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clickerflight · 9 months

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Joseph: Part 4 - Officer Muir

Masterlist

Part 3

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I'm so excited about this. This story has really grown in my mind and I have PLANS! You'll have to bear with me, though. Since it's been so long since I wrote the last piece there are a lot of differences. There are not goblins or werewolves in this world. Anyways! I hope you enjoy!

Content: Vampire whumpee, human caretaker, body horror, temporary blindness, grief, hospital whump (specifically the noise and isolation), overstimulation, panic attacks

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist

..................................

Officer Muir sat in his car, watching the cars pass by and checking their speeds as they went. It was always amusing to watch people slow down drastically when they spotted him, but he let them go by. He was quite content to sit and think.

He heard his radio crackle to life and a voice came over the radio.

"Distressed vampire on highway 60 between exit 820 and 821. A human male is keeping the vampire company currently. Ambulance dispatched. Are there any officers in the area that can evaluate the situation?"

Officer Muir picked up the radio and said, "Officer Muir here. I'm two exits down. I'll be there in a moment."

He put the radio down and turned on the lights and sirens. Vampire in distress really wasn't much to go off of. If there was a human there, it could be trouble. Vampires were usually very hostile when stressed out and could turn on the man easily.

Officer Muir sped past the cars that pulled aside for him and soon spotted a large mower and a man crouching in the grass over something. Officer Muir pulled up and got out of his car, looking over the situation. The grass hid what the man was looking at, but he got up, phone pressed to his ear as he talked with the emergency operator on the other side.

"Oh, an officer is here," the older man said. He was obviously human as his wrinkles and dull graying hair proved, which meant the vampire was laying under the coat that Officer Muir could now see through the grass.

"I almost ran 'im over with my mower," the man said. "I spotted ‘im just in time. I let ‘im drink from me. He's in bad shape."

"Gotcha. What's your name?"

"Lloyd Montgomary," he said as Officer approached the coat, noting the twitching movement underneath.

"Alright, Mr. Montgomary. Thank you," Officer Muir said. He crouched by the vampire and could hear the man's whimpers and whines over the sound of traffic.

"Yeah. He's a Moderna vampire. Wasn’t burning in the sun."

Officer Muir nodded and lifted the coat to get a better look.

The vampire was curled in on himself, but Officer Muir could tell he was missing limbs. Not in a torn off way, but in a growing them back sort of way.

"Hey, man, can you hear me?" Officer Muir asked, and the vampire turned his face to him.

Officer Muir recoiled from what he saw. The vampire was growing back much messier than most vampires he'd met. His sightless eye sockets stared out emptily and he still needed to regrow the skin on half of his face.

Office Muir collected himself quickly enough, putting a hand on the vampire’s back through the coat.

“Hey, man. I’m Officer Muir. There’s an ambulance on the way for you, okay?”

“Okay,” the vampire said breathlessly. He flinched and whined, long and drawn out. “It hurts,” he whimpered.

“I know, man. Hang in there. He’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll give you painkillers while you grow out the rest of the way, okay?”

The vampire nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Montgomery said anxiously as the sound of sirens became audible in the distance. “Was I not supposed to feed ‘im, I-”

“It’s fine.” Officer Muir soothed. “He’s going to be okay and what you did was very kind.”

Officer Muir turned back to the vampire and asked, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“J-Joseph.” The vampire looked faintly like he was going to be sick for a moment before he asked, “What year is it?”

Warning bells went off in Officer Muir’s head. “Were you held captive?”

“They, they put me in a box,” Joseph managed. A dry sob wracked through his body, making him spasm in pain.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay,” Officer Muir said. “I’m here. They can’t do anything to you. They’ll have to go through me.”

Joseph nodded, his not-quite-formed hand reaching out blindly and Officer Muir held it. “What year is it?”

“2019.”

Joseph sucked in a shuddering breath.

“How long did they have you?” Officer Muir asked, leaning closer as the sirens got louder.

Joseph just wailed, gripping Officer Muir’s hand tighter, struggling to get closer. Officer Muir gently pulled him closed, settling on the ground so the vampire could hide his face in Officer Muir’s pant leg.

The paramedics were there soon enough, and they coaxed Joseph onto a stretcher. Other officers came and started taking Mr. Montgomery’s statement. Officer Muir was grateful for that because, despite the vampire only having about three and a half fingers in total, he had a deathgrip on the Officer’s hand.

“Sweetheart,” one of the paramedics said gently. “How about you let his hand go?”

“Please,” he whispered, sightless eyes turned to Officer Muir. “Please. Don’t leave.”

Officer Muir sighed. He turned his head and spotted Officer Granger, a vampire woman who often acted as his partner when he wasn’t on duty at the roads.

“Oi! Granger?”

She turned and he tossed her his keys. “Can you get someone to take my car to the hospital? I’m going in the ambulance. And could you let the chief know?”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s gonna tear you a new one when you get back.”

“No she won’t. She loves me!”

Granger sighed and shrugged. With that, he turned back to the vampire and climbed into the ambulance.

Joseph was breathing heavily, rolling his head around nervously as the paramedics got things ready for him.

“Alright, this should help a little with the pain,” the gentle paramedic said, gently poking a needle into Joseph’s half formed arm and plugging a drip to it that would feed in pain killers.

Over the course of the ride, Joseph started to relax, though he never let go of Officer Muir’s hand. After a long silence where the paramedics conferred and joked together, Joseph turned his head to Officer Muir.

“Three years.”

“What?”

“I was in a silver box for three years.”

The paramedic’s fell silent and Officer Muir found himself running his thumb back and forth across Joseph’s knuckles. “Want to tell it… from the beginning?”

Joseph took a steadying breath and nodded.

“David and I… er, David’s my sire, we were going to the store? Or maybe going out to get drinks? I don’t remember,” Joseph said sorrowfully. “A weird van pulled up and, and…. some guys grabbed us. Dressed in robes and stuff. They had silver weapons and there were a lot of them. I never was good at fighting.”

Joseph swallowed nervously. “They took us somewhere remote. They…. I think they were cultists. They tied us up and they poured silver on David’s face. Why would they do that? We weren’t even-” his voice broke off as he heaved another dry sob. He took a moment, the skin growing across his face as he fought for control. “They killed him.”

