Welcome to my side blog masterlist! Quite new to writing, so please be nice!
All work is 18+ , minors, please do not interact.
Requests are open, anyone who would like to be on the tag list for future fics, please DM me. Always up for a challenge.
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION, EVER, FOR MY EDITS TO BE REPOSTED, OR PUT ON SITES LIKE PINTEREST, WEHEARTIT ETC.
SAS Rogue Heroes:
Stolen Moments - Paddy x Eoin, Smut / Fluff
Grief - Paddy x Eoin, Paddy POV. (A reflection on grief.)
Claddagh - Paddy x Eoin ( AU prompt by @cloudyfacewithjam)
A Willing Victim - Paddy x Eoin (Vampire AU prompt by @cloudyfacewithjam)
Burned beyond repair - Paddy x Eoin (Injury & romantic smut)
Full of Rage & Rot - Vamp Paddy x Eoin (Canon death to vampire transformation. Angst, Hurt, Comfort.)
An Unexpected Offer - Eoin x Paddy x Voyeur reader (18+, smut)
Musings of a grief stricken man - Paddy's internal monologue, headcanon based on If It's True.
Eoin in the Otherworld - Eoin POV, spooky season AU.
The Flicker of the Flame - Eoin x Paddy (Part 2 of Eoin in the Otherworld)
Silver Bullet - Werewolf Eoin AU, Eoin x Paddy
The Devil on my Shoulder - Paddy's demonic haunting. (18+, TW)
Save Your Tears - Modern Paddy x Eoin, based on the song.
Star-Crossed Lovers - Paddy x Eoin AU, Based on Romeo & Juliet
Just One Night - Eoin x Paddy drabble, drunken kiss.
Sinners:
Between Sweat & the Swamp - Part 1, Part 2 (smut) Remmick x Reader Two-shot
Don't Go Into the Woods - Remmick x Reader, Smut.
Turning Point - Remmick Origin Headcanons
Misc:
The Chain that Binds - Lion Kaminski x Reader (18+)
Highwayman - Roy Goode x Reader
In the Quiet - Lion Kaminski x reader
would you ever post your work to ao3 (so i could totally-not-bookmark it) ?? :>
Hey, I actually am on AO3 - link here.
I post under two diffferent names - for my different fandoms.
Haven't updated it in a bit, but also haven't been writing much lately.
Paddy x Eoin - An AU based on the tragedy of Romeo & Juliet
Original Prompt by @hisbelfastboy, I changed it a little to suit my brain worms.
also inspired by @cloudyfacewithjamâs edit of Eoin as David.Â
Modern AU. Paddy is Romeo, Eoin is Juliet. Mixture of canon & fantasy. Pretending Paddy & Eoin didnât meet until later in life. Theirs is a love forbidden by society, but will their ending be as tragic as the classic love story they mirror?
TW: Classic love story/tragedy elements, smut, angst (obv..it's me..), romance and heavy use of shakespeare...
Word count: 9.1k
Thereâs an Irish pub in every country, in every faraway place and every strange new land. Of course Paddy sought out a familiar setting away from the noise of camp, and the hostility of a warzone; finding a place of refuge in cosy corners and liquor. The Irish tend to make their home wherever their feet touch solid ground, crafting an oasis for their people, indeed for anyone looking for solace in the comforts of home. Here, in a dimly lit pub on the edge of some godforsaken desert, from the warmth and sanctuary of his cosy nook, Paddy would not only find peace and comfort away from a raging war, but his life would be irrevocably changed in more ways than he could have ever foreseen, in ways only the poets and playwrights could describe accurately.Â
Dancing pyres flickered before his eyes, the blackened burning wick of a simple candle sat on a creaking tabletop, occupying Paddyâs far away mind. As war raged on just outside the city, he had hidden away, seeking just a minute of peace in a familiar sanctuary. This place had become somewhere he could retreat after a long day, somewhere he could escape the noise of bombs dropping and bullets flying. Somewhere he could drown the voices from his mind in the company of likeminded individuals. A place shrouded in smoke and darkness where he would not be bound by the rule of rank or title. Though he lived for a life of service to his country, Paddy detested the stringent rules and regulations he was hemmed in by. A madman such as him belonged to the desert, to the freedom of the sands, not tied to paperwork or shackled to a desk. Here, the smell of smoke wafting through the open door calmed the welling anxieties, the fermented hops danced on his tongue and quieted the screams of dead men that fermented within, even momentarily. Somehow in the flames that danced before him, the storm brewing in a frenzied mind was quelled. Â
This place always brought him a measure of glooming peace, but more than that, it was a hideaway from the real world, a balm for the gruesome reality he had placed himself in, willingly. There was always a pleasant smile to be had from the barman, and the overwhelming comfort of knowing he was safe to be himself. A place for Paddy to sit, and just be. Not to wear the mask of civility, or don the robes of his expectation for a man of his station. Here, Paddy could simply exist. Everything about this place called to him, like a warm hug from a loved one. Every seat worn in by years of patrons sliding back and forth on their cushioned surfaces, cracked and creased from use. Their padding moulded around decades of customers in search of the same peace and comfort. Paddy simply followed in the footsteps of all those who came before. The tiles beneath his feet were worn in specific spots from decades of worship at these wooden alters. Men who placed their trust in a pint rather than religion, or simply retreated into the familiarity of somewhere that looked like home. There were decades of stories woven into the very fabric of this place. Coloured threads of different lives lived, of those who travelled across the world for love of country, perhaps to chase a dream, or a lover. There was shared history here, tales told over lukewarm beer, secrets spilled in darkened corners. It wasnât just a home for him, it was home for so many who came before. For some who returned back to their lives in Ireland, this place acted as a tether in between two lands. For others, it would be the only connection to their homelands, they would never again grace the shores of the Emerald Isles, never again bury their feet in Irish soil. For all, a place to forget the horrors of the ever changing sands outside. For all who graced these floors, it was a refuge to calm the mind and soothe the soul. Yet Paddy would never imagine how a run down dive bar could turn his life upside down, and bring both joy and heartache in equal measure.Â
Between admiring the amber liquid sloshing around the glass tumbler that sat between his fingers, and watching embers burn brightly in its wax prison before him, Paddy couldnât help but let his eyes dart aimlessly around the shadowed corners of the pub. Not in hopes of seeing anything in particular, no, he was simply letting his mind meander, letting his eyes wander and soak up the faces of the other poor souls seeking refuge in their glasses. Though he never for a minute thought that one stray glance on this particular day would forever change the course of his life.
It's a tale as old as time. One person lays eyes on a beautiful creature from afar and becomes love-stricken at first sight. The object of their affections remain completely oblivious. This was no different. Their eyes met briefly over the streaky remnants of well loved pint glasses strewn across a stained oak bartop. A singular glimpse, a fleeting moment in time that would've meant nothing to most..yet it was a moment that imprinted on Paddy's consciousness, that changed his views on love and for the first time made him believe that maybe love was in the cards for him after all. In that one stray look, Paddyâs life was flipped right on its head.
