Al Shifa is the site of a mass grave. I keep thinking how many of those children are still alive.

The official narrative by Israel is that not a single civilian was killed. It is laughable that they expect us to believe this shit. They lie to our faces, against a barrage of videos showing they are conducting a very clear and unapologetic extermination campaign in Gaza, and yet every single western media outlet hems and haws around their intent like there's plausible deniability. Biden approves unconditional military aid for Israel and Gazzans show us the remains of missiles with name and address of the American factories that produced them but he can mumble through phlegm about red lines and no newspaper calls bullshit. Hillary Clinton can come on national television and condescendingly tell voters to get over themselves like they're doing you a fucking favor by putting up a serial killer for you to vote, and nobody calls bullshit on her manipulation. Ursula Von Der Leyen can smile cynically at a protester who calls her a war criminal and nobody calls bullshit. And we know why. The New York Times said they found no anti Palestinian bias in their reporting of October 7th only for a memo to come out showing they instructed reporters to not show any ounce of sympathy for Palestinians, even avoiding the word Palestine. Why are those people up there? Why do they act like we are children, when they are the ones who damned their souls? I refuse that narrative.

Palestinians are not more resilient to atrocities. Do not let the world dehumanize them. The terror Palestinians feel is the same you would feel if babies were killed in your neighborhood. If a crazed maniac started shooting at a family as they walked down the main avenue of their city, it would be national news. War is not an extenuating circunstance for these actions. The people who are conducting these massacres are serial killers who live among you by justifying their murders as acts of war, like Nir Maman, USAmerican cop and Bernaya Cherlow, who was invited to Congress. They should not know peace.

Giving up hope is not a choice for us to make. For 75 years, Palestine has resisted and it will be free within our lifetimes.

I have said this before and I will say it again, The South African apartheid collapsed due to boycotts. We have to do everything in our power to stop Israel's hegemony. Even talking to a group of friends about Palestine changes the status quo. There's no world where we can live peacefully if Israel accomplishes their goals.

If you have Israeli citizenship and wish to denounce it, a group of Jewish anti zionists have organized a guide on how to.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera, Anadolu Agency, Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing protests and direct action against weapons factories across the US

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Hind Khoudary - reporting directly from Gaza.

You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour, HP, Puma, Sabra, Sodastream, Ahava cosmetics, Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Columbia students are organizing in coalition with Jewish Voices for Peace to divest from Israel. Support them if you are on site.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe. If you still believe in the two states solution, this book by an Israeli professor debunks it).

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament and one specific for almost all countries in Europe, including Germany, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Netherlands, Greece, Norway, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Austria, Belgium Romania and Ukraine

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more.

#palestine #save gaza #free gaza #gaza under attack #free palestine

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obsessedtomone · 4 months

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Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 3 - Avoidance▸Shigaraki x femReader

Summary:

◤Why the fuck do you feel like you did something wrong? You thought you’d buried these useless feelings all the way down, but apparently not.

Which prompts you to do something really stupid.“Hey,” you whisper. Why? “Hey, dude.” You test his patience again, a little louder this time and he turns his head, glaring daggers at you. A look you seem to be getting a lot lately◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four

Chapter 3 - Avoidance

Ding!

The front door to the store opens and a customer walks in, politely getting in line behind the customer you were about to serve.

“Hello, how may I help you today?” you say, with your fakest smile and the most saccharine high-pitched voice that would put discord kittens to shame. It’s Wednesday, and this marks your 3rd shift at Cinnabon. You had to look for a job after buying one too many League skins and your scholarship not being enough to cover your bills.

That’s if you didn’t want to get your ass kicked on the streets mid semester in autumn and make buddies with the bridge hobos. You really couldn’t afford that and unlike most people, you lacked a safety net to fall back on. No family on standby, ready to jump whenever you sink. If you really thought about it, you could probably rely on Taylor, but you’d be too proud to ask them for help. You don’t need anyone to save you.

Not anymore.

Which brings you to the part-time where you work from 5 to 11 pm.

“Anything else, sir?” Gene assists, while bagging the delicious cinnamon buns for the customer to take home. You got sick of the cinnamon smell pretty much by the end of your first shift on the job.

It was currently 10:45 pm and the mall was about to close down. Most of the footsteps are dwindling down and setting pace towards the exit. Gene shoots you and Mary, your teenage(?) coworker, a pointed look.

“You guys can start cleaning up, I’ll do the inventory.”

He’s in his late 50s, with a forehead for days, and he’s the legend who hired an ambitionless brat like you. He said he “Saw potential in you, kid.”, whatever that meant. You didn’t argue, though, took the job and now here you are, trying hard not to beat the living shit out of every second asshole who walks in here and acts like they owned you.

“You girls can leave after you’re done, I’ll close up. Good work today.” he says every time and without fail you also routinely respond with an “I can stay and help.”. Hana had already bounced by now, saying she had to catch a movie with a friend or something similar. You didn’t really listen and you didn’t really care.

