#(i'm a monster)
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Dear Brain,
I hate you with the force of ten thousand suns. Stop making things worse, stop making things horrible, stop hurting Agent Washington.
No love,
January.
So, this post right? Feral Wash Awol Murder Rampage through Covie Forces Au?
My brain went: but what if we made things suck even more for poor David? Like, a lot?
Cause I was thinking, right, how would I tell that story if I wrote it? Well, I mean there was five other thoughts happening simultaneously, but the end result was:
Warnings for below the cut:
injury, murder, semi-graphic descriptions of injury and death, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, events which might be considered self harm, aspects of unreality, excessive use of 'David' instead of 'Wash(ington)'
no beta, I die like all the freelancers who aren't Wash or Carolina (Or California.)
this implies a somewhat slightly less feral Wash/David than the previous, and got a bit rambling and somewhat very dark, and I really need to stop hurting Wash/David, and spend time in much happier AUs, like a soft PFL AU where things are nice and the worst thing to happen to Wash is that during an undercover op, out-of-armour Wash is outed as a former rockstar by a fan.
Anywho:
-
We start with David in the psych ward, a therapist is with him while he tells them he doesn't remember, he doesn't stop asking he can't remember!!! The base was attacked, and they were fighting and now he's here, everything was just a blur between all that, stop asking for details, he doesn't have them!
But the therapist asks him to try, to start at the beginning, what's his name, his rank, his serial number, tell them about his team mates, no you can't see them right now, please answer the questions.
So David answers as best as he can, (and at this point I would like to take a small hilarity break to suggest his last name is actually something very normal, like Cooper, or Campbell, or Church, or anything that makes his initials D.C.) and slowly starts recounting the story, with prompting from the therapist when he falters.
He talks about the base, how they (he and his team) would hang out and train and prepare for the covie forces to arrive, and how they arrived without warning, swept over the base and would have killed everyone inside if David hadn't disobeyed his Sargent's orders. But he'd survived, he falters as he tries to get through the attack, tries to put into words the fear he'd felt at losing sight of each of his team mates, and lets the therapist slowly wheedle him into telling how he'd found each and every member, banged up but alive, how they'd fought and run and fought some more and blown up so many of the damn covie bastards until there was silence at last.
How they'd walked through what remained of the base looking for any survivors and finding only the Sargent. Hiding.
David stops here, again, and the therapist tells him that it's okay, they already know, there was camera footage recovered, they know what David did, but they want to hear it in his own words.
So David confesses. He'd dragged his Sargent through the blood and scorch marks, made him look at the dead, and then he'd beaten his Sargent's face bloody, hadn't stopped until his face didn't look like a face anymore, and then he'd let the Sargent crawl away just far enough to think he had a chance before putting a single bullet through the back of his head.
The therapist thanks him, and tells him he did really well, and that David should rest now. Outside David's room, the therapist talks to others, arguing that their work isn't done, not only was David found so many miles away from that base that he should have been able to walk it in the month he was missing, there were all those destroyed covenant bases, he might have information! Plus, his confession wasn't accurate, several key details were wrong. (what they don't exactly say, by they mention the footage, talk about whether or not David knows he was lying.)
The therapist gets an allowance, they have until the court date of David's court-martial to get anything they can out of him, but he's confessed enough to the crime he's being charged for, everything else is just filler.
Over the next week or two, the therapist gets the story out of David in bits and bites, of how he and his team had discovered their comms were fried beyond repair, then made the decision to try and hoof it to the next base after salvaging whatever they could from theirs. Covie and UNSC weapons alike.
The discovery of the next base being wiped out. No comms. Low supplies. Plenty of tracks to follow.
They'd decided to take revenge against the covies, hadn't expected to walk out, but they had. First one covie away team, then two, then scout and small teams, then finally a base.
Always waiting for each fight to be the one that kills them.
David talks slowly and with morbid humour about how he'd used the weapons he'd stolen to kill the covies in increasingly creative ways.
