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blueberrypancakesworld · 1 year

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love the head cannons. NEED A PART 4

Perv!Charlie Walker~headcanon 4

warning : big angst, hurt/comfort, kiss, cuddling, slightly knife play, blood, wound, threat, mention of murder, one sided love, touching without consent, yandere behavior, obssed love, obsession

part one, part two , part three

Thanks for the request anon have fun reading

masterlist

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°It was the middle of the night when she woke up. Dazed and with an aching head, she opened her eyes. She blinked several times and needed a moment to compose herself. ,,What...happened?" she mumbled and felt something soft underneath her. A bed, she thought and looked around.

°She was lying on a single bed, it was relatively soft and yet as she let her gaze wander she felt fear creep along her body. This was not her room, nor was she in her house. She was no longer at the barn either. She was in a strange place.

°Sitting up, she suddenly felt something slightly sticky on her leg. Looking down her leg in confusion, she saw a white, almost transparent substance. Confusion and fear were in her eyes as she wiped the substance off her leg with her fingers. ,,Who smeared this...on me?" she asked herself in shock and felt her heart beat faster.

°She got up from the bed and looked around. It was a small room without windows. A large metal roller door formed the door, so to speak. Going to the exit and entrance, she tried to push the door up. But no matter how many times she tried, she could not do it. ,,Open, please!" she shouted at the gate and tried again. But it was no use, she kicked at it angrily and fearfully before looking around.

°It was furnished a bit like a normal room. Almost as if the person had tried to create an inviting environment. Desperately looking around for a way to escape, she opened all the boxes. But next to normal materials, pillows, blankets and clothes, she found something that gave her pause. ,,What-Why is this here?" she muttered and picked up the Ghostface mask and the long black robe.

°There was no blood on it, but when she looked into the killer's face, a shiver ran down her spine. Is this his hideout? she asked herself and had only one more reason to get out of here. Away from this place and away from Ghostface. Throwing the clothes behind her she continued to look through the box. With a relieved sound she held the knife in her hand, trembling slightly.

°It felt heavy on the handle and the blade were cold but the steel was sharp. In an emergency it would serve her well. ,,Somehow out of here," she murmured and continued to look around. She was about to look under the bed when her gaze caught on a small mirror. ,,What the" she said when she saw the dark hickeys and bites scattered over her body.

°And suddenly the room scared her even more than it should have. Before she could move around, a sudden noise came from outside. Someone was standing in front of the gate.....

°Everything had gone wrong her plan completely ruined and ruined. Kirby dead, Roobie dead, and Jill headed straight for prison. ,,Damn Sidney," he cursed and heaved his way along the warehouses. The stab wound on his stomach was still bleeding. He just left a trail of blood instead of breadcrumbs for the police. He knew it was pure luck that he had somehow escaped in all the chaos.

°But it would be worth all the pain once he was with her. He would finally have her to himself and they would be together. He stifled a cry before dragging himself the last few metres along the walls and gates before arriving at his. ,,Help! Is someone there?" he suddenly heard her beloved voice.

°You're finally awake he thought and knew his luck was in. ,,Yes-yes, it's Charlie!" he called to her and continued to press his hand on the wound. He looked nervously behind him, afraid the police would be around the corner any second. ,,Oh my God Charlie! Ghostface he's locked me in here help me. The door won't open!" she shouted at him and if he hadn't been in so much pain he would have laughed at her naivety.

°Instead, he clenched his teeth briefly and suppressed a painful hiss. ,,Wait, I'll get you out of here!" he shouted back before taking the key out of his pocket and opening the lock. Pushing up the gate and going inside, he finally saw her again.

°Scared, she took a few steps back. Perhaps out of fear that Ghostface might come after her and him. Before she ran towards him in relief and embraced him. He felt her rapid heartbeat, her relieved yet frightened voice thanking him. ,,You're bleeding, wait, there were bandages here," she said in shock and started rummaging through the boxes again.

°Meanwhile he closed the gate behind him and saw her stop a moment later. She saw through it he thought and couldn't help smiling a little. ,,What's the matter...still a little tired, my dear?" he asked sacrastically and heard her mutter something before she stood up. Before he saw the knife flashing in her hands.

°She took a few steps back from him. ,,You-you did this, Charlie! You drugged me-the alcohol...my body. You're Ghostface, you murderer!" she screamed at him as the scales fell from her eyes. ,,Bingo, my love, just like it should have been all along," he said, seeing her shake her head in denial. ,,N-No...Charlie-you're crazy what are you saying?" she asked, still clutching the knife protectively.

°He laughed even though it hurt like hell. ,,Crazy about you, my love. Since we've been at school, I've seen the way you've looked at me, your loving words, the events" he counted up and slowly came towards her. ,,What-no Charlie...you've got it wrong. I've been nice to you because you're my classmate...I love you no-" but he didn't allow her to say the words. That's when he lunged at her and pulled her to the ground.

°They fell into the boxes, but he managed to get the upper hand. He sat on her hips and had the knife in his hand. ,,Don't say that! It's all true. I'm doing all this for you!" he shouted at her and held the knife to her throat. Her hands lay limp at her side, afraid he would slash her. ,,Will-Will you kill me too now?" he heard the question.

°Instantly his heart contracted. His free hand ran down her body, over her side, her soft breasts, placed his fingers on her aorta, felt her pulse. Before he wiped away her tears and clasped her hand. ,,Oh, my sweet, don't cry, I would never kill you. No no, all these other sacrifices were just necessary so that we could be together" he said and let the knife draw small circles over her breast.

°Suddenly he heard the police sirens approaching from a distance. In one swift movement he sat her up and pulled her into a hug from behind. So that one hand with the knife was at her neck and the other kept wandering along her body. ,,Shhh no noise" he whispered and pinched her lightly before she hastily said ,,Yes understood".

°They both heard the police pass by the warehouse. He felt that she would have liked to scream, but the knife at her neck forbade it. ,,They look beautiful on you," he whispered and kissed her neck where one of your hickeys was. His free hand moved lightly up her leg to her middle. ,,You don't know what else we'll do together," he whispered and let his fingers wander over her centre. He noticed how she pulled her legs together, which made him smile.

°The police withdrew after a few minutes and the blue light moved on. ,,You see, it's easy, good girl," he praised and let his free hand grasp a bandage. He easily loosened the knife on her neck. ,,Now you will put the bandage on me and if you do it well I will be gentle...if not you will see" he said and she was about to pull away from his grip when he held her by the jaw. ,,I love you" he said and kissed her. She began to unbutton his shirt and lift his jumper before reaching for the bandage.

°Later, the papers said that Ghostface Charlie Walker and his now-deceased partner Jill Roberts were behind the murders. That he had kidnapped his classmate and taken her out of America to hide somewhere. Not knowing that in his eyes it was a pure necessity to commit the victims. To be with his love, his heart, his obsession, his muse, his property forever.