“Nah, it’s part of my routine. Go home and sleep, kiddo. You look like you need it.” he dismisses you with a smug smile, and you almost want to tell him that you won't, and you’ll probably sink countless hours in some video game instead like you do every night, but you don’t dare to bite the hand that feeds you.

Instead of arguing, you nod, grab your things and leave dressed in your work uniform. You’re too tired to change your clothes, so you’ll just catch the tram like this, smelling like a cinnamon factory. You couldn’t wait to get home and shower this shit off.

─────────

The cool air of humid rainy weather hits your warm oven-baked cheeks first, as you step outside the mall. It’s already so dark, but this is the posh part of the city you lived in, which meant you were unlikely to run into as many weirdos as you would in your own neighborhood alleyway.

On your way to the tram station, you see a small arcade and wonder if you should go in for a round. Unable to resist temptation, you reach in your pockets to feel for coins, and when you finally find a (very) small fortune of today’s tips, you step inside.

The arcade greets you with a certain muffled old carpet smell, exciting electronic sounds and neon lights from familiar and forgotten games. You could feel your heartbeat pick up for the first time in a while. Immediately you go ahead and rush to find your favorite arcade game, Sunset Riders. That game was like your bread and butter when you were a kid, while your shitty foster parents were too busy knocking each other's teeth out to notice when you slipped outside of the house with some of their cash and ran to the local arcade.

Walking around the few rows of game machines, you almost give up, when you finally see it shining all the way in the back in all its glory. To your dismay, the machine was already occupied by some fucking guy. This place was almost empty, what was the chance the one customer hogged your favorite game? Astronomical, you decided.

He side-eyes you for a second and when you turn on your heel to leave, he speaks up. “Oh, umm. Don’t have to leave.” he scratches the back of his head and mumbles. He had long purple hair and was wearing a black jacket on top of a (probably) white hoodie. Or at least you thought it was, since the many flickering neon lights made it hard to tell.

“I was just about to quit anyway. You can have it.” he finishes his round and turns to you. “Have you, uh— have you played this before?” he asks semi-nervously after having an internal debate. “Ah, fuck. That was a stupid question, wasn’t it? Ha ha…” he says, scratching his head some more. “Sorry for that.” There’s no way you’d walk all the way to the back of the arcade for a game if you didn’t know about it beforehand, he quickly realizes.

For some reason that was his tipping point that pushed him to abruptly take his leave, walking past you. But before he was out of hearing range, your mouth opened to answer his question.

“I used to play this a lot as a kid.” you throw a thumb back towards the machine.

At the sound of your voice, he ceases his movement and turns around once again.

“Y-Yeah?” the man smiles. “Same here. I used to play this shit all the time, actually! It’s my favorite a-arcade game.” he stutters and you wonder if it was because you were intimidating to him, but that wouldn’t be surprising. Many had told you they felt afraid of talking to you, because you came across as a bitch. Most of the time, it served you well.

Other times, not so much.

“Yeah.” you reply with a smile, “It’s my favorite too and honestly, I didn’t expect this tiny random arcade to even have a copy.”

He frowns at you as though you’d insulted his ancestors. “Huh? I-It’s not that small, man! They have plenty of games, I could show you!” arcade guy speaks up, if a little too loudly. “Ah! Fuck—I mean, if.. if you’d like. My name’s Iguchi.” he stumbles on his words, blushing.

“Okay, Iguchi,” you say, letting out a rare giggle. “Lead the way.” you cock a brow and his eyes go wide in shock. You had actually said yes to that word vomit and didn’t up and leave. Something that took you by surprise too, if you were honest with yourself.

But you rarely ever are.

Time passes by, as you guys proceed to spend the next few hours, showing each other ‘epic’ strategies and tricks for different machines, as well as taking mental notes of the games that looked interesting and you thought about trying to play again another time. You haven’t been in an arcade in a really long time, simply because you have a pretty good rig at home—and because you are a social recluse. The world’s biggest hermit as Taylor often refers to yourself.

You were genuinely having fun. Like tons of fun.

However, the clock was hitting two in the dead of night and you did have classes at nine tomorrow morning.

“Hey, dude?” you ask, slightly distracted by the co-op game you guys were playing for the past half hour.

“Yeah?” Iguchi replies, half-listening and struggling to keep up with you. He didn’t expect to be bested at one of his favorite games—or close to all of the games you guys have tried for that matter.

“Gotta bounce after this round.” you squint, trying to catch the last few aliens that were escaping your aim.

“Oh.” he freezes and his character idly walks into a wall, getting swarmed by aliens before it dies. “C-Can I...” he mumbles something.

“Hm?” you ask with an encouraging nod in his direction.

“Can I have your number? Or discord tag? Or e-mail or…or anything?” the purple haired boy asks using way too many words, but you didn’t mind.