Officer Muir squeezed his hand, and Joseph squeezed back.

After a long moment of silence, Officer Muir asked, “Do you want to talk about what they did to you?”

Joseph’s breath quickened. “They cut my heart out.”

Officer Muir winced.

“Put me in a silver box and buried me, I think. Someone found the box. And someone put blood in me and cut a part of my heart off. Then I…… I don’t know how I got on the side of the road.”

Officer Muir frowned. “It sounds like they were testing for your age. There’s been a rise of crime rings selling the hearts of ancient vampires around for their knowledge. How old are you?”

“I was born 1984.”

“Kay. So they saw you were a modern vampire and probably tossed you out. You got lucky.”

Joseph shuddered. “Doesn’t feel like I did.”

“I know, man. But you did. You survived. You’re going to get healed up and get some help and you’ll be on your way. Did you have a coven?”

Joseph shook his head. “I’m Hemijeoa Moderna.”

Officer muir tightened his grip on Joseph’s hand. “David was your… bondmate then?”

Joseph was silent for a long time. Officer Muir could see him working his jaw, trying to say something, but all he could do was nod, skin creeping closed over his eye sockets.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.

“Okay. Okay, I won’t,” Officer Muir replied. “I’m Officer Muir… but you can call me Joshua.”

“Joshua,” Joseph whispered. “Joshua.”

Officer Muir hummed softly and Joseph relaxed a bit more.

“Where are you from, Joseph?”

“Mmm? Oh, It’s a small place. Forreston. Where are we going?”

“We’re going to Keaton. Have you been there?”

Joseph frowned. “No. I lived in Forreston my whole life.”

“It’s nice. It’s a small city, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“And you’ll be here?”

Officer Muir ran his thumb over Joseph’s knuckles again. “I will probably have to leave at some point. I am technically on duty, but-” he said quickly as Joseph went pale and his breathing picked up again- “but, I’ll give you my number and I’ll come visit you when I get off, okay?”

Joseph took slow breaths again, calming himself down. Officer Muir couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Losing your pairbond like that and then being trapped in a burning box for three years? Officer Muir couldn’t begrudge the fact that the vampire was being clingy. It was actually kind of nice. He still didn’t have many friends in the city, after all.

It was too early to be thinking along those lines, though. Soon enough, the ambulance pulled up at the hospital and Joseph was taken to a room where he could grow out the rest of the way, another drip of blood being hung up alongside the pain killers.

After making sure Joseph was settled and comfortable, Officer Muir said, “I have to go, okay. I’ll be back this evening.”

He slid his hand from the vampire’s and pulled out his notepad, writing down his phone number and pressing it into Joseph’s hand. “You can call me if you need to, but I should be back soon,” he said.

Joseph nodded as he clung to the note, eyelids fluttering, though his eye sockets were still empty as the ocular muscles were only just beginning to develop. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

“Course,” and with that, Officer Muir left.

………………………………

Joseph sat and regenerated. Without the pain, there was just a tingling where his limbs were growing. The only thing he really didn’t appreciate was the noise. It was so loud here. The machines never stopped beeping, voices passed down the hall constantly, he could smell blood and fear and could hear screams on the other side of the hospital. Every so often a code would be called and he would jump out of his skin, his ears and heart throbbing with fear.

He pressed the blanket to his face, trying to distract himself with the feeling while avoiding the small bumps that were starting to form under his eyelids, biting his lip as his hair grew in and just kept growing until it reached the length it was when he was turned, ticking his ears and cheeks. He pressed his face into the blanket harder, shoulders up around his ears as someone laughed loudly down the hall and the beeping just kept going.

There was something crawling under his skin, something constricting around his chest making it harder to breathe and he still didn’t have feet to escape with.

Desperately, he dropped the blanket and put his hands over his eyes, muffling the sound, but they wouldn’t go away and now he could also hear the rush of blood in his palms.

He was crying, and now he could actually form tears, the droplets hot on his face as he tried desperately to breathe. He tried to keep the sounds down in his throat, his breathing almost unbearable to him, nevermind the stupid whimpers he couldn’t keep himself from making.

A warm hand touched his and he flinched back, opening his eyes. He could faintly see lights and blurs of darkness.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” a male voice asked. It wasn’t Muir. Stars, Joseph wished it was Muir. He’d felt safe when Muir was there.

“”S loud,” he whispered, unable to fight back the hot tears that were still traveling down his face.

“Okay, give me a moment,” the man said and the blur moved.

Joseph watched him go and covered his eyes, watching the blurriness around him for movement.

The man came back. Joseph smelled him coming and only flinched slightly when he felt another touch on his hand.

“I brought you some noise canceling headphones,” he said softly. “It’s pretty normal to get overwhelmed, especially if it’s your first time. Do you want any music?”

Joseph almost said no, but then he realized he really didn’t want to listen to his blood and heartbeat again. He needed something. He nodded.

“Kay. Is there a specific album you’d like? Something longer, if you can think of it, so you have time to get your sight back before you need to change it.”

Joseph shook his head. “Anything works- wait. No. Minecraft music.”

“Okay.”

The man put the headphones gently over Joseph’s ears and, after a very uncomfortable moment of listening to himself, familiar sounds of Minecraft music began to play, reminding Joseph of the mindless hours he and David played the game together.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax as he sensed the man leave again.

Joseph kept crying, but it wasn’t because of the pain or the overstimulation. All he could think about was David’s triumphant grin when they killed the ender dragon on their fifth attempt.

………………………………..

Muir stepped out of the Chief’s office, his ears still ringing a little bit from the bit of shouting she had indulged in.

Granger was waiting for him outside, eyebrow lifted and a little smile on her face. “Favorite, ey?”

“I am,” he replied snidely as he took his keys back from her. “And she was yelling at me for something else entirely anyways. She was only a little mad about me going to the hospital.”

“I see. Was he alright?”

“I think he’ll be okay. I’m not sure. I’m going to check up on him tonight, actually, after I finish some paperwork.”

“Okay,” she said. “You said he was a Hemijeoa, right?”