Paddy broke that first eye contact, casting his gaze quickly along long, lean muscle, a thick column of a neck leading to broad shoulders and a body capable of carrying great pain and providing great pleasure. He knew he was gawping, yet hoped the shadows somehow masked his indiscrections. He couldn't help but stare, taking in as much of this bewitching creature as his eyes could capture.Â
His eyes were rich pools of molasses, deep and dark. They tempted him forwards, drawing him into his orbit. A prominent jaw jutted proudly into the room, chiselled and hugging the light as a friend. His brow sat heavy atop those bewitching eyes. The skin around it creased and wrinkled, as if he'd seen the passing of time, as if he'd been worn down and trodden beneath its heel. Yet he wore each wrinkle well. Each crease, each furrow proved evident of a life full of laughter and glee, a life where he was free to express every minute emotion that crossed his face. This man who stood before him, this specimen of human creation, possessed such beauty, he belonged in a gallery next to statues carved by masters.Â
No amount of time wouldâve been enough to take in every aspect of his delight, to drink in such beauty. Eventually, Paddy had to look away, close his lips around a dry tongue before his mouth dehydrated completely. He had to cast his gaze away, lest this young man think him completely lecherous. Heâd never considered what others thought of him before, yet now he couldnât focus on anything else. Paddy chanced looking up once more, to catch another glimpse as he engaged in shallow conversation with the barman. That smile, christ, that smile could illuminate a city. How anyone resisted his charms was beyond him. Paddy just knew heâd melt with one look, one puppy eyed request, heâd be a dog under command.Â
The more he looked, the more Paddy saw. He wasnât just a young man of beauty, he was expertly sculpted, his body crafted from the same precious marble as his face. Each vein perfectly captured, each corded muscle sitting perfectly in place. This boy without a name truly appeared as if he had been custom made. His body deftly crafted, lean and lithe, following the standards of Greek and Roman sculptors, experts in their field. It was as if he was carved in the image of David, a perfectly proportioned being who defined beauty, who held it in his hands and cradled it gently. A statue so perfect in its conception that crowds still marvelled at it today.Â
A creation so wondrous, to be compared to such a feat of artistry meant high praise indeed. And Paddy could only compare this young manâs beauty to that of a sculpture of high esteem, for he was ethereal by nature, yet not quite as fragile as a painting and not quite as fleeting as a sketch. His beauty was lasting, his quiet strength permanent.Â
Though the pub was mired by dull, dim lighting, with only a few wilting candles illuminating the faces of the dour patrons, this boy dazzled under the most miniscule flicker of candlelight from behind the bar. Tongues of fire glinted and caught each well earned freckle, forming shadows in the furrow of his brow, each imperfection etched into skin. Yet they somehow didnât detract from his beauty; they were part of a picture, details purposefully included in a masterpiece to illustrate his innate humanity, to show the permeable nature of skin, in contrast to the impenetrable surface of stone. It was as if his creator intended for him to look more human lest his beauty dazzle all those who gazed upon him. He was a creation of enormous beauty, yet he was still only a man of flesh, a fact Paddy somehow overlooked as his mind wandered, comparing the beauteous creature standing only feet away from him to that of a marvel sitting in a gallery.Â
âBeauty too rich for use, for earth too dearâ he whispered to himself, drawing his eyes downwards, peering into the dark golden liquid swirling around his cup for guidance, possibly for the strength to look once more upon such a thing of wonder. Looking through the dancing tongues of fire, Paddy launched into an almost silent soliloquy, his innermost thoughts spilling onto the liquor splashed tabletop before him.
âDid my heart love till now? Tis true for the masters, beauty such as this can only be imagined, never truly captured in words or song, never truly depicted with the stroke of a brush. No, even the words of Shakespear donât do him justice..I never saw true beauty till this night..â His cup swallowed his whispered confession, his words falling upon the deaf ears of the disinterested patrons supping their own cups. He was almost afraid to cast his words any further into the world, lest the beings that control it laugh at his naivety. But in a moment of bravery, he drew his eyes upwards once more. When he looked back up, the figure of that young lad that had so enthralled him had disappeared. Perhaps it was not a man at all, perhaps it was nothing but a dream, a vision of beauty his mind had created to fill the empty space. Even still, Paddy pined; as hard as a man whoâd never felt love could possibly pine. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the space that beautiful body previously occupied at the bar. Seeing no other option, and possessed with a sudden burst of bravery, Paddy approached the barman, a familiar face with a sympathetic ear, to learn his name at the very least. He tottered over to the empty spot, the unusually vacant place at the bartop, empty glass in hand. The air held onto traces of the toung manâs scent, a woody musk that Paddy couldnât quite place. Yet it wafted through his nostrils, clinging to each hair and infecting his sinuses with the aroma of this mysterious figure.Â
âWho was that, just now?â Paddy whispered, leaning across the bar to close the gap for his wandering voice. As malt liquor splashed around the rim of his bone dry glass, two words rang into the anxious atmosphere between them. Two words that would forever stain Paddyâs ears, ringing long after the sound dissipated. âEoin McGonigalâ he said with a smirk, knowing Paddy would likely never use the information, but pine away in his corner as his life danced before him.Â
Yet surprisingly, Paddy didnât move from that spot, not for a few seconds at least, and to anyone that knew him, the evidence of whirring thoughts was painted across his stern features. As most barmen do, he knew the look of love well, but had never seen it etched into this Irish manâs weather worn flesh and truthfully heâd never get the chance to see Paddy so full of hope and the tell-tale signs of fresh love. Often heâd noticed Paddy admiring the tall and rather handsome specimens that graced his bartop, yet it was always only a fleeting fancy. A momentary amusement, something pretty to lay his eyes upon from his spot across the room. Never before had he acted on those impulses, never before had he enquired after a lad. Especially not one so pretty as young Eoin. This clearly wasnât a passing diversion, something to take his mind off of the screams and terrors that plagued him. No, this was something far deeper, something that took root and shook the spectres from his mind completely.Â
âOi, Paddy, you are a lover, go..borrow cupidâs wings and flyâ the barman poked, turning his back with a chuckle to replace the cap on the amber whiskey heâd replaced before him, spurring Paddy along to seek out the object of his desires. His face fell at the jibe, instantly realising the idiotic nature of his schoolboy crush. âTrue, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain begot of nothing but vain fantasy.â This man surely had his pick of lovers, why would he waste a thought on an aged soldier? Why would any man so fair of face waste a glance in his direction, when there were ones much riper in close proximity? Why did Paddy think heâd ever capture the attention of such an adonis? So he slinked back to his familiar comforts, the habits of a man who had given up on love and life. He retreated back into his corner, lost in thought and a crushing sense of defeat as his feet dragged along the floor behind him. If only for a moment, he thought he had a chance, but it was foolish, merely a young man's fantasy. He heard a voice call after him, though it was little more than a breeze against the voices once more shouting within.
âPaddy, love is more inconstant than the wind, but the fleeting nature of it makes it worth chasing, doncha think?â the barman uttered as he beheld Paddyâs fallen face, though he didnât linger, instead turning back to his inventory, leaving Paddy speechless. Such wise words quieted the doubts that roared loudly between his ears, the bubbling rejection that he had immediately conjured in his mind; even though he never even as much approached the object of his desires, let alone try and fail at his task. Perhaps there were men wiser than himself, perhaps his judgement was too clouded by self-doubt to see things clearly and maybe such an endeavour was worth the potential for heartache and disappointment. Perhaps it was a risk worth taking for a shot at a love all encompassing. He would surely regret never trying. âWhere might I find him, this young Eoin?â Paddy whispered over the lip of his glass.Â
With a location and a heading, Paddy set off on his quest. In truth, his feet led the way, the thrumming of his heart against his bruised ribcage driving each step. The rhythm of blood pulsing through strained veins, a soundtrack to his mission. Paddy knew exactly where those barracks were, in fact they were the very same ones heâd called home for a long time. Too long, to be truthful. This war seemed never ending, though perhaps it was the nature of war to go on for too long. Whatever the cause, there would always be another fight. There would always be more evil in this world than good, but that is why little sparks of joy were worth chasing.Â
Though he no longer lay his head with those men, and though he was stationed closer to his sanctuary, Paddy remembered every twist and turn, every alleyway and shortcut that led him from the pub to the camp. Heâd stumbled back many a night blind drunk, with only his muscle memory and the moon to guide him. Heâd be able to find Eoin there, he trusted his gut to lead him through the dunes, in dark or light as it had always done. Even if this all ended badly, even if Eoin rebuffed his advances, and sent him off with wounded pride, Paddy thought it was perhaps a chance worth taking. He knew he had to follow this feeling, this wondrous yet terrifying sensation; wherever it would lead.Â
Paddy still had daylight when he set off, but the sun quickly fell from its perch in the evening sky, hastily retreating behind the clouds and disappearing beneath the waiting horizon. The moon appeared to guide Paddy onwards, and even under its pale glow, Paddy trudged onwards. Time was irrelevant when each step brought him closer to his goal.Â
Darkness shrouded his quest from the wider world, the wind hiding his trek through the sand dunes. It wasnât long before the peaks of tents, their pointed gables highlighted by the pale glow of the moon came into full view. A city of canvas stretching out before him, their inhabitants men of his own ilk. Though it was a familiar sight, it was one which brought a sense of comfort and unease in equal measure. Paddyâs eyes darted side to side as he walked into camp, surveying each shadowed corner and darkened alleyway. Sand stretched as far as he could see, a blank slate upon which instruments of war set up their temporary homestead. Instead of the usual noise and bustle, the camp sat in silence. No bombs sounded in the distance, no cracks of gunfire. Paddy had scarcely heard the desert this quiet, it was disconcerting to say the least.