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weirdmixofweirdness · 25 days

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The IDF killed multiple charity workers who came in with the World Central Kitchen (AKA the charity Jacksepticeye raised money for in December).

They were just trying to feed people who are being intentionally starved! And they were killed for it! There’s no low the IDF won’t go to!

#arden speaks #important #palestine #gaza #free palestine #world central kitchen #the idf killed members of the world central kitchen #jacksepticeye #mention of murder #cw mention of murder

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loyal2yeonjun · 1 year

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HII do you do groups like e.g. Txt x reader but all together if so I have a request :)) Yan!soobin being all naive and believing that s/o loves him but in all reality she is using him to escape them all ( yan!txt )

Beomgyu finding out about it and telling everyone so their s/o's "stupid plan would go to waste

Also can I be 🌸 anon?

i'm so sorry i've been inactive for awhile but i do and sure you can be flower anon :D

- pairing(s) - ot5 txt! x reader

-warning-(s) ; yandere behavior ; mention of suicide ; use of pet names ; mention of murder / reader gets threatened ; idk what else so write me an ask if i missed one or two

genre ; yandere

-extras - mainly soobin and beomgyu centered

read under cut

"you...love..me.?" you nod your head hoping it was enough to convince him " I do. I was just scared of telling you ,I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.." he smiled like how a toddler would smile if you gave them a bag of candy filled with their favorite sweets "I do, really don't you believe me soobs..?" his heart melted at the nick name "o-of course, I do believe you!" he whimpered, hugging you tight ' tch.. soobin out. I just need to deal with four more..' you thought, not knowing that beomgyu was outside the bedroom eavesdropping on you " she's definitely plotting something.. but whatever that is, you will never success with doing it." he murmured .

it may have took months but your were sure it was worth it since they were falling for your small act, and it was great at first but started going downhill when beomgyu found out about your plan .

" it's only a few more days 'till they let me out, and once we go out i would just need to find the perfect timing to run for it." you stated at yourself satisfied. Well.. that's until "that's a nice plan princess but before you could even do that i'll tell everyone what your up to." he laughed, your heart dropping at that moment "n-no gyu! please.. don't!" you begged "too late princess." he held your arm and started dragging you to the living room . upon entering the room , everyone looked at both of you "gyu? y/n?" soobin stared at the both of you , confused, well , everyone is confused at the moment . Not until beomgyu spoke " should i explain it or should you princess?" he asked "gyu.. you don't have to do this please..." you pleaded " But i do need to tell them y'know babe." you started to feel his dark aura towering you. everyone started asking questions " what do you mean let her explain? explain what?" yeonjun asked " that y/n here planned to escape and even used soobs to try and escape!" he spat angrily everyone felt betrayed specially soobin '' what..? '' he mumbled " I'm sorry you guys have to found it out about that in this way specially you soobin. but i would rather hang and kill myself than be with you!!" you yelled " soobin hugged you tight " baby... we've killed everyone for you, so you have no one to go to. " he smiled innocently .

it felt like you were drowning at the moment , lungs burning , vision blurring and tears starting to flow. Their voices echoing through out your brain. it was honestly disgusting, the way they are telling you the way they've murdered people you once loved with so detailed words. This was your punishment wasn't it? Five men surrounding you and telling you how they murder people for you... It was so terrible hearing them talk and chat so calmly. It is forever going to haunt you.

#!! Hails Yandere mail!!#🌸 Anon #reader insert #txt x reader #txt x y/n #tommorow x together #yandere txt #male yandere #mention of murder #yandere kpop #yandere behavior #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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sagaofa-dying-star · 1 month

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I had a thought so here’s a question:

#music poll #music #mention of murder #mention of death

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sourtomatola · 8 months

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Arsenic and old lace AU anyone?

Y/n Find out the daycare attendants who practically raised him have been killing people and burying them in their basement. No one would ever suspect sweet Sunny and gentle Moony of such crimes but sure enough. there's a dead man in the window seat.

it might be William Afton. He might be declaring he's "Getting better" but no one acknowledges this and keeps declaring "There is a dead man in the window seat!" Then discreetly slapping his hand back under, out of sight.

Another Arsenic and old lace au comic?

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selineram3421 · 4 months

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Here's a peek at the ask of a work I have been stuck on for a while. And as our lovely deer man says!

Stay tuned~

#alastor x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #tw mention of rapist #mention of murder

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irbcallmefynn · 6 months

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Usually when Nauno's victim finds out they're a guy, he'll usually either be cool with it (that's when the stealing happens) or he'll yell at them and try to leave (that's when Fynn gets a meal). This time it wasn't so pretty. Turns out if a guy with a gun gets mad, he'll probably be inclined to use that gun. No shots were fired thankfully, but it freaked Nauno out to the point of tears. Luckily, Fynn is more than willing to support Nauno (usually Euphi would, but she's out shopping). Fynn's words of consolation are... unorthodox, to put it best. But they seem to work quite well.

Oh boy, another one of those ideas I have while playing Terraria! Why does it happen? I don't know! Am I gonna complain about having ideas? Nope! I didn't spend too long on this, just a couple of minutes.

I just kinda felt like I never really showed that, although Fynn and Nauno's relationship started out as mostly business, it has grown into the two genuinely caring for each other. Not quite to the same degree as Euphi cares for them, but they do legitimately like each other.

#fynn art #paint.net #furry #furry art #sfw furry #furry anthro #wolf furry #wolf fursona #avali #avali art #mention of death #mention of murder #gun tw #< Putting those here just in case #yeah if anyone dares hurt Nauno I will wish an agonizing end upon you <3

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awakefor48hours · 1 year

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Watching and Dreaming is the last episode, if any of you leak it, I’m just killing you

#for legal reasons im joking #but I’m tired of people leaking episodes #my blog will always be leak free though #mention of murder #toh #the owl house #the not spoiler house

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moosekateer13 · 1 year

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That Won't Save Us Masterlist

For @supernatural-jackles tell my a story bingo

Quote I

15. "Do you know how much I love you?" "Who do you want dead this time?"

Sam Winchester reader Former! Joe Goldberg x reader

Warnings: Angst, Attempted murder, mention of murder, Attempted kidnapping, Fluff, Smut

Summary: After running away from her abusive murderous ex Joe Goldberg.Y/N finds herself in Texas. She ends up in the arms of Sam Winchester. Will he be able to protect themself from her ex? Who is hellbent on finding her? Since she's the only lover that has survived.

Inspired by Against the Current's That Won't Save Us.

What did I hear you say? Say it to my face.

It's not even worth the fight. Waiting for you to say.