Sitting by a river trying to wipe dark blueish-purply blood off of his... everything.
"I have some very important notes on the minimum safe distance to reach after shoving grenades down a gator's throat, by the way."
How one base had been in a large indent in the rock, not really deep enough to call it a cave, to tall and exposed at the front, but he really didn't know what else to call it. David stops to laugh as he recalls the conversation right before he'd begun the plan for that base.
"This is the worst life choice I have made. Ever. Of all time," David had complained, tightening the rope's knot to make sure his makeshift harness was secure.
"Your worst life choice ever, of all time, so far!" His team mate had corrected him before David had jumped off the cliff, running along the rock face to swing out across the opening, so high up no one would have expected it, shooting out the bases shield generators despite being upside down and swinging very fast and not having very long to locate and terminate before they were adjusted to cover his surprising angle.
The clamber up the far side of the opening, back onto the small outcropping to load the makeshift bomb (a lot of grenades duct-taped together) in his hastily abandoned harness so he can throw it over the edge. One of his team mates frantically praying as David judged the swing to cut the rope so the bomb would release right into the center of camp.
The explosion and the realisation the ridge wouldn't hold as the cave collapsed, his team racing ahead and calling back for him. Getting caught in the rock slide and coming to with one arm pinned beneath stone. Stuck there in the sweltering sun until his team had found a stick to lever it off of him.
The therapist takes several breaks over the course of the interview/interrogation, to talk to their own team, who've been watching via live camera feeds.
"You really believe this kid and his team did all that?" one of the therapist's team asks. "Some of what he said contradicts, you had to have noticed. And where's this team of his? I thought he was the only one they picked up?"
"You haven't noticed?" another asks the first, amused, and perhaps a little condescending like they're waiting for the first to catch up. "That David seems to be the star of it all, the big hero making all the plans and taking all the action? His team is a supporting cast of two-dimensional characters? No alarm bells ringing for you?"
"So he's making himself out to be the hero?"
"He knows he's lying," the therapist says, staring into the ether, replaying David's words and actions as he'd retold the events. "He knows exactly when he's lying."
"So what, he never did any of it? His team carried him? or none of it happened? How'd the covies die then? Rogue Spartan?"
"Hahahaha," the second team mate laughs like they can't believe the first can be so stupid. "No, but seriously, how did you get a job here, was it nepotism? Go back and watch the footage, look at his body language, his body keeps telling the truth even when his mouth is lying to us."
The therapist perseveres, helping David tell the story in his own time, how tired the team had gotten, how hard it had been to sleep, how they'd discovered that one type of covie ration was edible for humans but it was also, for humans, a space weed brownie, how they'd accidentally discovered certain types of polarized lenses could... not entirely reveal active camo, but would show more obvious signs of it than looking straight on.
"It's not something you can use all the time," David says, holding his hands up like he's using two pairs of something (sunglasses) to act like a active camo radar. "You're better off waiting until you have reason to believe they're there... even if they show up unexpectedly it's not, it's just not feasible to use them all the time, and besides, the real trick is making the shot, you've either gotta turn away from the reflection at shoot where you think they should be, or make the shot using the reflection to target." He extends his right arm up and behind him, keeping his eyes on his left hand as he mimes a gunshot.
The first of the therapist's team mates comes to a conclusion.
"Okay, I understand, he got his team mates killed along the way, that's why they weren't picked up with him, they didn't survive his insane theatrics in the field!"
"Ooohhh, partial points," the second tells them. "Right track, but you got off at the wrong destination, you're a little early... or late in this case."
Finally, two days before the hearing/trial/court-martial, they reach the end of the story. And the therapist asks:
What happened on the first day, what happened during the attack on the base?
"I told you." David says, "I already told you, stop asking. I told you what happened."
"Where is your team?"
"No, no I don't want to. Don't make me look." David hides his face in his hands, body curling in on itself. "If I look it's real. I'm not ready yet, it can't be real yet."
"David please, tell us what happened to them, tell me what happened during the attack on the base?"