He remembered this stretch of desert a lot busier, there was a time when his thoughts would have to fight with the sound of bullets and explosives for space.Â
Perhaps the war was elsewhere, bombs falling on some other unsuspecting corner of the continent. But more likely, the enemy was lying in wait. Danger lurked around every corner, and though not all of it mortally wounding, Paddy knew he was entering the viperâs den. Yet it was a mission he felt compelled to complete. He refused to be controlled by fear. He refused to lose the potential of a love so deep.Â
Eoin McGonigal stood hunched outside his tent, leaning against a post with a cigarette hanging between pursed lips. Long legs stretched against the crisp evening, against the exhaustion of a long day, well worn boots compressing the sand beneath their heavy soles. The evening air hung around him, thick from the moisture of dusk. It stuck to every surface, dampening the arid desert and everything in it. The amber glow of rolled burning embers shone like a beacon in the blackness, its warm hues illuminating the soft features of Eoinâs face beneath. Thick smoke billowed from between two plush lips, obscuring Paddy momentarily from his view, though Eoin knew someone lay waiting in the darkness, their eyes trained on him. He could feel the heat of a stare from the black night.Â
From his spot across camp, Paddy swallowed harshly, burying any lingering anxiety and screwing his courage to the sticking place before inching his way forward, through the pegs and guide wires of the tented city. He couldnât look away, couldnât break his line of sight, even when the thickest of the smoke cleared and Eoin caught him boldly staring from his place in the shadows. Eoin felt those leering eyes penetrating through the night, and he too couldnât tear his gaze away from the rather handsome man who seemed utterly bewitched by him. Pools of cerulean blue held contest with those of treacle and syrup - deep, consuming, yet with a brightness that almost made them shimmer in the moonâs cold glow. Paddyâs heart instantly increased its pace, now drumming wildly behind bruising ribs. Yet even despite the stress, his feet led the way, minute steps shuffling onwards through the sand. Whatever this feeling was, Paddy was determined to chase it, heart in hand.
Eoin McGonigal simply returned a smirk, bowing his chin to look at the sand and decide his next move, before once more bringing those eyes filled with promise back up to his newfound admirer, the sunkissed skin of his cheek crinkling under the weight of his grin. Neither man could break their gaze, neither could tear themselves away from this moment. Eoin was no stranger to flirtation, though typically he was the one doing the pursuing, not the subject of relentless pursuit. Perhaps this would be an interesting dalliance, perhaps it would even lead to something lasting; he was more than willing to find out, especially when this stranger had been bold enough to make the first move.Â
The cigarette between his lips drew a type of jealousy Paddy never even knew he had. As it fell, crushed beneath the heel of his boot, Paddy met his eye once more, now standing only feet from the man whoâd plagued his mind. Â
âAnd who would you be then? I recognise those eyes from somewhere, so striking, like pools of the clearest water.â A voice sounded through the dissipating smoke, soft and painted with a thick Irish lilt. He wasnât from the north, that much was certain, but there was a particular familiarity to his voice that instantly felt like home. Paddy blushed, a bright crimson stain that spread instantly up the column of his neck, through the flesh of his cheek to the very tips of his ears. There was no hiding, though he hoped the nightâs veil would mask the worst of his flush.Â
âMayne, Blair MayneâŠthough my friends call me Paddyâ
âWell Blair âPaddyâ Mayne, what is it I can do for ya? Whatâs your purpose in seekinâ me out?â
For the first time in his life, Paddyâs words caught between his teeth, each syllable sticking to the tip of his tongue, making him stumble over his words and go silent.
He could merely utter a simple âYou.â, which seemed to catch the smug Eoin McGonigal slightly off guard. His smirk dipped for a second while he gathered his thoughts, while he contemplated how best to respond to such a bold declaration. That split second of consideration, that slight falter in his mask instantly threw Paddy into a tailspin, his mind immediately darting to the worst case scenario. Bile rose in his throat, nipping at the corners and threatening to bring up the contents of his lunch, but remained contained within a lurching chest.Â
âYouâre bold, Iâll give ya that much ladâ he chuckled, satisfied with making Paddy squirm in place for a minute while he picked up his cheeky smirk once more. Paddy didnât know how this would go, truly, Eoin could have taken offence to his brazen impropriety and sent him on his way, it would have been understandable, even justified to berate him. Yet seeing that bright smile made the uncertainties disappear and only bolster his determination once more. There was something about the sound of his laugh that eased any apprehension in Paddyâs mind, releasing all the tension and ill feeling he held within his coiled muscles.Â
âMy ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the soundâ
âBit of a poet, are ya?â Eoin grinned, himself a little flattered by the sweet words leaving Paddyâs lips.Â
âTheyâre not my words, but theyâre true enough. Shakespeare always did have a way of giving words to things too indescribable for us regular folkâ Paddy replied, now holding Eoinâs gaze consistently, his confidence steady. He noticed the space between them disappear slowly but surely, the conversation directed now towards Paddyâs love of literature and the poets. It was easier to talk about the romantic words of others than his own feelings. And seeing Eoinâs appreciation for the classics only enamored Paddy further, directing the course of conversation.Â
The building tension between them was obvious, and it only took a graze of a hand to break the stalemate. To push an innocent meeting towards a tentative exploration of something that could be. Time passed in an immeasurable blur, in the most gentle of caresses and a series of furtive glances. In an unspoken understanding between two people searching for love. In a chaste meeting of lips and a mutual respect for one another, feelings were established in the dark. In an understanding that privacy was essential, hands never wandered too far, boundaries established in the silence and never crossed. And on a night where neither man expected to find their match in a secluded corner of a British army campgrounds, both fell harder than they ever had before.Â
All too quickly their meeting was interrupted by the shuffling of boots through sand, all too quickly Paddy disappeared into the night, his hands now but a ghost on Eoin's skin, his parting words hanging like the white smoke of a cigarette on the cold breeze. Eoin was rooted to the spot, left bewildered and conflicted, his heart willing this match to fruition, his rational mind knowing it was forbidden. The dangers were evident, the consequences of such a tryst dire. He saw it in Paddy's face as boots of an unknown adversary crept closer in the dark, he saw the war behind his eyes. And yet despite all this, he saw a man willing to risk it all for his affection. He saw someone brave enough to chase love, someone unwilling to compromise their heart. It forced him to confront his own feelings, his own identity. It forced Eoin to think about the direction of his life and whether it would be better with Paddy in it. He was almost certain that no person would look at him with such reverence again, in his heart he knew that this was special and true. He still felt the imprint of Paddyâs unspoken desire on his lips, traces of the affection he held for him, evident even on their first true meeting.