“Sure, here,” you throw him your ancient phone for him to write his number. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

It takes him a second to process it, glancing at your device after which he bursts out laughing, if a little too loudly. You cock a brow in response.

“Do they even manufacture these anymore?” he asks between his fits of odd giggles.

Your brows go down in a frown. “Hey, it can call, text and it plays music” you say, knowing Spotify did freeze half the fucking time. “It’s not that bad.” you roll your eyes, his contagious laughter infecting you and making you giggle as well.

“Sure, sure. Here, take it back before it falls apart in my hands and you ask me to buy you a new one. Pretty sure it’d cost me a fortune, since you own the last of its kind.” he says, his remark making you snort and you snatch your artifact from him, putting it back in your pocket.

“Whatever dude, catch you later.” you smile fondly, turning to leave.

“W-Will you text me back? I—uh…it’s gonna sound super lame, but I don’t often make friends and you were so much fun to play with.” he admits shyly. You found it slightly amusing that his appearance looked nothing like his shy personality was.

“Sure,” you lie. “I had hella fun too, man. See ya.” you wave at him, finally make your way home, a tinge of sadness oddly lingering in your heart.

This shit again.

─────────

Class was almost full as usual and you took your seat in the back as usual. It’s Comp-Sci again and you half-wonder if that weird guy’s gonna show up today or if he was going to skip.

The two of you shared CS classes about twice a week, with you last seeing him on Monday, where you left him hanging. In your (totally unbiased) opinion the jerk deserved it, but if you thought about it really hard, you would admit that your antagonistic nature didn’t quite help the only few encounters you two had. Too bad that you didn’t generally think too hard.

Unless it was about video games—or money.

The bell rings, the professor enters the classroom and you realize you might not be seeing your creepy acquaintance today. A relief, honestly. You didn’t know how to deal with his weird mood-swings last time and you didn’t know if you wanted to deal with them this time.

But you’re never lucky as you see a pale, tall, lanky figure slouching amongst other students. You observed carefully and fortunately for you, he seemed to aim for an open front row seat—as far as possible from you. Your best guess was that he couldn’t stand sitting next to you again after the last interaction.

Good riddance, you think.

But you didn’t mean it.

And yet again, you’re never that fucking lucky, so after one of the students first gets startled by his mere presence and then denies him the seat (maybe in favor of their own friend coming in late), he begrudgingly makes his way to the last row. The asshole wouldn’t sit anywhere next to you this time, though, leaving a considerable gap of three whole open seats between the two of you, god forbid you infect him with something. You feel an indescribable feeling twisting in your gut and you roll your eyes.

Why the fuck do you feel like you did something wrong? You thought you’d buried these useless feelings all the way down, but apparently not.

Which prompts you to do something really stupid.

“Hey.” you whisper. Why? “Hey, dude.” you test his patience again, a little louder this time and he turns his head, glaring daggers at you. A look you seem to be getting a lot lately.

“The fuck you want, tramp? Buzz off before I break that stupid little face of yours.” he spits at you in a low, cold voice while tapping away at his phone. Alright, he definitely closed himself off after last time, lock and fucking key.

Scoffing, you reply with a “Whatever.”, and turn back to your seat with a scowl.

It makes him raise a brow that you don’t notice.

No witty come-back? No bite? No dumb threats?

His carmine eyes observe you carefully for just a second longer, like you were some anomaly—a glitch in the game, after which he ignores you completely for the rest of the class, the blatant gesture aggravating your already bad mood.

“For the next project, you’ll work in groups of four. I’ve uploaded the name lists and your project themes. Make sure to reach out and cooperate, team effort will be key here.” your professor spoke, gesturing at the class. “Deadline is in two weeks from now and tardiness will not be tolerated. All groups will get enough time to present in front of the class.” he clarifies, and then your class ends.

You don’t even bother to check the teacher’s briefing as you beeline for the exit.

For some reason, you feel kind of upset—no, really fucking upset at the earlier interaction, and you don’t understand why.

The universe, however, wouldn’t allow you to dwell on this feeling for much longer.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #emotional hurt/comfort #shigaraki tomura #unhealthy relationships #dead dove do not eat #trigger warnings #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #college au #reader is female

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factorialsotherfandoms · 2 months

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QSMP x XCOM AU, finally some plot! (Though you'll have to wait for the plot in this one to get explained...) (Kinda suprised I got this done. Entirely uneditted as I'm leaving in 10 minutes)

This is still pretty early. Post Pac&Mike, pre-Cellbit. Infact, you may see Cellbit referenced a little... Jaiden, Bad, Foolish, Fit, and Philza explore a Federation Facility they were lead to by mysterious coordinates found tucked into a hidden supply cache...