What's got you so afraid?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4:

Chapter 5: Chapter 6: Chapter 7: Epilogue

#that won't save us #sam winchester x reader #former! joe goldberg x reader #“Do you know how much I love you?” “Who do you want dead this time?”#tell me story bingo #supernatural fanfiction #moosekateer13 #Angst #Attempted murder #mention of murder #Attempted kidnapping #Fluff #Smut

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kimium · 26 days

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Chapters: 1/1 Series: Part 10 of Sort of Saw Franchise AU

Summary:

One shot. Sort of Saw Franchise AU.

“Careful!” Yuu warned as they reached their hand out, steadying the platter. “I don’t want all our hard work on the floor.”

“I’d still eat them.”

“Yes, but they’re for Kalim and Jamil too.”

Grim rolled his eyes. “Everyone thinks they’re too good for floor cookies.”

“I think it’s more of a health risk than a pride issue.”

“If you say so…” Grim muttered as he set the plate on the table without incident. “What time are they coming over?”

After a long week of work, Yuu is excited and ready to relax and hangout with Kalim and Jamil. Complete with baking and tea, of course. (Huh? Murder? In the background? It's nothing. Don't worry about it. Yuu won't think too much on it. It's fine.)

Hello everyone! I’m finally here with Kalim’s story! This one gave me some troubles, mostly finding the angle I wanted to take. I actually had a different one in mind when planning, but this one flowed better, so I ran with it. I hope you all like it. Let me know!!!

#personal #writing #one shot #twisted wonderland #sort of saw franchise au #university student yuu #gender neutral pronouns for yuu #mention of murder #mention of drowning #mention of alcohol and drinking #minor ocs

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ollieofthebeholder · 5 months

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 71: March 1998

Gerard likes to think of himself as reasonably fluent in Latin. At the very least, he can translate a good number of the texts his mother puts in front of him these days, and he’s written out his fair share, too, and they’re more or less understandable by anyone with a working grasp of the language. His pronunciation is decent and, when his mother reads aloud to him, he can usually comprehend it well enough.

He has, however, no clue what the old man in the frock coat is saying.

Well, that’s not…entirely true. He’s following along, for the most part. But it’s just off enough that it’s like the guy is speaking a different language. At the very least it’s a dialect he’s not familiar with, and does Latin even have dialects? He supposes it must have, at one point, just like every other language does—the Roman Empire was big enough, and lasted long enough, that there must be variants all over the place—but he’s never learned anything but the scholarly, textbook variety, and he’s not sure what’s going on.

He realizes he’s focusing on something supremely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If he worries about how the man is saying what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to think about what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. He can pretend everything is normal.

To his left, Melanie stands unusually still for once. Her black crepe dress with the white lace collar fits her way too well to have been recently purchased—Roger almost always buys things Melanie is going to grow into—but her patent leather Mary Janes must be new, since he’s never seen them before and they’re far too shiny to have been worn much; they haven’t even picked up much of the dirt. She’s taken her hair back with a faux pearl clip, silver stars wink in her recently pierced ears, and at her throat is a cameo necklace on a black velvet ribbon. Her face is drawn and pale, and she’s clutching an honest-to-God handkerchief trimmed in lace, which might have been white once but is currently the same ivory color as the cameo. She stares straight ahead, not moving, except for the fingers that keep twisting and twisting the handkerchief.

Gerard’s eyes rove over the crowd. It’s mostly older people, a few people he recognizes vaguely from seeing around the neighborhood and one or two who’ve come to Pinhole Books on occasion, but for the most part they’re all completely unknown to him. (He’s learned by now not to use stranger in a benign context.) Roger, standing on Melanie’s other side, seems to be polishing his square spectacles rather a lot, and Gerard’s not about to look at his mother, because he doesn’t want to know what she’s looking at and doesn’t want to get in trouble if what she’s looking at is him.

Unfortunately, that only leaves him two places to look.

He lets himself, reluctantly, look at the folding chair placed just ahead of them. It’s almost entirely empty, except for two figures. Aunt Lily has gained back some weight in the last year—a lot of weight—and now has to use a cane everywhere she goes; her hands, covered in black kid gloves, are folded neatly over the carved wooden handle, except when she raises one to cough discreetly into a handkerchief—like Melanie’s, except hers is trimmed in black. She honestly looks like she’s just stepped out of an Edwardian fashion plate in a magazine instructing people on proper mourning attire. For fuck’s sake, she even has a hat with a veil.

Of course Martin stands next to her, slightly behind her. He looks smaller than usual, like he’s crumpled in on himself. His black suit jacket is just a little too big for him, hanging loosely on his shoulders and covering half of his hands, but he’s finally grown into the Norfolk cap he’s owned as long as Gerard has known him. Because of where he’s standing, Gerard can’t see anything else, but he knows he’s wearing a pair of too-long trousers that cover his smart black school shoes. He can, however, see his face, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s beyond upset, beyond even devastated. Martin looks…lost.

Gerard looks away, and of course in doing so his eyes lock onto the box just behind the priest. For some reason, the box bothers him more than Martin’s face, even though it’s closed. Maybe especially because it’s closed.

He keeps telling himself the old man isn’t really in there. That it’s just a box, containing an empty shell. That they know the old man is dead and beyond the reach of the Fourteen. The body he viewed last night, dressed in a dove grey wool suit and fingers folded over the rosary his parents brought from Poland, isn’t really the man they all knew, it’s just a husk. That man is gone, somewhere they won’t see him for a long time, if ever. Gerard isn’t terribly sure what kind of an afterlife there is, if there even is an afterlife, and he’s not sure he’ll ever earn a place in the same afterlife as Alastair Koskiewicz if there is. But wherever it is, it’s somewhere better than this, it has to be.

It doesn’t help much.

It’s not just the fact of the coffin, the idea of being shut up in a box and dropped in a hole and covered in dirt forever and ever, and how horrifying it would be if he wakes up and can’t get out. Gerard’s read stories about that happening and it’s kept him up at nights sometimes, although not as often as thinking about the casual comment Martin made when they first met (why didn’t he ever tell Alastair about that, why hasn’t he told someone, is Martin still being punished like that, what if Martin wakes up in that coffin someday). It’s the whole fact of him being dead. Death is one of the Fourteen, after all, so even being dead doesn’t mean he’s completely safe. Gerard’s not sure how that works and he’s kind of afraid to ask.

Tiny cold fingers slide into Gerard’s, and he squeezes back on instinct. That’s all Melanie needs, apparently, and she clutches his hand so tight he almost expects his fingers to pop off. For a skinny little twig like she is, she’s got a really strong grip.

The priest recites a phrase, and even if it doesn’t sound exactly like how Gerard learned it, he at least knows what it means: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He then nods and gestures at the coffin.

Six men, five strangers and Roger, step forward and each take a handle of the coffin, then carry it over to the hole. A man, probably an employee of the cemetery, directs them, then signals for them to let go. For a moment, the coffin rests on a series of straps before the pallbearers lower it into the ground.

At his side, Melanie gives a low whimper and turns away for a moment, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, before straightening and facing the grave again.