If Paddy returned, if he delved back into a world too dangerous for most, Eoin would know the truth of his character, he would learn if this was real or merely a fleeting infatuation.Â
It wasnât long till Paddy returned, unfazed by the potential repercussions of such an ill advised relationship. To begin such a courtship, to have the courage to approach Eoin in the first place and to abandon it now, would cause him more pain than any man could inflict upon him if caught. He would shatter his own heart to not follow it, to not see this through. To never feel the touch of his hand again was unthinkable, and so spurred Paddy on to meet at Eoinâs tent yet again, only a few nights later.Â
This secret rendezvous was held between the walls of his secluded tent, merely thin walls of canvas and fabric, but it was enough to hide them from the eyes of the men in Eoinâs unit.Â
Eoinâs rank and bravery in battle afforded him private accommodations in a campsite where space was plentiful. It wasnât always the case. In days gone by heâd shared a space with dozens, only separated by makeshift walls of white cotton. Privacy was a right not afforded to many, and now he had the opportunity to obscure his relationship from prying eyes. He had the opportunity to express his love in isolation, without shame or reproach. That said, a relationship like theirs was severely frowned upon, both in society and amongst their peers. If they were caught, the consequences would be dire for them both.Â
Seeing a familiar shadow grace the side of his tent, Eoin opened the flaps, peering out into the night to reveal the couching form of Paddy Mayne outlined against a single lamp. âWhy have you come?â Eoin shouted in hushed tones, rushing Paddy inside, concealing their secret from the bustle around camp. Even as darkness fell, it buzzed with activity, which made their secret meeting even more perilous for them both. âThis place is death if anyone finds you here..âÂ
Eoin worried, and though Paddy saw the panic flash in his eyes, he bolstered his confidence and pretended it didnât worry him too. He knew full well the risk he was taking, he knew the danger he put them both in pursuing this relationship in such a public setting. He knew the risk, yet thought a love so pure was worth it. âI know my way around the rolling sands, no man was witness to my pilgrimage. Maybe a vulture or two, but nobody that would talk" Paddy winked, almost too certain in his ability to go unnoticed. âBesides, I couldnât leave it at a single meeting. That kiss has spoiled my sleep for nights on end, I needed to see if it was true, if this was true.â
Paddyâs desperate hands immediately sought him out, clutching at the fabric of his uniform and pulling him flush to his chest. He could feel the breath in Eoinâs lungs, how it so hastily escaped from nostrils, he could feel the warmth that soaked through the fabric, sensations only lovers share. Like this, there was no telling where Eoin ended and he began.Â
âMy lips, two blushing pilgrims stand to smooth thy rough touch with a tender kiss.â Paddy held Eoin by the back of the neck, angling his head down; his curls an anchor for eager fingers, a place to tether them to each other. Eoin placed a tender hand against Paddyâs strong jaw, controlling the pace of his frenzy.Â
âTis true Paddy, and if youâre ready for the dangers of such a courtship, Iâd have you in my quarters every night Iâm given. But only if youâre ready to face such a thing, knowing the consequences we both might face should we get caught.â Eoin uttered, his voice soft yet stern, conveying the seriousness of such a match. His eyes showed the sincerity of his soul, a gentility matched with a steely determination.Â
âWe wouldnât be the first to face such a peril, yet I do so with eyes wide open. Iâd risk it all for a chance, for the prospect of spending my days with love in my heart. With you, Eoin. Only with you, if youâll have meâ Eoin answered Paddyâs oath with one of his own. Soft hands pulled willing lips towards his own, entwining their fates indefinitely.Â
âIt is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!â
Paddy couldnât help but use the words of men more attuned to romance than himself, he couldn't help but pepper Eoinâs jaw with the softest of kisses in between honeyed words, knowing theyâd be well received. His chest bloomed with a feeling unknown, but one that influenced every fibre of his being. One that buried a fear of intimacy and physical connection with another, seeking out the solace of Eoinâs body. Even under the light of a single oil lamp, merciful hands met enthusiastic flesh, each man exploring the depths of the other in tentative celebration. In a world where the future was never promised, Paddy found a temporary peace in Eoinâs arms, which snaked around him like the vines of an English ivy, clinging to its surface.
Neither rushed, for the hours of night gave them ample opportunity to explore and for a time, neither hurried to remove the barrier that kept them from baring all. Neither Paddy nor Eoin raced to push the boundaries of their tenuous new relationship, but eventually it was the young Eoin that tested those bounds. His nimble fingers hovered over the buttons of Paddyâs khaki uniform shirt, while searching his eyes for permission to continue.Â
One nod broke down the barrier between them, one nod and Eoin was stripping the layers of fabric from Paddyâs stocky frame, admiring the sun-dappled flesh revealed with each item of clothing carefully removed. Open mouthed kisses peppered the bare flesh of Paddyâs shoulder, reverent lips ghosting over various faint crescent shaped scars that littered the surface. Fragments of a war gone by, now etched permanently into flesh. Eoinâs skin told its own stories, held its own memories. Reminders of pain now provided a clear pathway to pleasure. Â
With his face pressed to flesh, Eoin inhaled his heady scent, fragments of the day still hanging on his skin. Traces of the places heâd been, along with hints of an aroma unique to Paddy alone.Â
Deft hands gathered the fabric of his white singlet, bunching each side carefully within his fists before sliding the cotton up Paddyâs torso and over his head. It was the first time Eoin had seen him so vulnerable, so exposed, and knowing this, he paid as much attention to each newly revealed patch of bare skin as he had the plump flesh of his lips.Â
Paddy lost himself in the warmth of Eoinâs lips against his chest, the intense sensation of his wandering hands and hot breath against his skin. He watched with half lidded eyes as his messy curls slowly disappeared down his torso, before stopping just shy of the jutting crest of his hips. Paddyâs mind ran blank, consumed by the blazing heat coiling in his core. It was all he could do to keep the groans within his chest, to not vocalise how Eoinâs lips against the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen made him feel. Keeping such a thing inside took every ounce of restraint he possessed. Instead to calm the raging desire, his fingers met the tight auburn curls bobbing dangerously near his cock, grasping the hair at the root for some semblance of anchorage. Tugging at the Eoinâs hair only seemed to rile him up further, for the lapping of his tongue never eased, it simply changed positions.
This silent plea was his permission to press further, to bring their relationship into the realm of true sexual intimacy - a boundary that could not be uncrossed. Yet once again, Eoin searched Paddyâs eyes for the answer he required. With a single glance upwards, a breathless nod of confirmation from Paddy was all the permission he needed to keep going. To push this new relationship into a new frontier.Â
The next moments blurred together in a blissful haze, the exact details cloudy, yet Paddy would forever remember the feelings they elicited from him. A brush of a hand against strained trousers. A singular breathless moan set free from Paddyâs chest, muffled by his hand quickly after. A fire being stoked with each brush of a fingertip, each warm breath and gentle caress. Eoin felt the evidence of Paddyâs want underhand, the unmistakable weight of desire tented against fabric stretched to breaking point. He wasted no time in freeing Paddyâs begging cock from its prison of cotton and tarnished buttons, growing more desperate to feel the velveteen skin between his fingers with each passing moment. To feel the weight of Paddyâs need in his hands, to have the immense responsibility of coaxing pleasure from his body. Paddy responded deliciously to Eoinâs ministrations, his body completely surrendering to the experience.Â
Such was the theme of the night, surrender, complete and utter abandonment of any inhibition or self imposed insecurities. Just as Eoin wrung such pleasure from his flesh, so too did Paddy find joy in coaxing breathy gasps and the most delicious moans from deep within Eoinâs very being. A night defined by the trade of gentle caresses, the smacking of skin echoing within the silence and a building pleasure, coiled tight like a snake ready to strike. A warm mouth wrapped around a throbbing cock, preparing a willing body for intrusion.Â
A gentle push and Eoin buried to the hilt, his cock speared within the confines of Paddyâs pulsating walls. He could feel the thrum of blood coursing through his veins, every breath sharply drawn. He felt every fibre of Paddyâs being contracting around him, his walls stretching and squeezing, pleasure building until he milked Eoin dry, his body holding onto every drop.Â
It was a night defined by firsts, its soundtrack quietly muffled ecstasy. A night where true love was discovered through a tender touch, yet outside those walls, reality conspired against them.Â
To find love and hold onto it is a difficult thing, as Paddy and Eoin would soon find out. A pair of star-crossed lovers to be separated by the small minds of men, by their narrow and short sighted definition of love.Â
Bill Sterling was an unfortunate witness to one of their clandestine meetings, cloaked in darkness. Shadowed figures disappearing through tent flaps, only to emerge in the early hours of morning. Though he originally only knew of Paddy by reputation alone, he had no doubt that his intentions with the young Eoin were most troublesome. Some may have decreed them as foul, even as depraved, and though Bill knew the nature of men was not to be denied, he could not tolerate such a blatant display within his ranks. Perhaps David would have been more lax with the rules, perhaps he would have even celebrated it, if not turned a blind eye.
He plotted to separate them. To save them from themselves but also the ire of men less accepting. Men whose hatred was worn on their sleeves, men who didnât hide behind the civility of uniform or rank. Men who didnât see love as a matter of the heart, not to be denied or changed, but as a matter of the mind. There were those who would see them face the noose rather than accept the reality of their love. Rather than see a man in anotherâs embrace.