TW: major character injury, background character death, corpses, violence

(Chapter 1/2, idk when 2 will be done but all the mission is contained here)

Following coordinates left by a spy of unknown origin is a fool’s errand, but then Foolish /has/ been assigned to the mission. Said sniper has taken it upon himself to distract Bad at every opportunity possible, and so Jaiden has stolen his command.

She presses on ahead, scouting the paths and signalling for people to follow. The low hills they arrived on give way to a road, and that is where she pauses.

3 fingers - an order to wait.

Fit crouches behind a fence, careful to make sure his grenade launcher is hidden, and squints for what she saw.

“Two guards and a sectoid,” she murmurs, Foolish hops down and into earshot. “Chances are as soon as we hit them, there will be alarms.”

“Can we sneak around?” Fit asks.

He is not against triggering the alarms and making some horrific noise, but they are here to investigate primarily. Tripping the security immediately… It’s a good way for any clues to get blown up.

Fit would know.

Blowing shit up is usually his job.

“We could try?” Jaiden chews on her lip. “But they seem to be going up and down the train tracks. Can’t see the building yet, if there even is one.”

“We should be fine,” Bad shakes his arms down a little, adjusting his grip. “Take them out fast, don’t let them call for help? A little surprise for them?”

“Up I go, then! Later!” Foolish is already crossing the road to a nearby petrol station, scrambling up to the roof.

They give him a moment to get into place, all analysing the terrain. Standard practice would be to have most of the group line up their shots, then Jaiden to distract the enemies by running straight in. As soon as they duck out of cover to deal with her…

Well Fit’s weapons are /messy/, but the others are all damned good shots.

Jaiden waits for everyone to confirm they are ready, then leaps out of her hiding spot. The Feds and their pet all turn their attention to her, stepping out of their cover to greet her.

It is their mistake.

One guard is down before it hears the gunfire, the other just as it turns to look. The sectoid tries to bolt, causing Philza’s bullet to only graze its shoulder, only for Jaiden to slice through its throat as it does.

A shot from Foolish’s rifle puts an end to the other.

Fit checks for more danger, and sees none. Beyond the trees he can see what looks like factory smoke - likely their target. To the left, right, and behind is clear, leaving only onwards.

“All clear,” he tells them, and starts moving on.

Only to turn and realise everyone has frozen.

“Guys?” he asks.

Bad breaks out of it first, shaking his head, “ah, muffins.”

Fit tilts his head in a question.

“The Assassin,” Bad taps at his head. “Didn’t you hear her?”

Fit shakes his head, “not a thing.”

The others shake off the effect too, frowning at one another.

“Well,” it’s Jaiden who tilts her head. “If she doesn’t want us here specifically, that means we’re on track, right?”

“Right,” Philza nods. “And she’s still a bit off, yet; Niki mentioned good scrubland for landing around the back, just too close to be subtle, so it’s probably where she arrived too.”

“Did you train in the Wastelands to not get this bullshit or something?” Foolish asks. “Because, damn, not hearing her would be good.”

Fit looks at Philza.

Philza looks back.

“Something like that,” Fit says. “Takes too long to teach anyone, though.””

“Guys, let’s just get on with this,” Jaiden stretches. “She’s here now; we deal with her if she gets close. Just like always, right?”

“Yup!” Bad has Ghostie shift modes, his robot now joining Philza’s crow in keeping watch. “Let’s not give them time to sort their muffins into line.”

The rest agree, falling into formation, and Fit still is not entirely sure what they heard, but…

Well, if it was important, Philza would have said.

---

Beyond the treeline is a railway track, and beyond the track is a building made of concrete and steel. The emblem of the Federation sits proudly on the front, clearly marking out their target. Unlike city facilities it has no main front door, only two small side ones.

And outside of it are crates upon crates, scattered and stacked up. Every crate has a metal frame, but some sort of clear plastic reveals the green glow inside. On the sidings of the railway tracks is a flatbed cargo carriage, also stacked up with them, but those ones have a tarp pulled over to hide the worst of the glow.

And inside each and every crate, there is a perfectly intact human form.

“The fudge,” Fit breathes out.

He is not the only one, the group quiet and faces grim.

Hesitantly, Philza approaches the closest of the exposed crates. He kneels besides them, his Crow sat atop and looking down. He frowns as he looks first at his bird, and then at the screen giving him readouts from it.

And then he is still, very still, just quietly breathing and eyes skimming text as his Crow hops between the stacks of crates, taking readings both for records and Philza’s consumption.

Breathe in, breathe out; Philza is rarely so quiet.

It is… concerning.

Fit kneels beside him, listening to the others shuffle and looking at his old friend.

“Phil?” he asks.

“Dead,” Philza doesn’t even look up from the screen on his glove. “All of them are dead.”

Fit stands again, looking over the crates. If this many are stacked outside…

“And the goo?” Jaiden asks.

Philza shakes his head, and Foolish shrugs. Now he looks properly, Fit can see that they both also look a little shaken.