And David looks up, looks at the therapist, looks at his team standing behind them. They smile, give him encouragement, and for a moment he hates them for it.
So David starts again, retells the beginning, the base, the quiet before, the surprise attack, the fear as he loses sight of his team one by one, and then finds them.
Riddled with crystal needles, burned, crushed, one of them torn in half at the waist (David had thought for a moment that one was fine until he'd moved far enough to see...), and one of them he almost hadn't found. Wouldn't have found, if it hadn't been for the sight of their lucky rubber duck half fallen from the torn pocket of a headless corpse.
He retells the desperation of the battle, determined to take as many of the covie bastards with him as he could before he joined his team mates.
The absolute rage he'd felt at being denied when the last covie had fallen but David had remained.
And the cold, burning beyond fury when he'd found the Sargent, how he'd broken the man's knee and dragged him through the base, through ash and blood to each and every member of David's team, to make him look at them, how he'd beaten his Sargent's face, demanding he apologise, until the man finally agreed.
"I'm Sorry! I'm Sorry, Please, stop, I'm sorry!"
"No," David had said, "Not to me." He'd stood, given his Sargent enough room to turn over to see where David was pointing. To the team's youngest, staring wide eyed and unseeing, looking almost untouched... above the waist where there was still a body to see.
"You apologise, to them."
And the Sargent had, crawling and begging for forgiveness.
David had sighed. "No." He'd denied the Sargent's pleas for forgiveness and put a bullet through his brain. "We don't get to be forgiven for this."
David is sent away, off to face military justice, and left behind in the psych ward, the psych team unwinds.
"I don't get it, did you read it in a file, about the team already being dead?" The first team mate asks.
The second team mate lets out a long, drawn out sigh of annoyance. "Go back and watch the footage, watch the way he moved his body. For the most part, he's contained, small movements, fury, fear, frustration, all held in check. When he made big movements it was in two types of situation. First, when he was demonstrating something-" second mimics David's illustration of reflective lenses and shooting behind themselves "- and second, when he talked about the team having active roles in events, like when he was pinned under the rock? Or when he found each of them "alive". go watch, imagine the story without the team, his body will show you what happened."
And the team mate does watch, piecing together events with the story and how David moves. How his shoulder had twisted and his leg had stretched like he wanted to pull something closer with it. How his arm had turned and legs had gone uneven in a way that hadn't made sense...
until first team mate puts themselves in David's position, pinned under a rock by one arm and desperate, desperate enough to use his own legs as a fulcrum to leverage the rock off his arm.
They won't see David again. In several months they won't particularly remember him, not with the number of patients who come through their doors, cycling through as the war drags on and on and on.
#red vs blue#rvb#agent washington#tw gore#tw injury#tw unreality#this is really kinda sorta fucked up and I'm probably sorry for that?#I love Washington I swear I just also want him to cry...#I'm a monster
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My biggest contribution to Elorcan Week 2023 is this 6-chapter, what-if fic.
If you know anything about me, it's that I'm a monster.
As one of the coordinators of Elorcan Week, I suggested today's theme (What-If) for the sole purpose of being... well... monstrous. I chose to ask the question, "What if Vernon had managed to steal Elide during Empire of Storms?"
That being said, the first two chapters of Eleven Days are posted on AO3.
Please heed the trigger warnings for chapter 2.
“Why couldn’t you just let me die?”
With a sharp intake of breath his eyes snapped to her profile, tears leaving trails of flickering silver on her cheeks. Slowly – so slowly – she turned her head to him, searing him with a hard, accusatory glare.
“Elide, I –”
She launched herself at him, pounding at his chest with her tiny fists as her voice cracked over ragged screams.
“Why couldn’t you just let me die?! WHY?!” she demanded. Lorcan, eyes wide with alarm, simply let her pummel him, while her words tore him to pieces. “You should’ve let me do it, Lorcan. Why didn’t you? Gods, WHY?”