To separate them was a kindness. With one swift flick of his wrist, and a few hastily scribbled words, Sterling sealed their fate.Â
âThese violent delights have violent ends.â
Eoin was redeployed, sent further into belly of the beast, far from the safety of Paddyâs arms. Whether as a punishment or a mercy, Paddy didn't take the news well. He saw it as the separation of lovers, the destruction of fateâs well-weaved plans. And though he didnât know the author of their destruction, blame fell on those in power, those who would rather see men shattered and broken than full and in love.Â
âWhat they donât understand, they condemn. Tis the way of things Paddy. We knew this was a possibility, we knew that this *points between them* wouldnât last in a world full of hate.â Eoin spoke calmly, though the hurt in his chest created a void, a black hole from which he may never have escaped. Even in his own sadness, Eoin was determined to keep Paddy hopeful. To lift his spirits so that he would continue life in his absence, not simply waste away without him.
âWhat they canât comprehend must meet its endâ Paddy mumbled, his eyes focused on individual grains of sand rather than Eoinâs doe eyes piercing through the side of his cheek. He could feel the tears stinging at the corners, their threats very real and very imminent.Â
âDo you believe weâll ever meet again?â he said, his voice breaking with each slurred word. His throat tightened with each uttered syllable, holding back a well of tears that may never end if released into the wild.Â
âI do not doubt it. Although weâll smile to think of all these troubles in the pastâ
Eoin cradled his jaw between his fingers, tilting Paddyâs head up towards him in an effort to calm the roaring sea behind his eyes. Ever patient, ever gentle with a man most considered unbreakable, untamable. Although he was filled with sorrow and doubt himself, he would not let that taint his last night with Paddy. He wouldnât let him see how aggrieved he was to be torn from his arms. Heâd comfort him,hold him through the night, and though he didnât truly believe heâd make it back to these sands, certainly not in this corporeal form, Eoin would emphatically make Paddy believe it was possible, at the very least, that they would lay eyes on one another again.
âPaddy, Iâll come back to you.â
That night they held each other in the witness of the moon. A meeting of flesh and pure surrender. They cared not who saw, what punishment could be given now, what could be inflicted upon them that would be worse than being ripped from each otherâs grasp? Even death was no deterrent. Paddy would have embraced it gladly rather than lose Eoin - the incandescence that guided his nights, his voice of conscience and reason under the watchful eye of the sun. His life was made whole on the fateful day they met, his world turned just a little quicker each day they were together.
âParting is such sweet sorrowâ
Paddy memorised every inch of Eoin's body, commuting each wrinkle and freckle to memory. He would miss the sound of his gleeful laugh, the furrow of his brow and the way he stood tall against the sun. He was the sun in Paddy's eyes, for he beamed with pure goodness and light.Â
They wouldnât say goodbye in view of those who would separate them, those who conspired against them and dared to place their own self-righteousness between lovers. They would say goodbye on their own terms, in their own time. Instead of a tear-filled parting, they would celebrate their love once more with a union of limbs and skin, a mingling of breath and a shared ecstasy. They would bid farewell with a joining of flesh, and a declaration of love, not an expression of grief and certainly not in a display for those who dared to tear them apart.
âI have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.â
Paddy breathlessly whispered words of the bard against the valley of Eoinâs throat, thoroughly worshipping him in both lyric and deed. Few words came close to describing his love for this man, the endless well of devotion that he had carved into his soul and now the unbearable thought of losing him overwhelmed each and every one of his senses.
In a relatively short span of time, this young man had wormed his way into his heart, burying himself within each wall and chamber. His blood pumped for Eoin, kept his body functioning simply for the fact of loving him. No man could take that from him, no man could send him far enough across the globe that Paddy would forget, no man could tear his scent from his nostrils, or erase the image of his smile from his memory. Even in isolation, Paddy wouldnât let any man sour the image of this perfect being. He was long past caring who saw their declaration of love, for this was more punishment than any man had a right to inflict upon two lovers. Separation was arguably worse than death, for at least in death he would know Eoin was safe, happy, free from the binds of expectation and decorum. Had he been the one punished, had he been put to the rifle or sent from his sight, at least heâd have known Eoin would live happily beyond him. At least heâd have had this night, this celebration of muscle and skin, and the memory of Eoinâs sweet moans in his ear.Â
Weeks passed, and in a drought of communication, news of an ambush in Eoinâs unit was passed down like chinese whispers. A story conveyed from person to person, morphing and changing as it went. When it reached Paddyâs ears, all detail had fallen away, with only a vague version of events remaining.Â
Eoinâs convoy had fallen victim to explosives buried amongst the rolling dunes, layers of sand concealing the deadly ordinance from sight. In the mid afternoon, with only the dazzling sun as their witness, a dozen men had the threads of fate unravelled before time. Their lives irreparably changed, some lost forever amongst the sands, some cast in chaos and blood. Eoin was gravely injured, the muscle of his thigh sheared, damaged by high velocity shrapnel. Though his condition remained unclear, news halted by this sudden tragedy.Â
Paddy had no idea if the man he loved even still walked the earth. The silence rang loudly through camp, the men felt the loss of their comrades in the unforgiving desert, they felt the uncertainty and confusion, the grief and sorrow that came with it. They felt the weight of all those who had passed, and a responsibility to deliver those still breathing home safely. None felt this weight more than Paddy Mayne. His carelessness had been the sole reason Eoin walked into danger, he was the sole cause for his terrible plight. If Eoin faced death head on, Paddy would never forgive himself, it was a fate he did not wish for any man, certainly not the man who stole his heart and cradled it with care.Â
His mind spiraled with the worst case scenarios; with visions of the fair Eoin lying beneath the stars, his body âas dim and pale as dead men in their tombsâ.
As the days passed, the silence from on high was deafening. Nobody would answer his questions, his letters to Eoinâs unit went unanswered. The quiet wreaked havoc on his mind, more violent than any ammunition, more destructive than any force of nature. Paddy was left distraught, and time only cemented the grief, which washed over him like a great wave threatening to erase his very existence. He saw only one solution to this all encompassing sorrow. He could think of only one way to quiet his mind and once more bask in the warmth of Eoin McGonigalâs radiance. It was definite, permanent.Â
Under the cover of darkness, Paddy made his final pilgrimage to the space where Eoinâs tent used to be - the first place they properly met, the place where heâd first held Eoin, where he first felt truly wanted. It was an appropriate setting for his release from this cruel world. A world that would take such a beacon of light without care, a world that would leave him devoid of love, unceremoniously ripping it from his grasp as soon as he had a taste.
Falling to his knees in the damp sand, Paddy pulled a blade from his belt, holding the edge flush against his bare skin. A blade that had taken the lives of hundreds, that had tasted the lifeblood of men no older or different than himself, left to rot under the searing desert sun, now put to its purpose once more.
âO happy dagger, This is thy sheath: there rust, and let me dieâ
Tears stained his skin from cheek to naval, yet Paddy wasnât afraid. His only fear now was that of facing a life without this love, a life without Eoin.Â
âLove-devouring death do what he dare;â
Before this moment he never thought about how empty his existence had been without him, how meaningless his subsistence would be without the penetrating heat of love. The moon looked on, a witness to this anguish, its light dimmed as if it too was mourning. As if Paddyâs loss was mirrored in the skies above, in the clouds and in the very essence of the heavens itself. The pale light of the moon caught the instrument of his destruction, held itâs light within its blade and lit its path forward.Â
Eoin was hoisted from the transport truck, and limped his way through the gates of camp, battered and bruised. His uniform was stained with the spatters of blood from his men, and drenched in certain spots with his own, but he had survived. His unit had been picked up, the remains of the dead transported back to the main camp, and the worst of the wounded sent to the nearest medical facility. Eoin was among them, though the gashes to his thigh were not among the worst of the injuries, not by far. A skilled surgeon kept his artery from emptying his body of blood, and a nurse patched him up from there. Heâd been unconscious for days, but suffered a far kinder fate than most of his men. Such chaos made communication impossible, and Eoin knew that Paddy would have heard the news at that point, he knew heâd be sick with worry.Â
Eventually heâd made his way back home, the worst of his wounds stabilised and held together with bandages and tape. Despite the limp and the throbbing pain through his leg, Eoin was determined to make his way home, to at the very least let Paddy know he was alive before heâd be transferred yet again, his punishment for true love neverending.Â
His movements were slow, clumsy. Each dragging step sent a sharp pain shooting through his weary bones, the pain only serving as a reminder that he was alive for a reason. He had a purpose in this world, and he had a man who loved him unreservedly, despite the obstacles thrown at them at every turn. He made his way through the winding corridors of tents and canvas tarpaulins, clumsily weaving between pillars and posts, around guidewires and earthed pegs. His legs carried him through the pain, and kept going despite every muscle and tendon screaming under the force of it. Eoin didnât stop until he found Paddy, in the very place they had first met, the very place he had shown Paddy the depths of his love for him. The extent of his devotion. Yet now, he knelt knee deep in the earth, hardened steel in hand, ready to defile such a place with his grief. Had Eoin shown up even minutes later, his blood would have stained the sand beneath his limbs.