At another signal from the priest, Aunt Lily hefts herself to her feet and limps forward, Martin trailing after her. She takes something from the priest and throws it into the open grave, then steps back. The priest beckons to Martin, who also comes forward and hesitantly lets something fall from his hand into the grave. Unlike his mother, though, he doesn’t stand back, just stays where he is. The priest ignores him in favor of finishing the ceremony.

Once the final amen is said, the crowd drifts away from the graveside and back towards the road, probably intent on heading back to the old man’s house, where a reception has been laid out. Roger moves over to assist Aunt Lily to her feet, and she leans on both him and her cane as she struggles forward. Gerard’s mother focuses on an awkward-looking young blond man standing off to one side, gives a sharp, sweetly poisonous smile, and heads in that direction. Martin remains where he is, staring down into the grave, even as the gravediggers uncover the pile of dirt under the tarp and begin spading it back into the hole. Gerard can hear the rattle as it rains on the lid of the coffin. Melanie flinches at the sound, then suddenly yanks her hand out of Gerard’s and rushes over to Martin’s side, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He doesn’t react. Gerard’s heart constricts.

Hesitantly, he crosses over as well and puts one hand on Martin’s shoulder and the other on Melanie’s. He’s taller than both of them, for now anyway, tall enough that he can look over their heads and see into the grave as the smooth, polished wood gradually disappears under the dry, brittle soil.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to steer Melanie and Martin away. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Melanie starts to come without too much resistance, but she stops dead in her tracks when Martin doesn’t budge. He keeps watching as the coffin is slowly but steadily obscured.

He’s not crying. Gerard doesn’t like it. He understands Melanie—he’s never seen her cry, no matter how upset she gets—but Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, and the fact that he’s not crying for his grandfather is…worrying. As is the way he’s just…staring at the hole, and the box.

“Martin,” Gerard says, a little more insistently. He holds his shoulder a little tighter, shakes him a bit, trying to get his attention. The fact that Martin still doesn’t react scares him more than he’s willing to admit, and before he can stop himself, he slaps the younger boy across the face. “Martin!”

Martin jerks and stumbles back from the edge of the grave. Gerard takes advantage of him being off-balance to grab his arm and drag him away; Melanie loops her arm through his other one and helps, although she’s not much help. Actually, Gerard has to admit that if Martin wasn’t already off-balance, he wouldn’t be able to move him either. Martin is chubby, to put it politely, and probably weighs as much as both of them put together, and he can be quite difficult to move when he wants to be.

The village cemetery is probably a good mile from the house, but most of the cars have already left by the time they manage to wrestle Martin to the road. Gerard reckons that’s probably not the worst thing in the world—the walk will do them good—but before he can even bring that up, a woman comes over to them. She looks to be about the same age as Gerard’s mother, a sweet-faced woman whose thick braid of hair is more white than black but whose dark blue eyes shine with innocence, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit that looks more like an everyday work outfit than something bought specially for a funeral.

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?” she says in a soft, gentle voice. Martin recoils, shrinking back, a naked terror suddenly replacing the half-blind look that was in them before, but nods once. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dear. I used to work with him a long time ago. He was a very, very good man.” Turning to Gerard, she adds, “And of course, you’re Eric’s son, aren’t you? Gerard? We used to be colleagues. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”

Passing. Like it was an easy thing and not the work of his mother and a pair of hedge clippers. Gerard swallows down that response and only says, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Turning to Melanie, the woman’s smile softens. “And who are you, sweetling?”

Melanie surprises Gerard. She looks up at Martin briefly, then back at the woman, but doesn’t answer. Gerard figures she’s just shy for some reason, or too upset to talk, and steps in. “This is Melanie. She’s our friend. Her dad was one of the pallbearers.”

“Of course, of course. Are you a friend of the family, then?”

Gerard starts to answer, but Melanie shakes her head and pulls on Martin’s arm. “Gerry, you know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“Oh!” The woman gives a silvery laugh, then instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, I forgot entirely! Of course none of you know me. My name is Emma.” She looks around the parking lot and adds, “It looks like everyone else has left already. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the house?”

“No.” That single word, laden with terror and cracked with tears, explodes out of Martin’s mouth as he takes a step back. It shocks Gerard, who suddenly realizes it’s the first word out of Martin’s mouth since Alastair died, but also because Martin is never rude to grown-ups. Or anybody, really, but especially not grown-ups.

He’s right, though. Gerard was on the verge of accepting the ride, but it dawns on him just how stupid an idea that is. They don’t know this woman, and for all she claims to know both Martin’s grandfather and Gerard’s father, they can’t prove she actually does. Did. She could be trying to kidnap them, or worse.

With that in mind, Gerard tosses a hasty, “Thank you, ma’am, nice to meet you!” over his shoulder as he heads up the block, arm still looped through Martin’s. It’s hard to say who’s dragging whom.

It takes them almost half an hour to get back to the house. The drive and street are clogged with cars, including the one belonging to the woman called Emma—so at least she’s actually here—and a few shadowy figures pass by the windows. Gerard figures they’ll slip inside, grab a plate each, and find a quiet corner to tuck into.

Martin surprises him again. He bypasses the house entirely, sliding his arms from Melanie and Gerard’s without a word, and makes straight for the grove of cherry trees, currently bare and only just beginning to think about budding; they won’t flower for at least another month. He doesn’t stop there, either, just reaches up and seizes a low-hanging branch and hauls himself into one of the older and sturdier trees. Martin might be plump, but he’s strong.

“Martin! Jesus.” Gerard looks at Melanie, who gives him a worried look in reply. Bowing to the inevitable, he goes over to the tree with her and boosts her up. Once she’s managed to pull herself onto a branch, and while she’s trying to figure out how to climb a bit higher to reach Martin, Gerard turns and heads back into the house.

For a wonder, he manages to elude both his mother and Martin’s, retrieve a few snacks he can secrete in his jacket pocket, and slip back out again without anyone being the wiser. Getting himself into the tree is harder, but with the assistance of the split-rail fence and a bit of effort he manages it. Martin has climbed as high as he possibly can before the branches won’t hold him anymore, and Melanie has managed, with some difficulty, to get just a couple branches below him. Gerard makes his way up to join them, then fetches the food out from his pocket and passes some to Melanie and some to Martin. He takes it mechanically, but doesn’t eat.

Finally, Gerard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for telling that woman your name, Neens.”

“I don’t mind. She knew yours and Martin’s, it’s only fair she knew mine, too. I just wasn’t going to talk to her.” Melanie peers up at Martin. “You didn’t like her, did you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. The sausage roll hangs from his hand, and he’s staring vacantly at something far away. He looks a lot older than nine years old and Gerard doesn’t know how to fix it.