Tag List: @elorcanweekofficial @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @mercarimari @daevastanner @mystical-blaise @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @freyjas-musings
#elorcan#elorcan week#elorcan week 2023#elide lochan#lorcan salvaterre#elorcan angst#hurt/comfort#empire of storms#sjm#sarah j maas#throne of glass#elide lochan x lorcan salvaterre#elide x lorcan#lorcan x elide#sorry not sorry#I'm a monster#hlizr50 tag
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this may be one of the most emotional scenes i've ever written
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I'm so tired, I just want to sleep, I've not really slept in two days thinking of all the stuff I have to do and another appointment days within another one.
I miss someone important, they've been busy and I don't blame them, I'm proud of them for trying so much, much more than I seem to be able... they're incredible and deserve everything good.
I'm constantly scared of what I may mean and if I lose the ability to give them help or anything, that I'll be useless and won't hear from them.
I'll still force myself to do everything, at the very least, I don't want to lose whatever help I get. Plus I need it more to be able to give to someone.
I'm not even sure what I'll say at the meeting, how do I explain how useless I feel with things being so difficult? I don't even think I'll have the energy or will to talk.
I'm ashamed that I struggle when someone important deals with so much more and does so much, especially when I want to help them.
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A perfectly cut scream with the egos would be like this:
Marvin: hmm.. candycorn? :picks up a package of it someone left on the table:
Chase: why would anyone eat that? Only weird people like that!
Anti: spontaneously glitches into the room, sounding unusually friendly:
Anti: I LIKE CANDY CORN :D
Chase and Marvin: AAAAHHHHHH
I don't know who you are, or why you decided to give me your headcanons, but I fucking love that. Seems pretty accurate I'll say. Here might be my longer version of that w/ all the main 6.
Chase:
Chase has had bad experiences with most things related to most things childhood related. (I have this headcanon based on the "Lost the only two people that ever mattered to me." bit. Talk more about that later if you're interested.) So he doesn't like most kinds of candy.
The guy likes sweets, sure.
And it probably used to give him a sugar high when he was happier.
But childhood trauma might've only allowed Chase to like one or two kinds of candy.
I see him as a Snickers bar kinda dude, but that's probably because I like that shit as well.
"You're not you when you're hungry, dude."
Chase probably hates Candy Corn for the texture it provides, he probably used to eat just a tiny bit if his kid demanded he try it.
Oh yeah, and memories like that add to the candy trauma.
Henrik:
Henrik avoids candy for the obvious reason that he's a doctor and knows the danger of that much sugar.
I do imagine he also gets a sugar high, and it comes out in the form of a mad scientist.
The only candy that Henrik might accept is the Lollie pops he hands out to good patients. (children obvi) That stuff can last a little longer, so his sugar highs aren't as dangerous or explosive.
But this fucker might as well hiss at candy corn while sending cease-and-desist-related insults in German at anyone who offers the candy.
He considers those things to be caramel sugar pyramids with the sole purpose of a "get a cavity quick" scheme.
JJ:
Doesn't mind candy corn
He wouldn't choose to eat candy corn out of everything else, but he doesn't hate it like Chase and Henrik do.
He mainly likes the caramel flavor but dislikes how it can get stuck in his teeth.
He's also a Lollie Pop kinda guy, mainly for the old-timey feels.
It's either that or a good bar of dark chocolate.
JJ doesn't get a sugar high like the others, but he also just doesn't eat candy often.
Jackieboyman:
Jackie likes to eat candy corn mainly for the shits and giggles.
Stuff like hissing at mutuals with candy corn fangs, adding it as decoration to whatever sweet things he might make specifically for Halloween if his times aren't robbed by...bank robbers maybe?
As a superhero, he'll hand out candy to saved victims on Halloween.
Whereas his 'secret identity' self will give out baked goods (the only ones that aren't burnt to a crisp) to any Trick-or-Treaters that approach his apartment complex.
However, Jackie doesn't necessarily choose candy corn out of the many other candy types.
Jackie seems to be the kinda guy who loves sour candy
Marvin:
Marvin soooo hates candy corn.