Despite his body screaming under the strain, as soon as Paddy came into full view, his grief stricken form doubled over clutching a silver blade that glinted under the moonlight, Eoin scrambled through the sand. Seeing such a pitiful sight, Eoin leapt into action mere moments before the dagger was able to find its resting place, securing his timeless end. He ran as quickly as his injured limbs could carry him, before throwing himself into the dampened earth before him. Two gentle hands cradle its scabbard, desperately holding it against the unrelenting despair of a man deprived of love. Only a single drop of blood had been released from its fleshy prison, only a scratch marred his sun-stained skin. Had Eoin been a moment later, the dagger would have pierced flesh, finding a home within the confines of Paddyâs torso.Â
Paddy raised two swollen eyes away from the handle of the blade, and though reddened and clouded with grief, they instantly recognised the hands of the man he loved. Though scarred and burdened with the horrors heâd seen, they were the same hands that brought him so much pleasure, that held him through the night. They were the hands of the one who saved him from himself. Eoin searched his expression for any sign of recognition, before letting the blade fall and wrapping Paddy in his arms, pulling him tightly to his aching wounded frame.Â
âBreathe Paddy, Iâm here. Iâm okay. You can breathe. Itâs just a scratchâ
Paddy couldnât hear his words, only the tone of his voice, the grounding scent of his cologne and the faintest trace of gunpowder and blood. He couldnât hear him as he whispered into his ear, as he shushed and held him against the night and a pain so great that even the heavens felt it. Eoin held Paddy until his breath returned, until the tears dried on the surface of his skin and he could focus on the world around him once more. He held tightly to his lover until his body caught up with reality, and his mind came to terms with Eoin being alive, and present. Alive and here.Â
âLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Being purged, a fire sparkling in loversâ eyes;
Being vexâd a sea nourishâd with loversâ tears.â
Few options remained for lovers scorned, for two men firmly under loveâs thumb. There seemed little option but to flee, to escape this life of secrets and rendezvous under the cover of night. Abandoning a life is never easy, but when that life no longer serves you, when those that are sworn to protect fail in their duties, and worse, betray the men that serve with them, the time comes to move on. Eoin and Paddy didn't have a plan, they didn't have a destination or a path forward, but they knew they had to do it together. They knew that as soon as Eoin could walk, as soon as his body could hold the weight of such a decision, they would leave.Â
âAre we too rash, too unadvised, too quick?â
âRash would be staying where we are not wanted, Paddy. Rash would be leaving our fate in the hands of men who refute our right to loveâ Eoin reassured him, though he knew more poetic prose might strike his message home.Â
âMy bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.âÂ
Eoin simply kissed Paddy, mirroring his typically sweet and romantic sentiments right back to him, as Paddy could only look on in shock, and once again Eoin had quelled any gathering storms of doubt.Â
Perhaps if Juliet and her Romeo had fled, their story would have ended differently.
Perhaps calamity was only one outcome for a love written in the stars, for theirs was a tale of woe cut short, a classic tragedy thrown off course.Â
A changed world, an unexplained head injury and a surprising new friend. In a world you didn't recognise, you found companionship with another survivor, and discovered how the end of the world could bring people together in rather unexpected ways.
TW: Mentions of blood & injury, apocalyptic themes...not much else!
Word count: 4.3k
It was hard to remember exactly when you'd fallen asleep, or how you awoke in the emergency department, but as your eyes peeled open, barely conscious yet slowly taking in your surroundings, it became glaringly obvious that something wasnât right.Â
With eyes heavy and weighed down as if concreted in place, it took a minute to adjust to the dazzling overhead lights, the pale glow of an old incandescent bulb buzzing as it dangled from the ceiling. You'd never been a fan of hospitals, they always seemed so sterile, so devoid of nature and life, immediately recognisable as hostile places. It was as if humans weren't supposed to recuperate in such stark sterility, as if they were intricately and expertly designed for precisely the opposite. Every misgiving you'd ever had seemed amplified tenfold in this unearthly silence, your fears uniquely justified in the midst of a terrifying nothingness. It was quiet, eerily quiet. And typically, quiet wasnât a word youâd have used to describe hospitals in your area. They were always overcrowded, understaffed, barely functioning utilities scraping through the chaos. Yet now, only the steady high pitched beeping of machines and the rise and fall of your own breath sounded in your ears. Now your world was drenched in silence, consuming and deeply unsettling.Â
As you were pulled back into the real world, slowly regaining consciousness, your surroundings came into full view and so too did the throbbing ache laying beneath the thin skin of your scalp. A curious hand probed the area, which proved to be a costly mistake once the true extent of the pain set in. Immediately retracting your hand, fingers covered in sticky coagulated blood were revealed. The bed beside you was littered with the remnants of gauze and a suture kit; medical supplies ready and waiting for willing hands to use them, to patch up the patient lying unconscious in a puddle of their own blood. It took a minute to connect the strands of this strangely woven reality; youâd been abandoned by those who committed their lives to helping people. Where were all the nurses? The doctors? The orderlies? The machines hummed, yet there were no people mulling around to use them. Your eyes darted around, searching for any sign of life, yet none could be found. There were no signs of humanity in the corridors at all in fact, especially from your limited field of view.Â
In a rash and slightly unwise decision, you dragged your body into an upright position, leaning against the bedside railings for support. Every limb felt leaden, uncooperative and unyielding to your will. In truth you'd no idea how long you were unconscious, how long you lay in that bed bleeding while the world around you changed. Once again panicked eyes searched amongst the clutter and chaos around you for any evidence of what had happened, anything to explain where the people had gone or why you were left behind. Even something to explain your bizarre injuryâŠBlood soaked garments lay at the foot of your bed, the stains stark and jarring. They had been stripped from your body and scattered in a hurry, yet your injury was clearly left untreated. Unused medical supplies littered the surface of your bed, wads of bright white gauze sitting in their crinkled plastic wrappings. Remnants of a world that clearly no longer existed, left in state, just as they were. Feeling dissatisfied and thoroughly confused, you tackled the most urgent matter first, the gaping wound decorating your hairline. Â
Quivering hands unwrapped a fresh cotton pad, the crunch of fresh plastic echoing loudly between stark white walls. Gingerly holding it to your oozing wound, you pressed the cotton into place, not without wincing at the incredibly unpleasant sensation, naturally. Touching it again was a stupid idea, but it was either that or leave a deep gash in your head open to the elements. Securing it with some gauze, you sat still for a minute, letting the worst of the pain subside before eventually swinging your limbs over the edge of the bed and onto the cold tiled floor. Every move rang out through the hollow space, the slap of bare skin against linoleum, the swish of the paper thin hospital gown around your knees, their effects normally unnoticed now bellowed in the lofty space around you. Even the echoing of footsteps through empty hallways proved unsettling, with nothing filling the void except gurneys and ominously vacant wheelchairs.