“We’re too late,” Jaiden replies. “All these people…”

“We’d need to run samples, but I think… I think we found the missing civilians.”

“Fudge, Max!” Bad turns sharply to Foolish.

“Max…?” Foolish replies. “Oh, fuuuuuck. Fuck, okay, we’ll just… You break it gently to him, alright?”

“Do you think we could…?” Jaiden starts, before shaking her head. “There’s too many of them.. I…”

“Take a moment,” Fit advises, knowing that, of the five of them, only he and Philza have much experience with the sort of tortures that the Federation call ‘science’. “We can’t help these people, but we can stop the fuckers taking anyone else. Breathe through it, and get fucking angry.”

Jaiden curls in on herself, while what little of Bad’s face can be seen is grim. Foolish is the one who takes the advice to heart, kicking at one of the low walls. Fit and Philza keep watch; everyone has known civilians dying before, hell the sanctuaries have been attacked often enough. But that is in fire and blood and anger, while these…

These crates, the putting of every corpse into it’s own storage container of goo, nearly piled outside a facility presumably for some sort of processing…

Well, it takes a few minutes, the first time. Emotions should be processed later, but you gotta get them into the boxes somehow.

But they do not have minutes, only seconds, because more trouble will arrive soon enough

Philza is the one to break the quiet, taking a deep breath and looking inwards to the group once again. “We need to-”

Whatever he was about to say, he cuts himself off as he drops to his knees. Above him, right where his neck had been, a long sword swipes through the air. As it does, an arm - a torso, a head - flicker into vision.

Purple skinned, hair pulled back, armour in red and black, two swords - Assassin.

“Good reflexes,” she twitches her head as she speaks, lips pulled in a mockery of - or maybe attempt at - a smile. "I had hoped your kind would never stumble across this facility, you know? Some things are best left unknown. But, now you have seen it… I cannot permit you to leave. Prepare yourselves."

As if.

Philza glances over, and Fit catches his eye. It’s a little dark but, while the Assassin talks about how wonderful it will be to kill them all, he nods.

Fit adjusts his gun.

Philza pulls a knife from his toolbelt.

It isn’t a combat knife, not really, but it still cuts flesh well as Philza sinks it into the Assassin’s ankle. He darts back, and Fit knows how this goes.

He opens fire.

The Assassin cuts off her words at the storm of bullets, a nasty hit to the shoulder as she jumps over the fence and into cover. Jaiden follows, cursing out her opponent with knife in hand.

Mud is kicked up and into Jaiden’s eyes, blinding her - and the following Foolish - just long enough for the Assassin to pull out her cloaking device.

Fit cannot fire, not with his allies so close, but Bad can. A shot from the rifle lands squarely in the Assassin’s back right as she fades from view.

“FUCK!” Jaiden yells. “Shit! Where is she?!”

The answering laughter echoes around.

“Is she gone?” Foolish asks. “Wait, no, she’s not gone. Stay close.”

Even though he knows that he will never see her coming, Fit still keeps glancing from side to side. His skin crawls with eyes on his back, the very familiar sensation of being hunted down his spine. Philza looks just as edgy, eyes a little wild as he presses against Fit’s good side.

The five form a circle, all looking out, guns ready for trouble when it comes.

And they wait.

And they wait, until Bad sighs and shifts his gun a little.

“She isn’t coming,” he says. “She’s waiting for us to be distracted.”

“Do we wait for her to get bored? Or press on?” Jaiden is equally as shifty, eyes narrowed as she looks arond.

“She doesn’t get bored,” Philza’s voice is a little distant. “If we wait, they’ll just bring more of the fuckers in.”

And that’s damned the problem, isn’t it?

All five pairs of eyes turn to the door, and then at everybody else. They need to enter, they know they need to, but with the Assassin in play… It’s a fucking death trap.

Fit looks at his companions again.

He is about to offer, when Jaiden nods, and pushes back her shoulders.

“I’ll go,” she says, already pulling out her sword. “Foolish?”

Foolish cocks a pistol, “always.”

The two of them enter, side by side. Fit positions himself behind them, ready for them to slip to either side of the door and allow him to fire on whatever is within. Foolish does, firing a few rounds from his pistol. Jaiden… sort of does, jumping over some scattered technology and charging an enemy out of sight.

Fit, however, cannot see whatever problem they have seen; he makes sure that Philza is keeping an eye out for threats from the outside, and also presses on in.

First assessment - threats. Three MECs, standing in some sort of algae-coloured water. Four Federation Guards to the right, one senior two with stun batons. Two sectoids and another guard to the left, Jaiden already there with sword in one hand, rifle in the other, and sparring all three at once.

Second assessment - location. Copper and brass looking technology, glowing in sickly green. There are walkways around the edge of a pool of tainted water, and the back wall consists of hundreds upon hundreds of giant tubes. Each is filled with glowing green.