“Right.”

“Where’s his bondmate?”

“Died in the same incident that got him where he is,” Muir replied, making his way to his desk.

She raised her eyebrow. “You’d better be careful, then. He’s in a fragile state. He might try to pairbond with you.”

“And what would be so wrong with that?”

“Well, you’d have to stick around him a lot more. Plus, you’re human. You wouldn’t feel the bond enough to actually keep up with it and keep him healthy.”

“I thought humans pairbonded with vampires all the time?”

She huffed. “I guess. Still I don’t think it’s healthy.”

Muir rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you get to have opinions. You’re a Ferox yourself, aren’t you? You don’t need any bonds.”

She shrugged. “Just be careful. You don’t want to have to deal with a clingy vampire for the rest of your life.” Without letting him respond, she took off to her own desk.

Muir rolled his eyes and got back to work.

Joseph: @whumpsday @not-a-space-alien @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

From Dust to Ashes: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @currentlyinthespiral

Let me know if you want to be added to either taglist. Joseph's taglist is stuff having to do with just this vampire, and the other one is for general stuff written in this whole world.

Part 5

#vampire whumpee #human caretaker #body horror #temporary blindness #grief #hospital whump #auditory overstimulation #panic attack #I love my boy #also #and officer muir is great #he's a main character now!

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pheenickwrites · 7 months

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title. burdens at sea

words. 693

chapter one.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” “You don’t have fingers,” Sanji answers. “You have hooves.”

A series of fills for @whumptober, mainly Sanji-centric.

#sanji #one piece #one piece fic #whumptober2023no 1 : how many fingers am i holding up?#head injury #temporary blindness

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kalira · 2 years

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Strongest Senses

Written for @kakashiweek - Day 1, prompt 2: Senses!

T; 1.6k Kakashi/Shisui

As an Uchiha, Shisui values and relies upon his vision most strongly of all his senses - as something more than merely a sense, even; when Kakashi returns from a mission battered and temporarily blinded his lover's wolfish attitude and the quiet way Kakashi takes it in stride leaves him thrown.

#KakashiWeek2022 #Kakashi Week 2022 #Kakashi Week #KakaShisui #Kakashi x Shisui #Kakashi #Shisui #temporary blindness #hurt/comfort #senses #Naruto #Kalira writes #Kalira writes; Naruto #Kalira writes; KakaShisui #Strongest Senses

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cynicalone94 · 6 months

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Who's There?

Jay creeps past rows of furniture and equipment, weapon out and Hailey at his six.

The guy that he’d gone to arrest had taken off, entering the furniture factory through a door with a broken lock.

And now they’re moving through walls of decrepit equipment and old furniture. The bastard has a head start on them and the clutter of the space necessitates moving slowly.

There’s a clatter from behind some machinery and he glances back at Hailey, nodding for her to take the other side.

As they move past the machines, a spray of chemicals hits him in the chest. He stumbles, coughing involuntarily as he inhales the fumes.

He manages to holster his weapon and then he dives forward blindly, slamming into the guy’s legs and taking him to the ground.

He can’t see, can’t even open his eyes but he’s able to wrestle the guy into cuffs. A hand falls on his shoulder and he spins, throwing a punch.

“Woah, woah Jay it’s me.” Hailey says and he can hear her stumbling back.

“I can��t see.” he mutters.

“I bet.” she says. “I only caught the cast-off but that shit burns.”

“You okay?” he coughs.

“I’m okay.” she says with a small cough. “Need some fresh air.”

“Help me get this asshole outside?” he asks.

She steps in, helping him tow their suspect to his feet and then guiding both of them out of the factory.

Patrol officers and CFD meet them in the alley. All three of them get hosed down to get the remaining chemicals off their skin and clothes.

Jay still can’t see, still can’t open his eyes as he sits on the bumper of the ambulance.

Their perp had been cleared, a few traces of chemical had rubbed off on him during the struggle but other than some skin irritation, he’s fine.

Hailey had inhaled some fumes and is still coughing but she hasn’t left his side, staying close and holding his hand.

It’s hard to breathe and his skin burns.

But more than anything he can’t see.

He hears movement and jumps, scooting closer to Hailey.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Sylvie.” a soft voice says. “I’d like to check you over.”

“‘m fine.” he says. “Been hit with pepper spray a dozen times before. Sucks but I’ll be okay.”

“This wasn’t pepper spray.” Sylvie tells him. “They haven’t confirmed but hazmat found the bottle he sprayed from and it looks like nitric acid.”

“Shit.” he mutters.

“Yeah. Shit.” she agrees. “So can I look you over?”

“Check Hailey first.” he insists.

“I’m okay.” Hailey says, squeezing his hand.

“I can check your vitals and get you a nice oxygen mask for that breathing in under two minutes.” Sylvie says. “Easiest way I can think of to get this guy to cooperate.”

Hailey sighs but Jay can’t help the smirk that spreads on his face.

He’s lying on the bed in the ED at Med.

He keeps his eyes closed because that way he can pretend that if he was to open them he’d be able to see more than a cloudy blur.

His face hurts but he’s refused any kind of pain relief. He feels vulnerable enough without being able to see, he doesn’t want to add the inhibition of pain meds to the mix.

The door to the bay is still open and every sound outside causes him to flinch.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to close the door?” Hailey asks.

“I’m fine.” he growls.

“I know not being able to see is unnerving.” Hailey offers. “I just want to help.”

“You’re here.” he says through gritted teeth. “I know you won’t let anyone in. I’m fine.”

“That’s true.” she assures. “I’ve got you.”

He jumps as someone steps into the room.

“Who’s that?” he asks, clinging to Hailey’s hand.

“It’s just Ethan.” she soothes. “Can he come look at you?”

“Is he going to fix my face?” Jay asks.

“I don’t think anything can fix your face.” Ethan pipes up. “But I’d like to see if I can do anything to make it feel a little better.”

“I just want to be able to see.” Jay whines.

“Well hopefully we can help with that too.” Ethan says. “I’ve got someone from ophthalmology coming down to do a full exam but I’d like to take a look.”

“Have at it.” Jay says, trying to relax as he hears the man approach him.

He feels air movement as hands reach toward his face.

