#dirt writes

[simp1hours]

Pairing: none

Tags: hurt/no comfort (there’s a happy followup don’t worry), angst

Warnings: shouting? Only a little bit?

Dark sighed heavily as he caressed the browning leaves of his avocado tree. He’d really, really tried with this one. He interacted with it as little as possible, he’d watered it on a schedule and rotated it in the sun, he even tried observing the plant’s beauty through a window instead of entering the room! And it still only lasted a few weeks. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, it seemed, his aura killed every plant he touched.

Footsteps on his left told him Wilford had entered the garden. He didn’t lift his head to greet the other, only continued unpotting the rotten remnants of his once thriving little tree.

“I told you it wouldn’t last.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Dark huffed. They’d been over this a hundred times now, why couldn’t Wilford just understand? It wasn’t about having plants around- it was much, much deeper. His nursery was the last holdout Damien had. The last thing connecting the mayor to his old life, to the garden he so loved to tend before his untimely death. Fake plants that didn’t need to be pruned and cared for would never even touch the wound in his splintered soul.

Dark felt the other lay a hand on his shoulder, and though he knew it was meant as comfort, it still stung. He loathed the pity.

“You know, there’s no shame in getting yourself-“

“I don’t want a plastic plant, Wilford! We’ve been over this!” Snapped the entity, enough to radiate those familiar red and blue mirages around him jerking their heads and pulling at their skin. Wilford snatched his hand back.

“…You know you’ll never be able to keep one alive.”

“I don’t CARE!” Dark whipped his head around to finally look at Wilford. A little of that two-toned voice escaped him while the chromatic aberration around him radiated in waves. The plant beside him shriveled and curled in on itself even further.

Wilford winced and backed up a step. He’d only been trying to help. It always made Dark so upset to lose a plant, why wouldn’t he want one he couldn’t kill? But, clearly his input was not wanted here. The man tucked his hands into his pockets and left his old friend to mourn the tree in private.

Dark turned back to his tree and lifted it out of the pot, then dropped it into the open trash bag beside him. He looked up to peer through the window of his greenhouse at all the other plants he’d doomed, all sitting in pots Damien had hand thrown oh so long ago, in varying states of death and dying. It was enough to make his frozen heart pang.

Those plants used to bring Damien such joy, such tranquility… Now they only brought Dark grief. And yet, he still replaced each one he killed, just to watch it wilt again. It hurt, but hurt was one of the last things he had left to connect him to his former humanity. Hurt, and his memories.

He’d kill every plant on earth just to taste a single drop of who he used to be.

[zackmephisto]

those of you who are new to dirt might not know that i was like 19k deep into a guardians of the galaxy drax/oc rewrite, starting around may of last year, with the last update being september of last year. well, i fucked around and wrote a new chapter, if anyone here is interested in reading! link in the reblogs bc tumblr hates links <3

[illmoure]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 2 of “Running Interference” is up, and enter Gin Ichimaru. 

Over 6k, rather dialogue heavy, minor exposition. Bargaining, cutting deals, compromising, and covert flirting. 

As always, feedback is appreciated! 

[simp1hours]

Pairing: Captaineer

Tags: gn reader, angst, emotional hurt/comfort (sort of)

Warnings: none

The Captain and the head engineer are both different- and the crew notices.

As far as they’re aware, stepping onto the Invincible was the first time you two had ever met. You were polite and enthusiastic with one another, and you talked about the ship, and then you went to sleep. You’d barely met one another. Now you don’t enter a room without each other.

Gunther has seen the looks Mark sometimes gives you. Sometimes he looks like he’s afraid you’ll kick him, and each time, Gunther watches you lay your hand so tenderly on his shoulder and whisper something that makes him nod his head and blink away tears.

Burt hears the way you speak to one another now.

“It’s okay, I’m right here”

“Remember, we’re safe now.”

“I’m so sorry, Captain.”

Burt doesn’t understand those comments.

Celci has seen your whole body tense and your hands curl into fists when she shouts at Mark for his stupid mistakes. She sees death in your eyes when she insults him, and she sees Mark cower beneath her with a thousand yard stare and ghost-white lips. The guilt she feels seeing him tremble at her scolding is so strong, she no longer snaps at him.

Tyler picks up on how you touch. He sees the fingers that brush each other’s knuckles, the palms that cup each other’s cheeks, the shoulders that bump together. He sees you lay your head to the engineer’s shoulder when you think you’re alone. He sees Mark curl into you when you hug him.

Even Mat sees the way your eyes will flick up to one another sometimes, sharing matching looks of such hollow exhaustion that he doesn’t even have the words to describe how haunted they are. You look like you’ve been to war.

The crew whisper to one another about the ways you’re different. Their beloved Captain and obnoxious (but lovable) head engineer are somber, quiet, and most notably, inseparable. Mark hasn’t spent a night a night in his own quarters in so long that the rest of the ship has taken notice. They speculate amongst themselves, but every time one of you enters the room (usually followed quickly by the other), the chatter cuts off.

They don’t know if they want to understand why- and it seems painful enough that they don’t want to ask you.

[simp1hours]

Pairing: Darkstache if you squint, but brother u gotta squint

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort (sort of)

Warnings: none

“What… Is it?” Dark examined the flower carefully, still cupping its little pink pot in his hand. He tugged at the petals, and Wilford put his hands up to nudge his friend off.

“Don’t do that, don’t do that! It’s real, I promise. It’s a real plant.” He assured the his friend. At that, Dark’s hands shot out to set the little plant down, and he scrambled backward until his shoulders hit the living room wall.