Each contains a human corpse.

Third assessment - next action. Even if Jaiden somehow cannot manage two sectoids and a guard, an automatic fire submachine gun is not going to help her there. The other guards are A Problem, but MECs? MECs are his specialty.

The best cover he is getting is the sheet metal serving as a bannister for the walkway - MECs don’t care, not with small-scale rocket launchers, and those Guards are busy coming closer anyway. He hefts the gun onto the railing - he can support it himself, especially with the prosthetic, but he likes having knees - and lets loose.

Somewhere behind him, the door closes. Bad’s Ghostie drifts over, stunning the MEC not caught in the hail of bullets, while Fit hears the very familiar sound of a grenade exploding somewhere near the group of four guards. He does not have the luxury of protecting his own back, but they will all have to do.

“Do not touch the liquid!” Bad calls the group as Ghostie swoops back to him. “It eats flesh!”

Jaiden seems to take that warning as inspiration, because right after she yells “got it!”, one of the sectoids is flipped over the railing, and sent screaming into it.

It’s not an acid, any acid working that fast would surely damage at least the paintwork on the MECs, but it’s fucking grim. Something enzyme based? Fit’s seen some people try that sort of shit in the Wasteland, but never get it to work.

Might be, might not be; that’s not really Fit’s job.

He knows that some of the Order - Maxo, mostly, though Missa has been convinced to carry them too - do fancy shit with bluescreen bullets and EMP grenades. Fit, though? Fit likes to do this the old fashioned way. Just filling the fuckers full of lead.

Highly specialised, sharpened lead, designed to tear through metal with even more ease than flesh, but lead nonetheless.

He takes one down, dives under cover to avoid the small rockets another fires at him, and takes a smattering of shrapnel to the arm. He wears proper armour unlike some people he could mention, and it’s far enough away that it does not cut all the way through, but it certainly leaves scorch marks across the fabric.

It is nothing that accounts for how, as he stands, Philza screams, “Fit! Look out!”

Fit turns, and sees nothing; both MECs are reloading, the sectoids are dead and the guards are engaged. Maybe a late call about the rockets, but-

A cold chill runs down his spine.

“Your training fails you,” a voice whispers in his ear. He turns, catching the eyes of the Assassin as her cloaking device flickers off. He grabs at her, twisting himself away.

Cold, hard steel punctures through his armour.

He does not look. Fit does not look, but he can feel how her sword enters his back just below his ribs, curving up and escaping just after the next one.

One, two, three.

Waiting for the pain to kick in, Fit takes careful breaths around the blade. He’s survived worse. He’s survived worse. They’ve fought her off before. There are potions and medics right there. Don’t panic, do not panic, panic and you die.

And then the rips out the blade.

The agony hits, and Fit drops to his knees, pressing his hands to the wounds and gasping for air.

It hurts, it hurts, it /hurts!

“Take comfort,” she whispers to him, wiping his blood from her blade, “for there is dignity in death to a superior opponent.”

Fit closes his eyes.

A clash of steel.

From the floor he struggles them open again.

Foolish is between him and the Assassin, her blades caught on his pistols. Jaiden, sprinting over, slashes down her back and the fight moves away.

“Phil!” Foolish yells. “And you, bitch, get away from him!”

With his assailant distracted and a bleeding tear through his chest, Fit pushes himself backwards, behind a counter. Worse place to fire from, but better cover. He runs on instinct, blood pooling inside him and leaving a trail across the floor. Hide, heal, get safe - he’s had worse, he’s had fucking worse, just fucking breathe.

(Or don’t because, shit, he has no idea how to tell if she caught his lung).

Moments later, Philza’s Crow stumbles a landing beside him. He can see the splash potion already prepared, the pink liquid in the throat of the robotic bird.

He lifts a hand, letting it apply it to the front, before shifting just enough to apply it to the back. Almost immediately the numbing component takes effect; now the burning is gone, he collapses once again. He can hear Foolish swearing as he fights, Bad answering just as instinctively, the clang of sword-on-sword, and the steady fire of either Bad or Philza’s rifle as the other enemies are kept at bay.

It’s Bad’s; as the weapon is still firing, Philza slides around the counter, medical bag already open and hanging off his shoulder.

“Fit?” he asks.

Fit gives him a somewhat listless thumbs up, “right here, Phil. Potion got the bleeding, just waiting for the painkillers, you know?”

“Right,” some of the tension in Philza’s shoulders drops as he examines the wound. He grimaces, but grabs some dressings and starts peeling off the backs. “Don’t have time to stitch this, with all this crap going on. Think you can manage until we get the fuck out of here?”

“You know me, Phil,” Fit hears the sounds of the fighting slowing down, the MECs no longer firing. “I’ve survived worse with less.”

He probably deserves the way Philza jabs his thumbs into old, tender scars as he tugs the skin together, and applies the dressings. The potion will deal with the blood, at least until the nanites run out of power. Then it’s just… Just keeping the wound sealed enough to breathe.