It’s just Ethan, just Ethan.

He fists his hands in the sheets to keep from reaching up to stop him as the man pries open one eyelid at a time. He can see an increase in light which he supposes is probably a good sign.

“There’s definitely some burning of the cornea.” Ethan says. “Not surprised you’re having vision trouble.”

“Is it permanent?” Jay asks.

“I can’t say for sure.” Ethan says. “Ophthalmology might be able to give us a better idea. But it might not be. You didn’t get hit in the face so the damage is from the fumes not direct acid burns. That’s promising.”

Jay nods.

“Until they get here let’s worry about these burns.” Ethan continues. “Your clothes seem to have gotten most of it but I’m worried about some of these on your chest. And obviously the ones on your face.”

Jay nods again.

“We’ll need to clean them, apply some ointments and then dress them to prevent infection.” Ethan says. “And it’s going to hurt. I’d recommend you accept the pain medication they’ve been offering.”

“I don’t need it.” Jay insists.

“I know you can handle the pain, Jay.” Ethan tells him. “But there’s no point in toughing it out for nothing.”

“Don’t want them.” Jay says. “Need to stay alert.”

“Jay, I told you I’m not going anywhere.” Hailey says. “You can let your guard down.”

He can’t.

He knows he can trust Hailey. What he doesn’t know is if he can trust himself.

Being backed into a corner like this scares him. What he’ll do if he feels any more vulnerable scares him even more.

“You won’t hurt me.” Hailey says. “I know you’re scared and jumpy and it’s taking everything you have to not lash out at every sound you hear. But you’ll be okay.”

His jaw is tight and she looks over at Ethan.

“He doesn’t want them.” she says. “Let’s get it over with.”

Ethan nods, collecting supplies. Jay sits with his eyes closed, fist clenched in the blankets while the man gently cleans his burns.

Hailey sits next to him, rubbing the back of his hand. His hold on hers isn’t the same death grip he has on the bedding but it’s tight.

When Ethan finishes cleaning the burns, he dresses them carefully and then squeezes Jay’s shoulder.

“Ophthalmology will be down in a little while but I’d really like to bandage your eyes until they get here. Avoid any risk of infection or debris.”

Jay tenses.

That’s the last thing he wants. He likes laying here, pretending that the only reason that he can’t see is because his eyes are closed.

The feeling of bandages around his face will make it real.

“I just don’t want to risk anything happening that makes this more long term than it is.” Ethan says.

“I know.” Jay whispers. “Jus’ do it.”

It shouldn’t feel any darker as Ethan places cotton pads over his eyes and then winds gauze around his head to hold it in place. The only thing he’s seen is a little bit of light when a flashlight was shined directly in his eyes.

So why does he feel like he’s trapped and suffocating as he feels the pressure increase. Hailey’s hand slides up his arm, rubbing her thumb in circles over the inner side of his forearm.

“Just breathe.” Hailey says.

He is breathing, isn’t he?

He takes a shaky breath in.

“You’re okay, you’re safe, just breathe.” Hailey intones gently.

His fingers inch toward the edge of the bed and her other hand moves in to take hold of his hand.

“I got you.” she reassures him. “I’m right here.”

It takes hours for the on call ophthalmologist to finish looking him over but thankfully he leaves behind good news.

There’s a lot of irritation, some damage to his corneas but it isn’t likely to be permanent. He’ll be stuck with these bandages for at least a week and possibly as long as three weeks.

He’s hoping for the former but his luck suggests the latter.

He’s half asleep, an ice pack resting over the top of the bandages covering his eyes and Hailey’s hand still held tightly in his when he hears the door open.

“Who’s ‘ere?” he whispers.

“It’s Voight.” she tells him. “Wants to check on you if you’re up for it.”

“S’okay.”

“Come on in, Sarge.”

“Hey kid.” his boss says. “How are you feeling?”

“The ice is helping.” he says, tilting his head to track the sound.

“That’s good. Hailey says they expect a full recovery.”

“Yeah.” he confirms. “Could take as much as three weeks before I get the bandages off. Won’t be any good to you before then.”

“Kid I don’t care how long it takes you to get back to work.” Voight says. “Just as long as you’re okay. I’m more worried about you handling flying blind for those three weeks.”

“I’m not.” Jay admits. “Not being able to see is freaking me out, the bandages are freaking me out, every little sound is freaking me out, every time someone moves around here it freaks me out. So yeah… its gonna be a long couple of weeks.”

“Well you aren’t going to be alone.” Voight promises. “Alright, I talked to the team. We’ll make sure someone is around to help watch your six so you can focus on healing.”

He appreciates the thought but it’s humiliating to think that he needs a babysitter. And it doesn’t really make being blind any better.

“I know kid.” Voight says, putting a hand on his arm. “There’s nothing I can do to change the fact that you’ll be jumping at shadows until those bandages come off. But you’re going to get through this.”

The hand squeezes his forearm and he nods.

This is terrifying and he wants nothing more than for it to be over, to be able to see again.

But he’s not alone.

And he’s going to be okay.

He just has to try to remember that.

#whumptober 2023 #no.23 #who's there #Chicago PD #fic #chemical burns #temporary blindness #Jay Halstead

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selfdefensegearco · 1 year

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#Jet propulsion #peace of mind #pepper spray #Safe distance #Self Defense #Temporary blindness

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whumpypepsigal · 3 months

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In From The Cold s01e06: “Take care of Chauncey.”

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idliketobeatree · 4 months

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once again I am hit by the possibility that Aziraphale genuinely doesn't understand why Crowley wouldn't go to Heaven with him, and it's terrifying.

#good omens #thats not even miscommunication or temporary emotional blindness but a secret third thing #so much worse than those combined #im an aziraphale lover its just #you know #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #final fifteen #good omens finale #aziracrow #marcela talks #good omens 2

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itsjustdg · 6 months

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Have you ever wished Hudson & Rex would go with the blindness trope one episode so Rex could shine even more as the goodest boy there ever was (and so Charlie could get whumped a little more)? Me too...