He's kinda pompous and snobby when it comes to their candy tastes, so candy corn is basically the most peasant-like candy he can think of.
Hates everything about candy corn.
The colors remind them of stupid and boring traffic cones,
the texture gives "hard on the outside, soft on the inside" a bad name,
and the flavoring tastes sooo cheap to Marvin.
Give Marvin any kind of chocolate and they'll be happy though.
Anti:
Eats candy corn purely for the chaos
It's a move he'll make to taunt all the other egos into fighting them.
But Anti otherwise doesn't care about candy in general
Food in general seems silly to it because before he took Jack's comatose body, they didn't need food or the sensations of taste that food provides.
It doesn't matter how tasty or dogshit the food is, Anti will only eat it if it'll keep his current vessel alive or if it'll cause a reaction from the others
If you did ask and Anti would willingly answer though, Anti would say that its favorite food would be dead human corpses, it traumatizes everyone else around them, and he finds it hilarious.
#I like candy corn#I'm a monster#I get it#jacksepticeye#jacksepticegos#jse egos#ask#jse anti#antisepticeye#jse chase#chase brody#jse marvin#marvin the magnificent#henrik von schneeplestein#dr schneeplestein#jameson jackson#jackieboy man#anon
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Contre Soirée - I'm a Monster
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There are still ASKS from APRIL in my DRAFTS
#I'M A MONSTER#there's also one from february but the asker and i both know about it lmao#tho pride month should be the month i do it#personal
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"I wish you could have met her"
I might clean this up later or something but it exhausts me just looking at it anymore, anyway TERRIN LORE REAL??
#terrin rose#Gordy Rose#My man's has gone through it#Sad spider hours#I hurt the silly#I'm a monster
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i threw bedding on my ugly, molting girl :(
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accidentally kicked my cat. suicide is the only way.
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Pauline duLacy/Halt O'Carrick
Characters: Will Treaty, Pauline duLacy, Halt O'Carrick
Additional Tags: I wrote this at 1am, i am a monster
Summary:
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!
People weren't meant to live for ever.
Living life was like going to bed after a long day of hard work. It was inevitable that the longing and desire to close one's eyes would eventually arise. When you got to a certain age, this longing could start to nag at you. It was... It was like it knew. It was like it could feel.
It felt how the sun of someone's life had been set. How evening had fallen. It was only unfortunate that the owner of this said life not always had a clue.
#Halt O'Carrick#Ranger's apprentice#fanfiction#RA fanfiction#Will Treaty#Pauline duLacy#I wrote this at 1AM#I'M A MONSTER#I should burn for this#but it fellt correct#Billy Boyd's Pippin Song inspired me
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I don't feel like I should be alive, I constantly miss things and have no anticipation for the future, near or far...
I'm barely a person, I can't function like people, I don't have anything that defines me, I play games and I have a broad taste in music and then other stuff...
I'm a worthless mess.
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I'm such a terrible awful ugly disgusting person and this world is better without me in it, I'll always be a fucking monster.
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this feels so fucked up to say and it IS 100% just because of seeing things thru David Tennant enamored tinted glasses rn, because even if Kilgrave weren't Kilgrave, what he did was still creepy, stalkery, boundary-crossing, probably re-traumatizing
and yet.. it is the tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniest bit romantic
*Edit*: forgot to specify I’m talking about recreating the house (and only that lmao)
#😶#i'm a monster#he's literally a monster#i feel wrong for this one#ugh#blegh#Jessica Jones#AKA WWJD#Kilgrave#mah life#Jessica Jones 1x08#edited to say>>#IM TALKING ABOUT THE HOUSE#AND THE ATTENTION TO DETAIL#god I hope people didn’t think I meant generally lmfao nooooooo#he a monstre
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I hate when I read a dark fic I do not want to be thinking about but can't stop thinking about because I do actually want to be thinking about it and how much more delicious pain and angst could be inflicted on my beloveds before they get a happy ending.
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