Before he can figure out what to say, or even if he’s going to say anything, he hears voices and looks down. The woman from the cemetery is passing under the trees—which she has no reason to do, they’re not between the house and the cars—along with two other people, neither of whom look so old. Gerard can’t tell genders from this angle, only that one has curly blond hair and the other has sandy brown shingled hair. They’ve obviously all been at the funeral, or are trying to blend in with it, and are apparently mid-conversation.

“—know him?” a man’s voice asks. “I guess she must have, if you did. Shame she couldn’t come.”

“She’s very busy.” The older woman’s voice doesn’t quite have the same soft, gentle tones it did when she was speaking to the three of them, but it still sounds very sweet and pleasant. “That’s why she sent us, to pay her regards.”

“I have to say,” says a woman’s voice, “the, er, bereaved didn’t seem particularly upset.” The person with the shingled hair stops and puts hands on hips, so Gerard presumes she’s the one speaking. “Not until you mentioned the Institute, anyway.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I—I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, if her father worked there…”

“Worked, past tense,” the unknown woman points out. “Why did he leave, anyway, Emma?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, a bit vaguely. “It was so long ago—it wasn’t very long after I started working for Gertrude myself.”

“Was he in the Archives, too? Did he know Eric?” The man’s voice is a bit eager.

“Gracious, no, not the Archives. Alastair was a practical researcher. You’ll find his name on several of the catalog entries for the older artifacts, if you know where to look.” Emma sighs. “But yes, he knew Eric, too. And Fiona—you never met her, of course, she sadly passed away before your time—”

“Didn’t I get hired to replace her?”

“—he was always so patient with her. The rest of us thought she was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, honestly, but I suppose she reminded him of his own mother.”

“You must have known him well,” the unknown woman says shrewdly.

Emma shrugs. “Not very, honestly. As I said, we were in different departments. He usually brought down information for Gertrude from the other departments, and they’d chat a bit, but I was always so busy I never had much time.”

“Ms. Robinson must have been busy, too,” the man says, sounding defensive.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t, Michael dear. Only that I didn’t make the time to make as many connections as she did.” Emma sighs—a bit theatrically, Gerard thinks. “It’s something I regret in my old age.”

“You’re not old.” Michael, or at least Gerard assumes he’s Michael, touches her arm urgently. “You’re still quite young, honest.”

Emma laughs that same silvery laugh. “You’re so sweet.”

Michael sighs. “You know who I feel bad for, though? That little boy. Is that—was that Alastair’s grandson?”

“Yes, that’s Martin. I wanted to speak a bit more with him, but he’s understandably upset. He must have loved his grandfather very much.” Emma clucks her tongue. “The poor little thing.”

“His grandfather loved him, too,” the unknown woman says. “I didn’t see a single picture of his mother anywhere in that house, but that little boy was all over it.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d best be getting back. I’ve still got to follow up with a couple of people.”

They move off, and for a few moments, there is complete silence. Then something wet hits Gerard’s hand. He looks up and sees Martin, still staring fixedly ahead of him, but with big, fat tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Martin.” Abandoning safety, sense, and sausage roll, Melanie pulls herself to a standing position and lunges forward to wrap her arms around Martin’s middle before Gerard can tell her be careful. She buries her face in his side and just holds on for dear life.

“I can’t remember his face,” Martin says, his voice small and fragile and choked with tears. “I, I didn’t—Mum said, she said I wasn’t allowed to look if I couldn’t see on my own and, and I was too short, so I didn’t see him last night, there was just the picture, but he was so young, he wasn’t—he wasn’t finished. It wasn’t his face. But I can’t remember what he looked like. He loved me so much and I can’t remember his face…”

Gerard swallows hard. He can empathize with that, a little, anyway. He barely remembers what his own father looked like, and…well, he assumes his father loved him. He remembers loving his father, anyway. Martin’s had nine years with his grandfather and only just lost him. That has to be disconcerting.

He could describe it to him. Tell Martin what his grandfather looks like. He could also reassure him that even if he had been able to look into the coffin last night, it wouldn’t have looked like his grandfather, not with all the makeup and the weird slackness that death adds to a face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he puts one hand on Martin’s leg and the other on Melanie’s waist and summons up every ounce of authority and assurance he can.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

Martin blinks and looks down at Gerard. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to remember his face,” Gerard repeats. “Is that what’s important? Or is it important that he loved you, and you love him? You can remember what he sounded like when he told you stories or taught you poems, right? What it felt like when he hugged you? What the cherry pie he made specially for you smelled like?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then that’s what matters. Faces change. Yours isn’t finished yet either, or mine, or Melanie’s, and if you didn’t see us for years and years and then one day you saw us again, maybe you wouldn’t remember what we looked like, but you’d remember we’re your friends. Love doesn’t have to look. Love just has to be.”

Melanie and Martin both stare at Gerard, who tries not to look embarrassed. He’s almost twelve, and love isn’t a word he throws around a lot, but for these two, he’ll do it. He’s never had a brother or a sister, but he feels like he’s got one now. And Alastair treated him like another grandson. He’s, he was, a good man, and Martin deserves to not feel bad for remembering him in whatever way he does.

“Besides,” he adds, to lighten the mood a little bit. “He looks a lot like a cross between your mum and a bulldog with big dangly jowls and a walrus mustache. You don’t want that image in your head all the time.”

It elicits a tiny giggle out of the other two, and Martin starts to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before Melanie hands him her handkerchief. “He’s right,” she tells him. “Not about your granddad, not exactly, but—I don’t remember what Mama looked like either. Not really. The only picture I’ve got of her is from after she got sick, and that didn’t look like her really either.”

Martin dabs at his cheeks. “But…but what if I do forget?”

“Then we’ll remind you,” Gerard says. “That’s what family is for, right?”

At that, Martin finally smiles and nods. “Yeah. That’s what family is for.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #martin blackwood's mother #death #funerals #burial #implied/referenced child abuse #mention of murder #forgetfulness #grief

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blueberrypancakesworld · 11 months

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Hey bae, I've enjoyed your lords of chaos fics so far and I really liked the hcs and I just wanted to ask you could make one for necrobutcher? He was so fine in the movie but no one ever talks about him :)

Hello anon happy that you enjoyed my works so far. Pretty cute in the movie but the only voice of reason. So I hope and everyone else likes this little story and as always have fun readinf :)

It's over

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of suicide

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°The two of you actually met in the supermarket one day. You wanted to buy something for you and your flatmate, who didn't really have anything any more. Almost the same was true for Necrobutcher the bass player and member of Mayhem he was still something like the voice of reason.

°Just as she was going to the section with the muesli and other packaged foods, she saw a black-haired young man. From then on, the two of you got into a conversation, or rather, he made the first move. A bad joke, a little laugh and a question about what all the patches on his jacket were for.

°There was a spark between the dark mysterious basist and the simple medical student. Which is why he not only wrote her number on her hand, but also lied her into the next rehearsal of Mayhem in the dried-out hut.