...so I wrote it. 😁

And I finally updated it tonight! 😇 Chapter 4 of Houndsight Is 20/20 is officially finished and posted. (Now for the rest of the chapters, but I think that particular plot bunny is back with a vengeance so hopefully it won't take too long for more updates.)

If you read it, please let me know your thoughts! Comments from readers give me life. 🤗

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vyrion · 6 days

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everything will said this chapter felt like him trying to play for some kind of favor while othering ada but it just. backfires. Horribly. because ada wouldn't agree with him out of principle of what he's saying, and monty is unconscious, and prospero doesn't care. he's trying to people please still but he'd gotten too used to appealing to monty that he veers off the wrong direction and panics when it backfires. he's trying to fill in montressor's place and attitude but it doesn't Work, and when he receives a negative response he turns to monty the same way that monty gets support from him. but he CAN'T GET IT

i strongly doubt that if montressor were somehow conscious that will would say anything like this at all. and would instead just. echo him like he always does. but instead we see this interesting situation where he Tries to do that but there isn't really anything to echo and instead he skews too far. so he tries to get prospero to agree and when He leaves. will panics. because he doesn't know what to do without that support. he's the one who Acts as support for monty and now he's left without backup

#from the deep dark #nevermore webtoon #nevertag #<- new thing. temporary. i dont care right now i just want to talk about the episode #especially how he kinda doubles down after getting a vague response from monty. idk #this is so nothingburger im so sorry nevermore fandom. im running on a vague recollection of todays chapter and blind hope #I HATE POSTING VAGUE ANALYSES. IM TOO SCARDEYS. i dont even care too much about william but the interaction stuck out to me a lot #DISCLAIMER FOR MY COUNCILBLR MUTUALS. THIS IS NOT ABOUT PD WILLIAM. THIS IS A DIFFERENT DEAD GUY NAMED WILLIAM.

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solaneceae · 5 months

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my battery is low, and it's getting dark.

a codebreakers fanfic about étoiles losing his sight. read on Ao3

It starts off with light blurriness — the kind you get when you forget to remove your contacts before bed, dryness and irritation welcoming you back to the waking world. Étoiles doesn’t wear contacts, although he does don a pair of sturdy, cheap rectangular glasses on occasion, whenever reports have to be read or written in thin leather-bound books for the Résistance’s upper echelon.

(Upper echelon he’s never caught a whiff off, by the way. Étoiles understands the need for secrecy, for compartmentalization — but damn, it does get lonely here in headquarters, with nothing but his own voice and long-dried ink speaking of codes going rogue and islander alignments to entertain himself with.)

He blinks, once, twice, rubbing at his eyeballs through the skin of his lids. No amelioration. He shrugs it off, readjusts the straps of his slime armor. It’s a shit one, not even the good enchants on it. But he’s been restless lately, antsy. Not quite worried, but something else, something in the negative shape of a beloved, beret-wearing egg. Ants under his greenish skin, a fire only the cold bite of enemy blades and a close brush with Lady Death can fix.

He likes Kristin. She’s funny, with her large brimmed hat and gentle smile and gentler words still. Philza’s a lucky man.

“You are sad,” she would say, in the space-between-spaces he would drift to when downed, just before the ‘doom-doom’ of revival. The crimson bud of her smile would twist into a scowl, as she watched him give her a two-fingered salute. “Is that why I see you so often, starling?”

“I’m not sad,” he would answer without fail — the ache inside his chest wasn’t sadness. Étoiles didn’t do sad. He killed, he destroyed, his body grown in a weapon meant to hurt and maim and be hurt in return. Meant to be wielded by someone worthy. (He thinks of pitch-black feathers and a wheezy laugh, the tingle of wither-decay dancing on his skin, the smell of bone. Claws digging into his bony hips, a litany of trills speaking of ownership-claim, great shadows trapping him in so effectively. His knee guards stained by fresh soil where potatoes are endlessly grown in honor of a great warrior he once crossed blades with. Worship, devotion.)

“I’m not sad,” he mumbles, jumping down the well and into the darkness of the dungeon below. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a shit one, and he could scratch that itch in the back of his mind that demanded blood be spilled, be it his or otherwise. “Maybe I die for real today, let’s goooo.”

He never does. He’s too good at dungeoning, too good at placing blocks and throwing splash potions at his feet, golden apples now a rare last resort because he knows what happens when he eats too many. Aaaah, what a pity, he thinks, as he loses himself in the clash of metal on metal and the grunt of mobs falling at his feet. What a pity, I feel nothing. Bad day for me, bad day.

***

The blurriness stays. Days go by, sluggish and quiet, too quiet on this shit island, and no amount of sleep or healing potions make it any better. His arm stings with static-burn where the black and green binary tar has spread, higher, creeping up his neck. But it does nothing to hinder his movements, doesn’t dull the sharpness of his mind. So he ignores it. “Maybe you should get that checked out or something,” Foolish pokes at it once, as they sit and talk atop the Titan’s head using the blue and green plush chairs the TazerCraft have sneaked in. Pac e Mike, wow wow, sings a little voice in Étoiles’ mind whenever he sees splashes of blue and green, because those two live rent-free in everyone’s builds and brains.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at the shark-totem, easy and casual and Étoiles. “It doesn’t hurt.” It doesn’t. “It’s not changing me.” He is changing, that softness that Pomme had made bloom inside him eroding away with every day she’s gone. It’s harder to stay still, harder to stop and talk to the others, because half of them are depressed and the other half are going insane. But none of that is the code’s doing. “Look, I’ll prove it! 1v1 stick?” he jumps to his feet, throwing a wooden stick at his friend with a fiendish grin. “1v1, right now, let’s go.”

Foolish chuckles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his emerald-carved eyes. (His features are hazy, fuzziness getting worse every time Étoiles wakes. Doesn’t matter.)

They fight, Étoiles takes it home with six hearts to spare. And he still feels empty.

***

Lilacs. Sunflowers. Cornflowers. Poppies.

Flower biomes were Pomme’s favorites. They’re hard to find, but Étoiles is one patient, stubborn cucumber. “T’aurais adoré ça, légende,” he hums, picking another poppy by the stem and stuffing it into his inventory, the frozen subspace keeping it suspended in time and fresh. He can almost hear the pitter-patter of her little cheeto legs in the grass, the rustle of the blades against her shell. The bomp of a red sign being placed, asking for more red, more blue, more of every color to make her siblings flower crowns and dye her trusty scythe like a rainbow.