The labyrinthian corridors were strangely empty, and without the usual sea of bodies filling them, appeared much larger than you remembered. The waiting room chairs sat entirely too bare for a typically busy city hospital; usually they'd have been bursting at the seams with desperate people waiting for their turn, children crying in pain and always someone arguing with the overworked nurse behind the counter. Now, only cold unoccupied seats remained, waiting for the return of the wounded, waiting for people to fill the nothingness.Â
You searched for what seemed like hours, wandering the sprawling hallways, though the dizziness and blood loss hindered your pursuit more than once. It was the mundane details, the things you'd never have normally noticed that now caught your eye. Cups of tea left by the nurses station, plates of food left in the cafeteria; some hot, still steaming, as if they were lying in wait, anticipating their owners return. Clocks ticked forward on the walls, computers whirred at nurses stations, their fans still operating at full capacity. The printers still chimed in search of fresh paper, their beeping as annoying as they ever had been. Yet the void was glaring, the lack of life in this bleak environment cemented an unease that simply wouldn't shake loose. The world was exactly as it always was - except for the glaring lack of human beings filling the space.Â
The last few days disappeared into a blur of time and space, a semi tangible memory that you just couldnât grasp onto - not yet at least. You hoped that some snippets would return eventually, that you'd have some indication of what happened and why. For now, you were stuck existing in a world that clearly didn't want you. You wandered corridors that appeared forgotten, frozen in time. The world seemed a lot bigger without the furor of people occupying it. Without the bustle and noise that usually accompanied a human presence. You wondered for a minute if there was anyone left. If anyone wandered the streets outside this hospital, just as dazed and confused as you.Â
As you pattered through the corridors, your bare feet padding along the cold tiled flooring, sluggish yet forcibly alert pupils flickered from door to door, checking each room for signs of life, as you had been doing since you rose from your blood soaked bed. You followed the hum of a radio nearby, yet as you got closer, it only emphasised the emptiness of your surroundings. Still, it was good to hear music. To remember the contributions of humanity, the creative endeavours that enriched life on this planet. The treble heavy sound echoed through empty hallways, meaningless pop songs and prerecorded chat shows broke the unnerving silence. Even in a short time, youâd started to lose hope of ever seeing another human again.
That is, until you spotted him, unconscious and bloodied in the waiting room, left to suffer the consequences of his injuries, just like you. He looked like he'd been assaulted, badly beaten and bruised. Yet slumped in that chair, you instinctively knew that this was not the first scrape he'd found himself in. His hands were taped, wrapped in cloth around the knuckle. His loose fitting tank top, with holes cut under the arms revealed ribs banded in purple shadow. Clearly no stranger to throwing a punch, or receiving one.Underneath a mess of mottled flesh, he appeared to be quite handsome. Though the swelling and blackened skin did him no favours. Still, your heart swelled at seeing another living human. Another person in a maze of abandoned beds and empty chairs.Â
You did feel a little guilty ogling an unconscious man, though you let your eyes linger for a few minutes longer before you decided to approach, albeit cautiously.Â
Faint steps echoed through eerily quiet halls, each plodding footstep amplified a thousandfold in the desolation. You held a tentative hand under his nose, where warm air thankfully fanned the back of your hand. He was still breathing, still alive. Still here. You sighed, releasing a breath you hadn't even realised had been held in your lungs. Though your relief was quickly replaced with even more questions, even more puzzling thoughts. Why was he here? How had he come to be so badly injured? And where was everyone else?
You placed a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking his frame to try and rouse him into consciousness. Heavy eyelids parted to reveal two dazzlingly blue eyes. They held a lifetime of struggle and sadness, and beneath cracked and swollen flesh, lay a gentle soul. You could tell straight away, you could see the man that lay beneath the mess of blood and bruises. As he woke and began to come around, his eyes rose to meet yours, immediately filled with confusion.Â
âUh..hi..whoâre you?â a weak voice mumbled. His voice was low, gruff but somehow gentle at the same time. It sounded hoarse, as if heâd been screaming, or perhaps this is how he sounded first thing in the morning, after succumbing to a fitful nightâs sleep.You introduced yourself, extending a hand towards him, which he grasped lightly with a hiss. âSorry, my hands donât work very well after a fight, I got fingers that don't bend, see?â
You chuckled, removing your hand from his with an apology that got swallowed by the awkward pause between you.Â
âSo how did you end up here? Youâre a fighter I presume?â He simply nodded. âConcussion..I uh, Iâve had worse..â
âAh..well you passed out in the chair, figured youâd been beatenâŠâ
âWhereâd the nurses go?â he enquired, gazing around the empty hallways, the sprawling labyrinth that was crawling with patients, doctors, nurses and orderlies not too long ago.
âYour guess is as good as mineâŠI donât even know how I ended up here to be honestâŠâ
âYour head a bit rattled too, eh?â he smirked. âDonât worry, I forget shit that happened yesterday cause my brain don't fuckinâ workâ
âI didnât forget, one minute I was in my apartment and the next I wake up here, with my head split and the whole world after disappearingâŠâ
âDâya remember your name then?â the handsome man probed, a shit eating grin still plastered across his face, though it was slightly hindered by the inflammation.
âYeah I know that muchâ you chuckled.Â
âThe nameâs Lion, well, thatâs what my brother calls me anywayâŠ.real nameâs Walter. Not as cool I guess.â he shrugged, raising his hand to his swollen eye to prod around the edges, inspecting the damage.Â
âThe other guy got a few decent swings in...he had a hard jaw though. Think I busted a knuckle or two..â Lion groaned, just under his breath so your ears had a hard time picking up his display of discomfort.
âIâm not trained, but Iâm handy enough with a needle and thread, if you want some help? Managed to get my wound to stop bleedinâ so think Iâm okay myself for nowâŠâ you offered, hope evident in your shaky voice. Lion shook his head. âYou donât have toâŠknow where weâd find ice though? Could do with it for my eyeâŠâ
âWe can have a look, Iâd guess maybe the canteen? Or might find an ice pack in there..â you pointed towards a supply cabinet, just down the corridor. You mustâve been sitting with Lion for ten minutes at least, and in that time not a soul had wandered the halls. You figured that your best hope was probably raiding the shelves yourself.Â
It felt bizarre stalking the corridors of a hospital in search of medical supplies, like a scene from the Walking Dead, minus the zombies of course. Perhaps that scenario would've put you more at ease, at least there'd be a rational explanation for a flesh eating, mind altering virus..but this? This was otherworldly, straight out of science fiction. You would've preferred the muted shuffling of the undead to the absolute silence hanging in the air around you. As you rifled through storage shelves, gathering as much gauze and ready-to-go ice packs as you could carry, your mind reeled with all sorts of fantastical scenarios. Some came from TV and movies, expertly directed and shot with high budget effects, others from books and comicsâŠyour imagination had plenty of source material to draw from, and yet you had never encountered any situation quite like this. Where the inhabitants of the world simply disappeared, coffee still hot in their cups, breakfast cereal half eaten. Returning to Lion should've put your mind at ease, yet even as you cracked a pre-packaged cool pack and passed it to him, your thoughts whirred through a rattled brain.
Even with the company, a barren hospital was an eerie thing. It felt unnatural. Like seeing someone drink tea from a ceramic mug in public. Youâd seen that on your way to work once, it felt all sorts of wrong. Seeing the world so empty, yet not abandoned, not evacuated or closed after hours, just emptyâŠit was utterly unnerving.Â
âFeeling up for a stroll? See if weâre the only ones left here?â you asked your newfound companion, to which he just nodded silently. Both of you got to your feet in unison, groans of discomfort shared amongst you equally. It wouldâve been comical, had anyone been witness to the two of you stumbling from the waiting room down the deserted corridors. Two living zombies, your bodies still firmly planted in the mortal realm yet battered beyond recognition.
Behind dirt-encrusted glass, the world outside mirrored the one behind stark white concrete walls. Cars were frozen in place, left in carparks, and simply stalled on roads that wouldâve been fairly congested on a normal day. No pedestrians, no kids playing in parks, theyâd all simply vanished, like smoke on the wind. At first the world beyond those austere white walls seemed peaceful, tranquil. But that quickly descended into unease. It was too quiet, unnerving, certainly for a major city. Then the questions came in droves; why were you here? Why was Lion? Why did the two of you survive the purge of humanity? And where had everyone else gone?