°She would be lying if she didn't find him attractive. There was something about him that was slightly mysterious, funny, realistic and, from what she had heard, not as evil as the news described all those statists. Which is why she went to the cottage at the weekend.

°When she arrived and went into the old hut, she quickly realised that it had seen better days. ,,Hey, Y/n, come with me, I'll show you the others!" he called cheerfully from the kelelr and wrapped her in a hug before they went downstairs. There she met the rest of the band from mayhem - nice but somehow strange people.

°Sitting down on the floor, she watched the band animatedly. Even though the music wasn't really her cup of tea at first, she soon felt herself swaying and humming along to the lyrics and cheering the band on. Before she pulled Necrobutcher into her arms, slightly embarrassed, and praised him.

°Staying with the band throughout the day, a small partx took place in the evening, where she not only had fun but also sat on the couch with the black-haired man and watched a film to ignore the noise from outside. He had his arm around her and she had her head on his shoulder. A cute moment that ended the evening with them kissing. The first kiss of many that night the two somehow ended up in a relationship.

°She quickly realised how sensitive, emotional and devoted he was. He listened to her problems, hugged her, kissed her and was there for her. He was indeed the most socially normal of mayhem and understood her worries that one day something might happen. Even though they both supported each other.

°But the day came when it would happen. The suicide of Dead and Euroynmou's exaggeration. He had gone too far and exploited his friend's death just for the sake of success. That same day, she got a call from Necrobutcher from a phone box who was more than upset and asked her to pick him up because his bike had a flat.

°As soon as she got into her car and drove off, she was worried. It was bound to happen sometime, she thought bitterly and sadly, before stopping at the phone box a few minutes later and getting out. She held the distraught and almost tearful Necrobutcher in her arms for a moment. She just held him and he mumbled and apologised for something he couldn't do.

°Then they loaded the fahard into the car and drove to him, as his family was not there at the moment anyway. Sitting down together on the couch, he rested his head on her lap and was quiet. But she was also quiet and just stroked his head. ,,It's going to be all right...they're gone, you don't have to go there any more," she said and only saw the brief nod. A moment later he sat down and wrapped her in a grateful kiss and held her hand. ,,Thank you for everything," he murmured and put his hand on her cheek.

°Not knowing that the past would catch up with them both. The suicide was only the beginning, then Faust's murder of the gay man and finally Varg's murder of euronymous. It was terrible, and yet the two survived the time together. They moved in together, helped each other and lived normal, free lives as best they could. Knowing that the horror had only made them both stronger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mayhem-things , @bvg-w1res , @beldamama

#lords of chaos 2018 #lords of chaos #mayhem #lords of chaos necrobutcher #lords of chaos necrobutcher x reader #reader is female #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #mention of murder #mention of death #jonathan barnwell

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internetangel-official · 20 days

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thinking about how hard it is to be an angel in a world like this. why can't anyone SEE how important and angelic I am??? how blind are they??? why can't I just take them out??? the world should belong to an angel like me. I am the only angel suited to save this horrible world, and I'll save it by purging all the evil! and then I can have a fairytale ending and me and my darlings can be happy together forever... I just want them to myself yknow? nobody else is worthy of me or my darlings! and I should be their favourite forever even after the sun explodes and humanity dies its inevitable death! ~

#🍬angelpilled #actually bpd #bpd thoughts #bpd #bpd feels #bpd fp #mention of death #mention of violence #mention of murder #its okay cus im just a girl #and an angel ~

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gummybugg · 8 months

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Incorrect Quotes Tag!🚫

I think I was tagged by @mysticstarlightduck here and @rickie-the-storyteller here oh so long ago!

Here's the link to the quote generator:

I’m using my Crater City characters for this one! You can find out a bit more about them here!

By the looks of it, some of these could plausibly be canon ehehehe

Warnings in the tags!

…

*talking on the phone* Blair: Remember how I said that Elijah and I were gonna have a calm night out for once? Rose: Yeah… Blair: Well, we’re in jail. Rose: hangs up

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Blair: Guess what? Rose: What? Blair: No, you have to guess. Rose, thinking: I don’t know. Blair: Elijah is in the hospital. Rose: Why would you make me guess that?! Rose: What happened?!

(Coincidentally, Elijah really does get rushed to the hospital in the story😔).

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Rose: So, Blair and Elijah. Rose: According to this, you two are being accused of: Armed Robbery, Vandalism, Drug Abuse, Grand Theft Auto… Blair: We had a bad day. Rose: And… MURDER?! Elijah: It was a pretty bad day…

(The only crime either of them haven't committed on this list is technically drug abuse, but even then that's sketch. Yes, I have a doc dedicated to their numerous crimes)

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Blair: Do you care if I take the skin off this Furby? Blair: I want to make him a god. Once he is free of his sinful flesh, he can begin a path towards enlightenment. He will take care of us. Blair: I also want to softhack his circuits. Elijah: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that ever again.

(They stole the furby from Rose, an avid collector of antiques. Elijah ends up helping Blair hack his furby because they're both computer nerds and think it'd be funny to prank her)

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Rose: Goddamn it, the printer broke while printing out Blair's birthday invitations. Elijah: Well, what are they supposed to say? Rose: "Blair's birthday" Elijah: So, what do they say instead? Rose: "Blair's bi" Elijah: Works out either way.

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Rose, to Blair: If you see Elijah, give him this message *makes a neutral face* Rose: He'll know what it means. *later* Blair: oh, and Rose said to give you a message. Blair: *makes a neutral face* Elijah: Oh no. The neutral face of displeasure.

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Frasier: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. Blair, Elijah, and Rose: Awwww- Frasier: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." Blair, Elijah, and Rose: Oh.

(Frasier got that father/older brother bond with his sister Rose + her friends :')

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Rose: Pose as a team because SHIT JUST GOT REAL!

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Darcy: I could kill you if I wanted. Blair: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

(Ranked #1 on Top 10 Best Moments Before Tragic Anime Death)

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Darcy: Go big or go home! Frasier: Please, for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. Go. Home. Darcy: I'm going big!

(He did not go home. In fact, Darcy went on to lead one of the most notorious cities in Neo-civilization)

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Darcy: How are we supposed to put a tracker the size of a penny on Blair without him noticing? Melony: Hey, Blair, I bet you 5 bucks that you can't swallow this penny. Blair: takes and swallows tracker Pay up, loser. Darcy: ...

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Frasier: Darcy gave me a get better soon card. Melony: That's sweet! Frasier: I wasn't sick, he just thinks I can do better.

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Darcy: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Frasier a little bit. Melony, holding Darcy's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation. Darcy: No, that's our joint tombstone. Melony: My mistake.