He can barely make out their shape anymore, only differentiating roses from poppies by tracing their petals with gold-scarred fingers. He sees a blue blur somewhere at his right, oh, cornflower probably. Her secret code.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan and lets his body fall backwards, hitting the plush grass with a thump. A few butterflies flutter out of the way, one of them settling back on the bridge of the warrior’s nose. He glares at it, faded golden stars comically crossed. He only sees the yellow of its wings, stark against sky blue. “Hey, hey. Tu vas rien trouver ici, tu sais. J’ai pas fleuri depuis des plombes.”

The critter’s wings flap once, unbothered. Étoiles blows on it to make it go away, fails. (He’s a failure, at everything. Fails to keep his kid safe, fails to win a 1v1 against an insect.) Soon enough, there is enough butterflies on him to pin him to the ground under the would-be guilt of disturbing them. Étoiles whines, childish and unserious. “Vas-y, j’peux plus bouger. Pas juste. Même la nature me déteste, c’est bon.”

He’s missed this. The warmth of a sunbeam, the scent of fertile soil, the brush of grass blades, the call of the earth below pulling at him. Part of him wants to sink into it, curl up in Her embrace like a child would in their mother’s womb, forget about the world and the Federation and the Codes and all this shit. Maybe he could fall asleep right here. Let his body soak up the sun, let himself bloom again. Let that softness grow out of his skin for all to see, like he used to. Or, he thinks he used to. The memories of Before are static-fuzz between his ears, unreachable unless he looks at them at the corner of his eye, so to speak.

(The freezing cold, then heat as air exploded around him, an impact. Physicality, sudden and unexpected, the song of the stars loud in his ears as he opened his eyes for the first time in front of a bewildered human in a frayed straw hat. He was happy, wasn’t it? He thinks he used to be happy. What happened?)

But Étoiles is a warrior, a weapon, and weapons dull and rust and grow weak if left to rest. So he takes a deep breath, pushes himself up. “Désolé,” he hums to the butterflies as they scatter away. They are but bright, colorful blobs in his dulling eyes. “Désolé,” he says as he warps back home to forge yet another axe.

His inventory is full of flowers that he’ll forget about, wrapping him in a constant mix of herbal scents that has Cellbit recoiling next time they cross paths. Étoiles doesn’t notice it, the Brazilian’s bothered expression lost on his rapidly-decaying vision.

***

By the time the Code challenges him to what Étoiles knows will be their last duel for the foreseeable future, his sight is all but gone, everyone and their dog has taken notice, and he has brushed off their concern. “I don’t need to see to click good,” he boasts, slamming down deepslate to launch himself fast and run circles around a disgruntled Pac. “See, see! I’m strafing, I’m doing it, playing the game.” Pac makes a strange sound, one he struggles to guess the emotion behind without body language. “It’s okay, Pac. It’s easy. There’s no problem, at all.”

Phil isn’t here yet, can’t see any names on his comlink but Tubbo told him he wasn’t. Shame, shame he won’t be there to see him die, Étoiles thinks as the rain soaks through his shirt, the boom of lightning bothering him more than he lets show. His ears are ringing as he jumps, ducks, tugs at the string of his bow and sends an arrow flying where he knows the Code is, he can feel it, the only spot that doesn’t smell like anything but void. But there’s no feedback, no satisfying sound of health being chipped at, nothing.

This Code is too strong, his sword winging an off-tune melody as it goes through the binary without ripping or tearing. No damage. Ah, he thinks, so they have finally stopped playing. I see now.

The back of his chestplate shatters into a blast of broken enchant magic and diamond shards, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh. Something cold sinks between his ribs, brushing against his spine in a white-hot flash of pain that irradiates through his whole body, and oh, yeah, it’s over. It’s joever, as Tubbo would say. “GGs,” he gasps through a mouthful of dark green blood. He coughs it up, lets it splash down his neck and paint his shirt. Tubbo’s screaming somewhere, too far away for Étoiles to discern the words. “You- eugh, you slash-kill’ed me, good job you cheater. Easy win.”

The entity growls, a hum-buzz that makes his brain (or whatever he has for brains, maybe lettuce?) rattle inside his skull. The blade slides out, cutting away at him further on its way out, and his body falls into a puddle of rainwater and mud with a wet thud. It hurts, blackered arm buzzing, pain creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, extinguishing the last of his remaining sight.

He faintly realises that almost nobody knows about his respaw mechanic. Ah, et merde. He hopes they’ll have the presence of mind to ask Antoine, when they realise he wouldn’t just re-pop into existence seconds after his death… or when they noticed his body starting to wilt and decay, if they stuck around for long enough.

(Tallulah knows, he remembers. He told her. But had she told Philza, before she disappeared along with all the other eggs?)

Through his fading senses, his comm buzzes with what he knows is his first death message in a really long time. He can make out the sound of rapid footsteps, clickety hooves and heavy, leather work boots. Tubbo and Pierre. He closes his eyes, not that he needs to anymore for darkness to cradle him. He lets go.

He doesn’t see Kristin this time, only hears a faint sigh and a gentle breath sending him off into the void. He hopes they find his seed soon. He doesn’t wanna stay missing for too long, after all.

***

His personal death-void is not so bad of a place. Boring, obviously, but there’s a familiarity to it, to the way the darkness shrouds him like a heavy blanket, pushing against him from all sides. Not oppressive but comforting. Cradling, instead of crushing.

It reminds him of the dirt patch he was born in — he had been asleep and new, just ripe for the picking, dirt-stained hands pulling at his stem with the roughness of a long-repeated gesture. He had screamed, he thinks, not in pain, but to show the world he was here and alive, hello, hello sun, hello dirt, hello person! Had given poor old Théo a heart attack too.

Ah. He could remember, now. Théo, his leathered face and kind eyes with crow feet, wary at first before this walking, talking little legume with the night sky in his eyes, flower-covered vine-tail like some sort of umbilical cord trailing behind him as he follows the old farmer around, asking him endless questions in barely-legible French. But… yes, he’d been kind to him, Étoiles thinks. The first face his face saw. Makes sense it would be one of the first things that came back to him. Maybe remembering was easier in the void? Maybe he should die more often.