“Keep weight off it when you can,” Philza tells him, adding tape despite the dressings having adhesive. “As soon as we get to evac, you’re lying down and letting me look at this shit.”

There isn’t really time to agree. Fit is certain Philza was about to tell him to let someone else carry his heavier kit, only to be interrupted by Bad screeching in pain.

Philza is cursing and running before Fit has a chance to process the ungodly sound.

Still, needs must. Despite his wound, despite the painkillers not yet quite being fully working, despite the nanites still spreading into the bloodstream and stabalising the wound, allowing him to breathe, Fit pulls himself to his feet. Feeling a little weak he hoists his gun onto the counter.

It’s awkward to work like this, but he can; he directs his attention to the last of the Sectoids, and lets loose a hail of bullets.

It falls, and Fit looks around.

Jaiden is adjusting one of her vambraces, while Foolish reloads his pistols. Bad looks a little dizzy, but waves off Philza’s hands and drinks one of his own potions rather than apply it to whatever wound he has. Crow rests on some of the rails separating the walkways from the liquid, and Ghostie floats in its place.

The MEC wrecks in the liquid stand untouched, but the Fed whose corpse fell into it is slowly dissolving away.

“We good?” Foolish asks the group. “We forced a respawn, so she shouldn’t be back anytime soon.”

“I’m good to go on,” Fit replies, even as the others somewhat hesitantly confirm.

Whatever they are looking for, well… The missing civilians were some of it, and fuck this - fuck all of this - but the rest… Whatever their contact sent them to get? It’s in the back, isn’t it?

“Fit, you got explosives?” Bad asks.

“Do I have explosives,” Fit deadpans back. “What do you take me for, Bad, a reasonably human being? Of course I have fucging explosives.”

The slip gets him a look, but Bad must be feeling shitty as he allows it to pass, “we wanna meet up with Niki, right? Can you make a door in the back wall while we check that room out?”

A door?

“You won’t be able to close it,” he warns.

“Oh that’s fine,” Bad smiles a bit. “We don’t need to leave this place intact.”

“Just tell me where you want it, then.”

“Hm… Back wall, to the right? I saw an internal door there you can duck around once it’s set!”

“Perfect,” Fit ignores Philza’s glare, and hoists his gun back over his shoulder. “You four headed to that lab looking room?”

“Yup,” Foolish pops the p as he speaks. “See you in five!”

Fit waves his acknowledgement, waiting for the four of them to start heading over. Once they’re close enough to the back for any aliens in the last room to jump them and not him, Fit starts the other way around the walkway.

Alone, now, he can see how the liquid is not just dissolving the corpse, but is glowing as it does so. Bubbles he sort of expected, but glowing is fucking weird; even if they have to take samples of this shit, he isn’t touching it. Tubbo with glowing flesh dissolvant? Could probably make it work, but half of the field agents can’t be trusted to handle grenades, let alone that stuff.

Examining the wall Bad asked for a hole making in, Fit finds a couple of weak points. The area around the window is surprisingly well reinforced, especially given that the section next to it is cracked. Outside, a short, muddy cliff where the facility was cut into a slope, leading up to some shrubland beyond.

The facility is not exactly hidden, but why do the Feds need to hide the damn thing, when they already rule the world?

Despite the cracked section and the reinforcement, Fit still elects to lay the explosives around the window; upon examining the cracks, damaging that bit of wall further would just bring the roof down on them. If his maths is right - and Fit’s explosives maths is always right - he should be able to blow out the window and the section of wall below it, while keeping the top of the frame in place. It would be easier to just blow it out from the window but, again, the structural integrity of a shitty concrete job.

Given everything going on in this facility he’s a bit surprised the walls are /this/ bad, but perhaps the Federation enjoys cutting corners more than they enjoy their horrific science experiments going to plan.

Just through the wall beside him, Fit can hear the intense debate of the others. The wall muffles it a little too much to hear specifics, but it means they’ll be done soon.

It’s for the best; Fit really, really does not want to be stuck on the helicopter still when the painkillers wear out.

Careful of his wound, he sets the charges. He checks and double checks, before heading over to the room with the others. Enters, latches the door behind him, and moves away from it.

“Charges set,” he informs the group, already taking in the room.

It is a lab, yes, though of copper and brass looking faintly sickly in the glowing green light. Large vials of softly glowing liquid line the walls, feeding into some sort of device. The device runs through the walls and the floor, and up into a plinth in the centre.

On that plinth, being fed into by the processor, is a glass cylinder, barely larger than a syringe, filled with something viscous.

“Just a minute,” Foolish replies to Fit. “They’re arguing about if we grab whatever they’re extracting from the stuff outside or not.”

“The people,” Jaiden elaborates. “What they’re taking from the people.”