(Let's just say Darcy and Frasier have their hypothetical facebook status set to "complicated")

-ˋˏ🚗- - - - -

Bonus-ish Content: an AU where everyone gets along

Blair: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Darcy: No, that's not how you make cookies. Elijah: FLOOR IT!! Blair: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Darcy: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Blair: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Frasier: DO IT! Darcy: NO-

…

Tagging: @charlesjosephwrites @cwritesfiction @comicgoblinart @crowandmoonwriting @writeouswriter @acertainmoshke @abalonetea & anyone who wants to try this tag out. Very fun :')

...

🚗Want to rot your brain with each sporadic Crater City post? Join the taglist! Maybe I'll finish this wip someday, who knows! (ask to be added/removed): @writeouswriter @lyra-brie @digitalsatyr23

#thanks for the tag!#mention of murder #mention of drugs #mention of hospital #crater city wip #my wip #my ocs #incorrect quotes tag #writing tag #writeblr #i tried so hard to get everyone in here #but alas there are more characters on the way #*laughs maniacally*#im sorry reading this over 50 times still makes me laugh

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gumballrightfoots · 2 years

Text

ORDER ORDER

Alright

The court case today is a murder case

Glitch is accused of murdering @epsi-l0n on September 26 2022

But wittinesses say it was glitch but others say other wise

@ryn-halo26 you will be the lawyer of glitch

@krysial you’re the one accusing glitch for killing alphie your lawyer will be @friendlyfaded

The jurry will be @angel-shaw @annahhope @bruh-im-aggro @batch-of-pengwings @beemybella @beewithknee

Let’s begin

#mention of death #mention of murder

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cambria-writes · 2 years

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good morning! it is wednesday!

i remember writing this for the first time and feeling super giddy that i was finally getting to the core of the reason why every chapter was named after a different shade of yellow.

anyways give it up for chapter ten! for better or for worse we're actually more than halfway there!

word count: 2,557 rating: T, each chapter rated individually warnings: guns, active shooting, minor injuries, mention of kidnapping, oc being a fucking idiot, panic in darkness, let me know if i need to add anything else!

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖊𝖓: 𝔖𝔬𝔩𝔞𝔯

The contact feels like an explosion of light behind your lids. Like you're two steps away from a migraine, when everything goes white. You feel no pain. There is no discomfort. Only confusion, and excitement in it.

You don't get much more before you're pulled back into someone's chest. You scramble to find your balance again. Your feet feel disconnected from your body. Head feels too heavy. Hands feel almost numb. It still feels like the wind is trying to take your breath right out of your lungs. Do your best to cover your mouth. The piercing green eyes follow you the entire way, but the woman doesn't move. And you aren't quite certain why, with so little information, you know it's a woman.

"Skye."

The way she speaks your name sounds like the wind carries it. Soft, almost filled with static. Pulls the bandana down on her face. You see a tattoo on her neck, peeking out through the top of the fabric.

She only extends a hand out to you. Doesn't move, but doesn't say anything else. Doesn't seem to even hear Jane. Neither do you; whatever he's saying is buried by the sound of the wind, your thrumming heart and the sound of your name ringing in your ears. The spell breaks when you hear faint shouting behind the woman.

Mr Jane stops speaking. The woman freezes; there's a distinct change on her face. You notice now the crow's feet by her eyes and the deep grooves of smile lines by her mouth. She doesn't turn around. You have a second to decide what to do. You can feel the adrenaline flushing through your system. Your muscles tense. Though your body still feels nine kinds of too heavy, you begin to dig your feet into the sand-ground.

"Skye, don't," is what Jane whispers in your ear. The woman reaches for the beachwood door to pull it shut. You can hear clearly now. There is definitely a woman in there, somewhere, who does not want to be there.

The ground has too much give for you to properly dig your feet into it. You get no traction. Fight against the grip Jane has on you. His fingers dig into your upper arm, in your shoulder. Lose your footing and hand knees-first into the sand-covered ground. The door shuts against the stone with a deceptively quiet sound. Scramble for purchase in front of you to try and run toward it.

"If I don't—someone has to do something, Jane! You can't, and I—"

"You what? Have the powers of the Great Beyond to help you, Skye?" Jane's tone is cold and calm. The quip barely bothers you. That isn't what's important.

"I don't care! We're here and someone needs help! What was the point of coming here if we don't fucking do anything?!"

"The point was to learn, Skye! Not get yourself killed like an idiot!"

His outburst feels like a slap in the face. Only now you notice you're crying. You let out a frustrated shriek. Stand up, pace, pull at your hair. This is ridiculous. This is stupid. There is literally only something you could barely call a door between you and a crazy serial killer. She was caught off guard. You have the upper hand. You have the upper hand!

You pull your bag in front of you and rummage through it. Look for keys, pens, anything pointy or sharp to use as a weapon if you need to. Jane can see your train of thought. You know he doesn't like it. But there's something in his demeanor that makes you stop. Bring the strap of your bag over your head, and drop it to the ground.

"You have a gun." It's 99% a statement, but you aren't entirely sure.

"I'm not giving it to you, Skye."

"You don't have to!" You gesture wildly at the "door" behind you. "Come with me, for fuck's sake! Lisbon or whoever the hell is on their way won't make it here on time! That girl's probably already dead because of your stupid ass dithering!"

You feel the shame crawl up your spine like sludge. You’re acting like a child and you know it. Makes you feel like gagging, but you stand your ground. There's an iciness to Jane's eyes that you do your best to ignore. He pulls a pistol from the back of his waistband, cocks it, holds it like he knows what he's doing.

You hope he does because you sure as hell don't.

You dash toward the door and tear it off its pathetic excuse for hinges and run headlong into the swallowing darkness of the cliffside cave.

Several things happen.

First, it's dark. Miserably dark. You can't see anything in front of you. The air is surprisingly stagnant and each breath feels empty. You have no idea how anyone could navigate around without a ridiculously powerful flashlight. This makes you worry. You eventually remember to take out your phone and turn on the flashlight.

Second, there are clothes everywhere, and the cave looks hastily carved out. Rough edges everywhere, stones jutting out. You see roots here and there. But the clothes startle you most. Mostly women's clothing, from what you can see, some dirtier than others. It unnerves you the most that there doesn't seem to be a speck of blood anywhere.

Third is the eerie calm. You can only hear your own breathing and heartbeat. You know Jane is behind you; his footsteps crunch in the gravel of the ground just like yours. But it's like sound can't reach you here. Like there's a giant buffer all around you that muffles everything.

None of this makes sense to you. There are no rooms here, no passages shooting into open spaces. The tunnel just keeps going and going. You walk for almost five minutes before you stop. You hear Jane ask you if anything's wrong before turning around.

"I heard a woman screaming from inside here," you state, looking around nervously. You point your phone's light at various spots in the walls around you, hoping to find an opening. There are none. "Where was she?"

Mr Jane frowns, and looks around himself in turn. You look up when he does. There isn't any exit above you, but were you looking up before? Could you have missed a drop-off like that before? Were you looking for one? You're about to suggest retracting your steps when you hear something like a twig snap. You freeze, halfway turned towards Jane. He puts a hand on your shoulder, slowly advancing in front of you. Not sure how you feel about him shielding you.