…Nah. Dying wasn’t his style. And having to regrow a whole new body over a week was annoying. He had things to do in the island! Like talking with people (eurgh), and giving them things (yes) and fighting with Philza (yes! yes! yes!) and have fun!

So he waits, oblivion pulling at him like gravity. The void is a quiet place, sometimes, but more often it’s not, with the song of supernovas and wailing stars far away keeping him aware, listening. He hums along to it with no mouth or vocal chords (not yet, still growing, still so small, unripe), and sometimes he swears he can hear another voice singing with him. Off-key, awful really, almost crow-like, but it sounds like someone he cares about, so he’s happy to listen to its drone.

Other times, he sleeps. And he dreams of tiny hands and quiet chirps and clicks, of the yesyes uncle Phil taught her, of the chrr-chrr-peep that means him, when she calls Étoiles’ name in her own little language. And he curls around the memory, softness, and lets it carry him up into the stars glittering behind still-forming eyelids.

***

“Étoiles.”

He hums — warmth, the slow beating heart of the earth. The choir of stars constantly burning far, far away. He could listen to it forever, because he had been listening to it since the birth of the first star, he knew.

“Mate. You with me? C’mon, s’been a week already. Come up here, you can do it.”

The voice scratches pleasantly at the back of his brain. But the earth is so warm, so comfy, a cocoon of peace and respite he’s not sure he wants to leave. He sighs with no lungs to breathe, no need for them, when all he could ever need is right there — perfect temp, perfect moisture, glucose, carbon dioxide, rich nutrients all around. Who needs gapples, really. Or thoughts. Or responsibilities. This is the best.

“...Mh. Alright then.”

The voice grates on his ears, ears that try to flick but are stopped by the soil packed around them. He groans in drowsy irritation, curls in on himself in an attempt to shield himself from it and from the world. It seems to work, the noises fading into nothing, and Étoiles feels his thoughts scatter as a faint scratching sound seeps through the earth and into his mind like white noise. Sleep pulls at him again, and he lets it.

He’s startled back into wakefulness by something pulling harshly, somewhere that feels a bit away but is still part of him. His eyes fly open in pained surprise because ow, ow, that’s my— “Come here, you lazy fuck!” That voice — high-pitched, that heavy accent he’s come to love, amusement and exasperation combined, Phil, his Phil, his GOAT, his brother in arms, his Death-touched angel.

Étoiles blinks, unseeing. Étoiles remembers. And with awareness comes something else, something that shimmers and calls his name in gentle whisper-echoes, as he feels himself being pulled up, and up, dirt parting to let him ascend back to the surface. Aah. Goodbye mama. Hello problems. “Get harvested, idiot!” Philza Minecraft grunts with effort somewhere above him, and the tug gets stronger, prompting a pained ow out of him as the ground crackles and breaks above him, and he feels air-sun-outside on his back as he’s forcefully pulled from the ground like the fresh crop he is. He flails a little bit, kicking off dirt and soil (it’s everywhere, in his hair and between his toes and a little in his mouth and nose, bleh!), then rolls onto his back with a groan, frowning up at the sky he knows is there, blue and clear, because it doesn’t smell like rain and the surface soil is dry and warm.

He’s back. And he sees nothing at all. Welp, better close his eyes again then. He feels a shadow fall on him, feels a sandaled foot nudge his side. “Helloooooo. Hello Phil,” he greets the other leaning hard on the deadpan because he knows it makes his friend laugh when he does that. It lands. “What, that’s it?” the elytrian caws, kneeling beside him and poking at his face, talons dulled to a gentle roundness. Étoiles wishes he didn’t trim them, but Phil is too nice, too careful, too eager to smooth himself down for others, for the eggs. Docile.

Étoiles despises it, but he keeps quiet because he knows Phil doesn’t like to talk about those things. “You get yourself killed by a fucking Code of all things,” Phil keeps going, “make everyone freak the fuck out because you won’t respawn like a normal fucking person, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Antoine knows. And I’m here now, so it’s okay.”

“Antoine barely logs on, you absolute dumbass. You’re lucky Lullah told me about the seed thing, because you would’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

He opens his eyes, if only to shoot Phil a halfhearted glare. And then immediately forgets about it, blinks owlishly. Sits up to get closer to the other man. “Phil. Why are you stars?”

“What.”

He sees stars. (And not in the sex way, because he doesn't do that.) It’s not night, but there are stars in his vision, where pitch blackness used to be, and the constellation is Phil-shaped.

Philza is a cosmic cluster, a nebula shining bright in the darkness that has become his world. He can see nothing beyond him, not the plants surrounding him, not the long vine attached to his lower back Phil used to pull him out. He can tell it’s there, though, lightly thumping at the ground in agitation. “You, are stars. That’s how I see you now.”

“Wait. Can you, like, see again?” Phil asks, uncharacteristically soft. “I know it was getting… bad. And your eyes are like, all greyed out. Did the code stuff on your arm do that?” Étoiles sees a cluster of stars approaching his face — hand — and feels fingers brushing just under his right eye. He’s a bit startled by the contact, the area usually covered by his trust bandana (he needs it back, needs his stuff back, hopefully someone held onto it for him). Phil draws away, an apology ready from the way his constellation-body shifts, but Étoiles doesn’t let him. “I can’t,” he answers, tilting his head, ear flicking in focus — the stars that make up Phil sharpen, and he can almost make out the shape of the wings bound behind his back. “But I can See. I think.” He also wouldn’t mind Phil’s hand on his face again. It feels nice. Scratches at something long-buried, and denied.

Philza makes a confused sound. “Okay, I heard that capital S there. What’s that mean? Are you pulling a Daredevil?”

Étoiles grins, sharp-toothed and playful. “Oh, oh! He thinks I’m a superhero? He thinks I’m cool, Felipe Minecraft? Big win for me.” Phil rolls his eyes, which Étoiles can tell because the crow always makes that low warble when he does. “But no, it’s not like that. I still need my eyes to see like this, and I don’t hear or smell better than before.” Although his status as a hybrid means his baseline is still higher than the average person’s, but that’s irrelevant. “FF.”