“We have to,” Bad is the one looking closest at it. “I don’t have anything to analyse it here, and it has to be important, right?“

“It looks like nitroglycerine,” Philza is frowning. “I’m not sure it’s /safe/ to touch that.”

Safety’s a bit laughable with the amount of blood covering everyone, but Fit understands the point.

Still, they gotta do what they gotta do.

Foolish seems in agreement with that sentiment; he ignores the continuing debate to simply walk over and grab the vial.

An entirely new set of alarms goes off, causing mildly irritated groans to pass around the group; it’s just loud.

Anything the others say with it going on, Fit doesn’t hear; years of working with explosives will do that, even if you have the sort of protection Fit has only recently learnt exists.

“Alright,” Fit waves for attention from the din. “Away from the door. I don’t think it’ll blow through, but this place is crap. I’ve seen lean tos more stable than this.”

In the Wasteland, sure, but that still means they were put up in ten minutes and not meant to last longer than a night.

There is not a lot of cover in this room, but they make do; Foolish and Philza, the least injured of the five, tuck themselves into the corners, using the wall itself as a shield. Fit, Jaiden, and Bad? They just about manage to be entirely covered by the machinery feeding into the glass. It’s not much better than the wall, but it’s made of metal and not shit concrete.

Fit gives a count of three for them to cover their ears, and hits the detonator.

The door does not blow in, and the walls do hold, but even with all his calculations the ceiling does crack. It doesn’t fall, though, so he considers it a win. They let the dust settle, then scramble back up.

“You three get out first, we’ll cover you,” comes Philza’s order.

With even more alarms and reinforcements surely on the way, there is no point in arguing or quibbling over who is incharge; Foolish passes Bad the vial, and the trio run.

Well, no, Fit cannot run - while the painkillers are working, the numbing effect has worn off. It hurts again, now, and he can feel where movement tugs at the dressings. Bad sees him stumble and offers an arm, helping him on while Jaiden runs ahead to lay the flares and call Niki back down.

They do not talk, busy with the necessity of movement. Behind them, Fit hears Philza swearing. Bad calls back a ‘language’, and Fit only hopes that Philza has the time to flip him off in return.

It takes forever and no time at all for Niki to appear and drop the ladder. Jaiden does not immediately scramble up, instead waiting for the two of them, picking off any aliens which escape Philza and Foolish’s aims.

Fit lets go of Bad, letting him climb up first. It takes a minute and some deep breathing to prepare himself, but Fit can find it in himself to follow.

He can almost feel the wound tear as he does.

At the top, Bad grabs his arm, hoisting him into the helicopter proper. Fit does not even bother getting to a chair, merely rolling out of the way of the hatch and cussing up a storm.

Bad does not scold him, and that’s a grim thought.

“Sorry,” he still says, when the man approaches. “Stings like a, um, muffin.”

“We’ll handle that later,” Bad sounds chipper, but he frowns as he checks on the dressings and sees blood. Two black hands, nails too long for gloves, press down on it.

Fit grunts, and leans back, watching as Jaiden swings herself in. She strips off her armour, grabbing one of the helicopter’s medical kits to bandage herself up. She looks exhausted; Fit feels it too.

It’s not long after that that Philza and Foolish appear. Fit offers them a wave, as Foolish pulls up the ladder and Philza comes over.

“How is it?” Philza asks.

“The dressings are bloody,” Fit replies. “Still had worse.”

“Well, fuck,” Philza takes over from Bad, who excuses himself to go sit with Foolish. “Pain levels?”

“I’ll live.”

“Fit.”

“What do you want me to day?” Fit asks. “It’s better than the last time I got stabbed through the gut?”

It is not exactly reassuring words for either of them.

“Alright, fuck, I think we have soluble stitches in one of these. Should hold until we get back and someone can fix you up proper,” Philza roots around in his bag, pulling out a couple of packets. “Wouldn’t recommend being conscious, though.”

Being unconscious while injured and on the transport? No fucking way.

“Phil,” Fit just says.

“I know, I know, I just have to fucking say it,” he opens one of the packets, rips off the top layer of dressing, and presses something gooey into the wound. “Try not to bleed out.”

“Trying my fucking best.”

Phil gives him a thin smile. That’s the last of the helicopter ride that Fit actually remembers, except for the fact he did make it back to the Avenger conscious, if delirious.

#qsmp x xcom #qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #qsmp philza #qsmp bbh #qsmp foolish #qsmp jaiden #i'll ao3 it after deadlands either tonight or in the morning #enjoy my poor attempts at writing combat #the next scene is pac and mike debriefing fit because pac's also hurt and mike was helping with the analysis of the vial #maybe with some of the others #but yeah enjoy this!#this is genuine actual bonafida xcom plot #... i might someday try draw for this oen too but aaa #drawing is hard and i want to get it up #and don't have time #so maybe another day #much like the epilogue

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