"Think quick," you whisper, putting a hand on Jane's back. "Age demographic of the missing women?"

"Eighteen to twenty four," Jane answers instantly. It's not ideal. And your plan is stupid. Ridiculous. You stay rooted for a second while you decide.

"How bad of an idea is whistling right now?," you ask in another whisper. Jane barely turns his head to look at you.

"Terrible."

Before you can reply, there's a metallic clang ahead of you. Far closer than you thought anything should be. You flash your phone on the ground. It looks like a narrow pipe. Maybe two feet long, a few inches in diameter. Walk ahead several feet to stand where the pipe landed. You point your light straight up into a shaft in the tunnel's ceiling.

A hiss and an arm cover a dirty face. The girl looks to be a few years younger than you. You swear, turn the light away. The shaft is at least two feet above your head, and several feet longer still. The girl peers down, looks close to tears. But she stays quiet.

The bitch of it is that there's no way any human being can pass through that narrow of an opening. You look at your phone screen to confirm: you have no reception in this place. Quietly swear to yourself again, turn to speak with Jane, but he's.

He's just gone.

Panic swells in your chest and makes it hard to breathe again. You try to calm yourself. Whisper your mantra of staying calm, breathing and focusing, but that barely works. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

"I'm right here," you whisper up to the girl. She nods. "I'm just turning the light off. I'm staying here." Run a hand to pull at your hair again. Turn the light of your phone off. You have 47% battery left and you have no idea how far that's going to take you here.

Look the way you came: pitch black.

Look the way you were going: pitch black.

Again, the only sound is your own heavy breathing and the drumming in your head. Try to pay attention to the sound around you for footsteps, but there's nothing. Walk back and forth several steps and hold your arms out to feel. Bump into a few jutting stones in the walls, but nothing else. Fuck. Okay, well, you asked for this. It doesn't make you feel any better, but holding someone accountable (even yourself) makes it a little easier to keep going.

Think quick. Okay. You got this.

You kneel and put your phone on the ground next to you. Untie the laces on both your shoes, tie them together. Tie one end around your phone. You do your best imitation of someone in contemplation in the dark. Take a deep breath. Turn the flashlight back on your phone. Call out to the girl.

"I'm going to try throwing my phone at you, " you whisper. Trying to stay quiet. Place yourself underneath the opening. If it had been just a foot wider... "Try and catch it. Try calling, okay?"

The girl nods. You nod back. Okay.

You have one shot at this.

Take another deep breath to steady yourself. Turn the flashlight off, hit the power button so the lock screen comes to life. Bend down a little bit.

And throw the phone up as far and hard as you can.

You can hear the girl scrabbling in surprise. Screw your eyes shut, but you don't hear the familiar sound of an iPhone hitting the ground. You release a shaking breath. Okay, step one down. You have no idea how many more to go. You call out your lock code to the girl, ask her to call the first 916 number in your call history.

As you wait for her to follow your instructions, you hold your breath and pray to whatever's out there that she isn't caught. And that you aren't caught. You palm the keys in your pocket anxiously

You get choked up when you hear the girl begin to talk. You can barely hear her speak a few words before you hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots. You run away from the hole. You don't know if you heard your phone fall. Cover your ears against the resonating sound in the tunnel.

You scream when you feel a hand on your shoulder. And fight against its grip as hard as you can. There's crashing and shooting only a few feet above your head and you are absolutely fucking terrified. You calm down only fractionally when you hear a woman's voice, but stay crouched low to the ground with your hands on your ears. You're pretty sure you're sobbing. Not sure that the rocking back and forth is your doing; There's an arm across your back with a hand bracing your head, and an arm across the front of your chest pulling you sideways into him.

You can easily tell that there's a gun in the hand that isn't running fingers through your hair. You don't make much of it, though. Jane had a gun when he followed you.

It takes you a second to realize your vision is slowly being taken over by the light of a sun only you can see.

When Jane sees the missing girl's glassy eyes stare down the hole, he runs. He calls back to Skye, but can't take the time to make sure she hears him. He runs towards the opening in the cliffside, runs up the carved stone steps, runs through the house and out onto the street. Dials 911 as soon as his phone decides to give him reception again, and tells the dispatch exactly what's happening. Even gives them Lisbon's badge number, for all the good it'll do. Which probably isn't much.

That's when he notices that there's a car in the driveway that is Distinctly Not His. And it definitely was not there before.

Jane curses and rushes back to the house, but takes his time going through it. He'd looked it over quickly when he and Skye had walked through, but had ultimately been too preoccupied by her being right (about the house, the cliff and the steps) to properly investigate. It was obvious, now that he looked for it; a rug in the dining room that didn't quite completely cover some odd pattern in the hardwood flooring.

Pulling the rug aside reveals what could easily have been mistaken as a really terrible flooring job. Jane knows better. Pulls out all the drawers in the kitchen until he finds a butter knife. Wedges it between two planks and lifts.

It would have been the easiest thing for literally anyone else to miss, but that was definitely someone's attempt at hiding a trap door.

There are no stairs, there's no ladder. It's a straight seven foot drop, give or take a few inches. Jane makes sure the safety on the pistol is on before crouching down, and making the drop. The impact doesn't do wonders for his ankles, but he'll save the complaints for later.

The cellar-type room underneath the dining room is eerily similar to one he's been trapped in once before. Shakes the memory; don't have the time for it. Jane does his best to keep an ear out for any sound. It's the only sense he has in the pitch black darkness of the room. There's light coming from somewhere, a door probably, but he can't see it right away. Instead, he focuses on the quiet sound of a girl doing her best at being quiet.

Jane puts one foot forward when the gunshot deafens him. The bullet whizzes by; definitely grazes his cheek. It burns something awful, and for a second he almost feels bad for dragging Skye around with the state her thigh is in.

Doesn't take more than a fraction of a second before he draws and levels his gun in the approximate location of the shooter. Flicks off the safety and squeezes the trigger. There's the distinct sound of splintering wood and scrambling footsteps, then nothing. Jane curses and ducks blindly, looks for cover. He can hear the other shooter moving several feet away. His knee meets something that feels like a coffee table; good enough.

Jane flips what is probably a table, aims straight ahead and shoots.

The bullet hits either stone or metal. Either way, it does exactly what he needs. The spark of metal against something solid creates enough of a spark for Jane to see the blurred features of a woman.

Hair’s too short. Frame too wide. A second one?

Below him, he hears Skye scream.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@fucklife-or-me @yearningforsappho

#honey and the hatchet #patrick jane #reader #ofc #original female character #patrick jane x ofc #patrick jane x original female character #second person pov #guns #active shooting #minor injuries #mention of murder #criminal investigation #kind of #reader has powers #also kind of #reader is a fortune teller

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