“So no cool blindfold for you, ey?”

“No cool blindfold. I will just do a Pomme and drown myself later, to make up for how uncool I am.” (He cannot drown. No lungs. But he can pretend.)

He squints. There’s a little cluster, right there at the side of Phil’s head. He can connect the dots, identify the shape of the elytrian’s bucket hat, but there’s something else there too. “What’s that on your head, Phil? I can’t make it out well.”

“Oh— here,” the other takes his hand and guides it towards his hair, and Étoiles feels a familiar texture under his pads. He makes a noise of surprise. “That’s. Mine.”

“Do you want it back?” Phil hums, brushing at the large cucumber flower tucked in the band of his hat. “It bloomed this morning, on top of the plant you were growing under. Took it as a sign you were, uh, done cooking.” Étoiles snorts. Good guess. “But uh, I guess the plant was also you, cuz it’s at the end of your tail now. Dragging.” Ah. Yeah. He really ought to cut it. “Is it weird? That I’m wearing a piece of you? I don’t know what… fuckin’... cucumber etiquette is.”

“It’s not weird,” Étoiles says, because he doesn’t think it is. “You can keep it.” He kind of likes it. That Phil’s wearing a piece of him. It makes him, happy? “You know, that I am your weapon. Yes? So it makes sense, that you show it.”

“You’re my friend. Don’t call yourself a weapon, man.”

“Same thing for me.”

Phil’s response is wordless, a simple, noncommittal mmh. But Étoiles can hear the hidden fondness in it. He pushes a little further, crudely imitates that one bird sound Philza makes when he’s happy. Whoops internally when Phil puffs out his feathers and trills out a yesyes in return. Héhé. “Yes yes, Philza? Fight me, right now?” he slips into his usual stance, just a bit offset by the lack of armor weighing him down. “1v1, no weapons, no armor? Fistfight, let’s go.”

Phil cackles, crow-like. “I am not fighting you right now, you little shit. You menace. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aww, Phil hates me,” the warrior whines. “He hates me. He won’t 1v1 me, he must hate me. Sad.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby.”

“I was literally born five minutes ago. I am baby, and Felipe Minecraft hates me,” he sasses back, and Phil throws his arms towards the sky in exasperation. “Oh come on. I spent a week protecting your green ass! Making sure you got enough sun and water and shit, it was like doing egg tasks all over again. Antoine even talked me into fucking singing, pretty sure he was pranking me with that one by the way, and still you think I hate you?”

“Nice caulk, Phil.”

He can’t see it, but Étoiles knows Phil’s eyelid is twitching. “Mate. I got a faceful of ass pulling you out of here, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

The cucumber snorts. “Héhé, got mooned by the stars.” That was kinda funny. “You were pulling me by the tail, I do not know what you expected. You’re lucky I’m a plant, or there would have been full cock and balls there.”

“Bruh. I thought it would be connected to your… plant belly button, or whatever, like an umbilical cord.”

“It’s an ass button, GGs.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t call it that. I didn’t even know you had a tail. You didn’t before.”

“That’s because I always cut it,” the warrior huffs, said tail lashing behind him from the restless energy that always accompanies a new body. Its leaves drag around the loose dirt in little swish-y sounds. “Give me a sword, Phil, it’s already annoying me.”

The crow peers down at the vine, then back at him. “I dunno, man. You look kinda fun with it.” Étoiles squints. He can’t quite make out Phil’s expression like this, all stars and nothing between them, but he can hear the hidden laughter in his voice. “...I will cut it with my teeth then.”

“Won’t that hurt more than with a blade?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Only the base. Like when you pulled on it.”

“Why not keep it? It’s a part of you.”

Because it speaks for me, he considers replying. Because it says and shows things that I don’t want people to see. Even now, it wags, because Phil is here and now brushing stray dirt out of his hair and it’s very nice. (Is he touch-starved? He might be. Pomme is gone, and he doesn’t trust people to touch him, other than with blunt force and sharp diamond blades.) But Étoiles hasn’t kept his tail since he was a child, still wide-eyed and showing his innermost self to the whole world without any shield. He feels weird. Exposed. And it’s okay with Phil, because Phil is Phil, but it’s not okay because they’re out in the open and anyone could come and see. He doesn’t like that. “Because people can grab it, and it gets stuck in things, and it’s annoying. I cut it, now.” He tugs at the appendage, bringing it up to his mouth. “Nope,” Phil snatches it away, and Étoiles hisses at him. “Calm down, dude. At least let’s do it cleanly.”

“Eeeeuugh. Okay.”

”Then we’re getting your stuff back from Antoine’s, good god. You’re still butt-naked and I won’t have you strut around like that.”

“He has my things? Comms, armor, my backpacks?”

“All of it, yeah,” the older man huffs, and Étoiles can hear the telltale sound of an item being summoned of an inventory. Enchanted axe, he parses, recognizing the ozone-y smell of the sharpness enchant and the sound of the air being sliced downward. He doesn’t feel anything when the vine is severed, frowns when he realises Phil left a good… fifty centimeters of it, still attached to his body. “Phil. You misclick? You aim like shit today?”

“You said it hurts near the base,” the elytrian huffs, finality lacing his every word. “Keep it or cut the rest later, your pick, but I’m not hurting you.”

Étoiles’ ear flicks in confusion, and so does his tail. It moves faster, easier now without the rest of the plant weighing it down. “...We fight each other all the time, that hurts more. I don’t care.”

Phil stays silent for a few seconds. Nebula-Phil shifts before him. “It’s. Different.”

Étoiles hums. Philza has the Tone™ again, the one that means he’s thinking of things that hurt. He thinks of clipped feathers, of matted down that he wishes he could run his fingers through and fix, fix, let me fix it, let me do this for you. But he says nothing. Maybe another time, when they’re both ready for that conversation. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe I keep it this time. Maybe.”

He can hear Phil’s smile in the next word he speaks. “Attaboy.” And he tries to ignore the way his tail wags with renewed enthusiasm at that.

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