Even animals seemed to have been left behind. Birds still twittered from their perches, dogs still barked in the distance; confused and left wondering where their families had gone. There was a lot of that going aroundâŠconfusion. Your mind reeled at the thought of all those family pets, unintentionally abandoned without food or water, without the tender care theyâd grown accustomed to. Tears welled at the thought of those most helpless, though perhaps without the cruelty of humanity looming large, theyâd at least stand a chance at survival in the wild.Â
Nature was always going to find a way to outlast us, to prevail in the inevitable demise of the human race. Things were always going to reset, at some point in the timeline of humanity, though you never thought it would be quite so soon, or quite so sudden. The natural world would always thrive in the absence of humanity, it would continue on, a neverending cycle uninterrupted by the folly of man. The clouds would still hang in the sky, grey and fluffy as they ever were. Grass would grow wild, plants and flowers would seek out the sunlight as always. In a way, the world would return to how it was before the plight of humans descended upon it. Yet the thought didnât bring any relief, but a heavy unease, a sense that this was going to get worse before it got better.Â
Lion stumbled down barren halls, devoid of life yet still buzzing with the passive sounds of a world that once was. Each step accompanied by stifled winces and frail hands grasping his bruised ribs. He could walk fine, his feet still carried the weight of him, but not without pain wracking his bones. Not without shooting barbs forcing their way through his nervous system, like daggers pricking just under the skin. Lion was no stranger to pain, he was used to masking it, suffering through aching joints and torn ligaments. His nose had been broken more times than he cared to count, the crunching of busted cartilage a familiar acquaintance for a fighter. His hands proved most troublesome, his moneymakers were riddled with arthritis and constantly ached, he could barely make a fist anymore without recoiling against the pain. To be so young and live a life in constant discomfort, it was agonising. And whatâs worse, heâd walked himself right into this situation - acquiescing to his brotherâs hair-brained schemes and risky wagers. He never backed away from a fight, even when he knew his body would pay the price, when he knew he was outmatched or outclassed, when he could see the toll the fists flying towards him would take. Lion faced that danger head on, always. Although, as he shuffled through the hallways of a world he barely recognised, those risks seemed all the more idiotic.Â
Your eyes darted over to his hobbling frame more than once, concern etched into your skin. Even with his injuries slowing progress, you had to admit that it was nice, having the company of another human being beside you. As you hobbled towards the exit, with the green emergency light glowing a little too brightly, like a beacon beaming through a thick fog, your mind too became gradually more hazy. The colours of the world seemed slightly too vivid for reality, the bare white walls all too luminous. The sterile environment of the hospital hallways seemed to glimmer, everything in technicolour in an instant. That is until your vision faded and dulled, the false vibrance clouded by something utterly more sinister. A darkness that crept in around the edges, that leeched all life from your eyes. It was a feeling that washed over you all of a sudden, without warning. The walls of the narrow corridors before you started to close in, simultaneously spinning and squeezing shut, as if youâd been plunged into the world of an action movie, fighting for your life against an environment that wished you dead. But it was only in your mind that the floor beneath you swayed and bowed, your legs becoming jellified and unsteady beneath a trembling frame. The crack in your head was clearly much worse than you anticipated, your brain rattled and compensating for the injury. Your whole world turned to black in an instant, spinning around you as if let loose on its axes. Every nerve in your body jolted, as if the earth itself was toppling into the void, sending you hurtling along with it. But it was only you. Everything else remained in place, it was you that was falling.Â
Lion spotted your change in orientation from the corner of his eye, immediately reaching out to steady you, two rough hands grasping at anything he could hold onto. With a hiss, he grabbed your shoulders, split knuckles gripping tightly to the blood soaked gown in order to keep you from slamming into the ground. He could feel the bones crunching under your weight, the skin reopening under tightly wrapped bandages but he refused to let you hit the deck full force. He knew the impact hitting the ground unconscious could have, without so much as a hand to break your fall - heâd experienced it more than once. He thought he could at least break the worst of the impact, give you a slightly softer landing, but he didn't count on his own wounds reopening under the strain. You barely registered hitting the cold tiled floor, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as the world faded into darkness around you. Your thoughts nothing more than wisps on the wind. Muscle and bone rattled from the force of it, thankfully though, Lions quick thinking saved your skull from bouncing against the hard tiles. Â
Even against the undeniable agony radiating through his hands, this practical stranger risked further injury and pain to save you from hitting the floor. You wouldnât realise the extent of his chivalry until you woke up, until your eyes once again opened to a cold new world.Â
It couldâve been minutes or hours, but eventually light streamed through parting eyelids. Youâd no concept of time, no inkling as to how long youâd been knocked out, but seeing at least one familiar face brought some comfort to your throbbing brain. Even if it was bruised, swollen and slightly crusted with congealed blood.Â
Seeing his bright eyes peering down at you, his face, although battered in of itself, contorted with worry, it brought you a measure of peace in a rather unsettling situation.
âShit, my head is killing me..what happened?âÂ
âYou took a dive love, Iâm guessing that gash is a little deeper than you thoughtâŠâ Lion pointed gingerly towards your injured scalp, your hand immediately flying upwards on instinct. The skin was raw, tender, and still weeping through your makeshift dressing. You shivered at the thought, but it was inevitableâŠyouâd need stitches. Luckily it wasnât a task youâd have to attempt alone, by the looks of things, Lion was no stranger to patching himself up. You hoped he had a steady hand under pressure, even with knuckles swollen and split.Â
âHate to say it, but I might need your help with this one..any good with a needle and thread?â your voice cracked, wincing at the thought of a needle piercing skin without anesthesia. âYouâre in luck, when Iâm not throwing punches, thatâs how I make a livingâŠthough Iâm not sure how accurate Iâll be at the momentâ Lion chuckled lowly, raising his unsightly knuckles to eye level.Â
âI donât need it to be prettyâŠjust to stop bleeding..â you weakly muttered, now looking him straight in the eye, your mouth stretching into an appreciative half smile.Â
âIt wonât be fun, weâve nothing to numb you up so youâll feel it allâŠyou ready for that yeah?â
âDonât have many other options here, do I?â you chuckled, though the smile didnât quite make it to your eyes.Â
Lion disappeared from view, raiding cabinets for supplies while you sat on the cold floor, contemplating your fairly dire situation. What would life be like now that humanity had seemingly been wiped from existence? What was your purpose, your direction now that every skill youâd honed was essentially useless?
When the very fabric of society was torn, all goals and ideals turned on their head in an instantâŠwhat was the point in all of it? And where did you go from here?
Questions swirled around your rattled mind, questions youâd perhaps never have the answers to. Questions that would plague you daily, but for now, you had to focus on the arduous task ahead, one catastrophe at a time.Â
Lionâs fingers moved with surprising grace, dipping between strands of hair, brandishing a rather intimidating implement between the mottled skin of scarred digits. He was gentle, almost too gentle for a man so accustomed to violence. The tenderness of his touch in stark contradiction with the dark lilac bruising which dappled the surface of his skin, and even more so, the needle which sent fire through your scalp with each prick.Â
You stifled groans of discomfort, biting on your sleeve for relief. The tug of the thread brought on an almighty headache. Still, it was better than bleeding out on the floor, or succumbing to the blood loss yet again and giving yourself a concussion.Â
Lion took his time, ensuring each stitch was meticulously placed, yet moving quickly so as to not prolong your suffering longer than he had to.Â
You couldn't see his face steely focused on his task, teeth clamped against his lip in concentration. You could hear him hold his breath with each new stitch, only exhaling once a flash of silver protruded from the other side. His lungs pushed against your shoulder, each gulp of air evident in their carefully orchestrated movements. You found his level of care endearing, though could feel little else besides pain in the moment.Â
âThereâŠ.all finished. Wasn't too bad I hope..â Lion exhaled, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders as he knotted the ends and dropped the crimson stained needle onto a nearby tray. His hands trembled, it had been a while since heâd had something so delicate perched between stiff fingers, knuckles popping and cracking with the force of his steady grip.
âShould take some of these if we're gettinâ outta hereâŠâ
âWhereâll we go?â you asked tentatively, your voice quivering as the reality of your unusual situation hit you all over again.Â
âYou still have a home love, that hasn't up and disappeared as far as I know..â Lion chuckled. âChange of clothes, some sleepâŠthen we'll make a plan, yeah? And if you want me to piss off, least you'll be in your own space..âÂ
You forced a smile up over your lips, one that didnât quite reach your eyes but had good intentions behind it. Your mYou still couldnât quite reckon with the loss of your friends and family, with the disappearance of so many people you held dear, but also the people that kept the world spinning - the shop assistants, doctors, nurses, the kindly old bus driver who kept you punctual on a daily basis.Â
Somehow youâd been spared from the great reset, left with more questions than youâd ever feasibly have answers for, and with an odd, yet unexpectedly kind soul for company. Perhaps starting over in a strange world wouldn't be so bad with a man like Lion by your side. âMaybe I should raid the lost and found first thoughâŠthis gown is a little breezyâŠâ
