hi guys im normal about the nerd from call of duty zombies
interacts from @crimson-rots
if you are a nazi, if you believe in anything they believe in, then you are not welcome here or anywhere else.
i understand that this is a community where there is a lot of imagery that may broach the subject of those ideologies, but truly, deeply, and from the bottom of my heart: this is not about "respecting people with different beliefs". i do not respect nazis and i never fucking will, and if you do respect nazis - if you give them space or a voice in your community - you can get far the fuck away from me, too.
kay hi all 2-4 Marlton fans come look at my WIP thing
To preface, this is entirely not finished at all. I was struck be a desire to:
See Marlton kiss a man (check my name I have a bias)
See this man experience more than maybe two emotions on account of the CoD series not letting him do so
Anyways here's the beginning part of whatever fucking thing im making. We'll see how it goes! Many things are subject to change, etc., etc.
It's not supposed to be this quiet.
It's been 3 days since Victis awoke from their slumber of… god knows how long, and this is all Marlton has been able to think. Not 'Oh thank god we're alive!' , or 'How the, and pardon the profanity, sweet FUCK did we end up in southern France?' Nope. None of that. Instead, the his mind buzzes with frustration. Frustration over how damn still the lives of Victis have become .
To Marlton, the fact that he was perturbed to begin with was even more aggravating. Because logically, after weeks of being chased by endless, screaming, festering hordes of the undead, he'd be greatful for his newfound predicament. That being? Waking up presumably years after the inital outbreak, in a world with no undead in sight. A world immensely more peaceful than what the scientist had forced himself to accustom to.
"What is- What is wrong with me?"
His voice came out with the tremble of a sob, but no tears followed. His fingers dug into his arms but he could barely feel their grip. What was minutes early the grounding scratch of tree-bark pressing into Marlton's back began to distort. For a moment, the aimless chattering of T.E.D.D. seemed to join the noise of the breeze…
"Welcome aboard Speedway Bus Lines!"
"Now crossing the Grand Canyon."
"Stay behind the yellow lines or face termination!"
Soon, the memory of a brief conversation filled his mind. Misty was trying to soothe Marlton's concerns over traversing the wasteland in a steel death trap.
"Ugh, how many times must we take this through the fog? It's so… cramped."
"Marlton, sweety, I know you gotta thing with smallspaces, but do you wanna run out there on foot?"
"…"
"Thought so."
"…Just promise we won't too much time in here?"
"Huh? I guess, if make you feel better Marley, I promise. Now let's go, Russman's waiting for us at—"
Suddenly, Marlton's reminiscence is cut off by the noise of a gunshot in the distance. This was followed by a shrill honk! and a thud a few feet away from the man's location. A duck lay lifeless in the swaying grass. Marlton stared at the thing for what felt like an hour. The morning sun glistened off of its feathers. For a moment, Marlton thought he saw the duck twitch, but thought better of it. Surely it was just the wind.
"Ah shit- Sorry Marley! Didn't know you were here, woulda, I dunno, not shot that a duck right in front of you? You alright by the way? You seem out of it."
Perhaps it hadn't been an hour? Shaking his head, Marlton peeled himself of the tree.
"No, no it's ok Misty. I appreciate the concern, though," he spares the duck another glance, "Has Russman ever cooked waterfowl before? My trust of his culinary skill is already dubious at best."
"Hah!" a smile spread across Misty's face as she props her rifle and leans on it.
“your friend is dead, and their corpse is inhabited by something only you can see for what it truly is" is already good horror. but "you begin to love the thing that wears their face"? the blasphemy of it. terror turning into desire. grief turning into longing. being enticed by what should repel you. it twists the knife deeper, because the horror is not based on deception anymore. the fear comes from recognizing the monster in its raw form and finding beauty there. you're not clinging to scraps of your friend, you're surrendering to something other, something wrong, and loving it. you're not holding onto a ghost of the past, it’s the monster itself that you choose