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you not like it? I mean, I know pink isn’t really your style, but-“

“I’ll kill it. I got too close. It’s going to die.”

Dark’s eyes never wavered from the strange flower. Wilford still hadn’t told him what kind it was. It looked oddly familiar; he could swear he’d seen one that looked like that before. A hydrangea, maybe? Some kind of lily? But it didn’t look like any flower he really remembered the name of. It looked more like something he might have seen in passing, or perhaps in a dream.

It didn’t matter now, he supposed.

He touched it. He’d already killed it.

Wilford picked it back up and approached Dark with it, ignoring the way his friend pressed closer to the wall.

“Relax, D. I’d be shocked if you found a way to kill this one. This one’s special.” He placed the little pot back in Dark’s hands, who only stared down at it. True, the entity noted, its petals didn’t show any signs of rot or wilt… Not even the one he’d just been touching. He brought it closer to his face to inspect. Was it really real?

Wilford watched Dark turn it around to peer at each leaf and each little clump of potting soil. He didn’t remember this flower, did he? He didn’t remember where it came from. It took Wil weeks of tireless searching to find this stupid thing and dig it out of the frozen earth himself. He’d carried it back in a ball of cold dirt in his bare hands- he forgot to bring a container with him.

Not that Wil would ever admit the lengths he’d gone to just to give his friend a little gift.

Not that he felt bad after the avocado tree.

“…Do you like it?” Asked Wilford. He genuinely couldn’t tell from Dark’s expressionless face and cryptic (frustrating) silence. Dark finally looked back at him.

“I… Yes, I- I do. I do like it. Wilford, thank you.” Nodded the gray man. And while his expressions didn’t do much to convey his gratitude, Wilford recognized that tone of voice. Soft and almost uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was safe to express an emotion or not. Wil gave him a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. He pretended not to see the other’s nose wrinkle at his touch.

“Better go get it some sunlight then, friend.” He said, and with an awkward bow of his head, Dark left to do just that.

[zackmephisto]

here’s a nooj drabble series that i’ll probably be updating again later tonight or possibly tomorrow and also if anyone bullies me for chapter 1 so help me god i WILL cry about it

[simp1hours]

Pairing: None

Tags: Hurt/no comfort, Murdock

Warnings: Blood, vomit, amputation, abduction, family death

Written for a discord friend. Mind the tags.

August lifts Murdock’s chin with the blade of his axe. Rust scrapes the stubble. He eyes the man chained to the uncomfortable metal chair, which he’d bolted to the floor in advance, along with the table his wrists are cuffed to. He knows who he’s messing with and he doesn’t want any games this time… No more games. Murdock bares his teeth in a facsimile of a grin.

“I bet you thought it would be easy, didn’t you? I bet you thought she was just another victim. Bet you thought you’d just dump her body like any other and that would be the end of it, didn’t you?” He hisses. Murdock gives his captor a placid smile as the blade leaves his chin.

“And which one was this?” He croons.

August spits. He braces his hands on the splintering handle of his father’s old axe. It had been too long since anyone sharpened it, this would be a messy job. He’d hoped it would be. Murdock watches him, and while his face remains cool and relaxed, he’s starting to sweat. He doesn’t know how to get out of this one. The bolts are too strong for him- he’d already jerked his arm out of socket trying to wrench himself free while August hunted down his weapon.

Was this it? Was this how he’d die? An axe splitting his skull in two, or maybe buried into his neck? It would be fitting. He would accept that death. There was honor in it, for him. His captor gives him a look he could only characterize as blackout rampage, and he’s shaking with rage. Murdock braces. He takes a breath in, closes his eyes, and he hears the swing of the axe.

A scream splits the air, so loud it rattles the night birds from their perches in the trees outside, and it just keeps going. Is it his own? Murdock can’t tell because he can’t process anything through the molten lava pain his hand just plunged into. When he jerks it through the cuff, his wrist slides out like butter— and his hand stays behind. A towel presses firmly into the stump, and August drops the bloody axe to tie it tight. He doesn’t want Murdock bleeding out before he can suffer for what he’s taken from him.

The pressure lights Murdock’s sliced nerves on fire even further, and the sensation of metal spikes driving themselves straight down the meat of his arm and through the centers of his bones makes him vomit across the table. Through his delirium he hears the scrape of an axe head across the floor. Murdock thrashes in his restraints with renewed fury, but they hold. Oh, do they hold.

“No no nononononoNO!” He shrieks.

The axe comes down hard, but it isn’t enough to sever his right hand fully. Murdock can’t even scream for this one, the pain is too much to move- to breathe- to anything. He makes eye contact with his hand, hanging on by a few shreds of muscle and a flap of skin, spewing blood. His blood. It’s all over the table and dripping into puddles on the floor. He’s still gaping at it when the blade makes second contact and his hand flops apart from his wrist. Murdock vomits again, and promptly passes out.

August wraps this wound, too. He doesn’t want to kill Murdock, no no. That would be much too easy. He wants to see this man suffer. He’d never take another life without hands to do it with. He’d never take another life chained up in August’s cellar, either. Maybe he’d keep him on a leash and collar like a dog- he wouldn’t be able to get it off. August wiped Murdock’s blood off his face with his sleeve and dropped the axe. He considered cleaning up the mess and moving his sister’s killer.

But no, he thought it might be better to make him wake up in a puddle of his own vomit and blood and have to face the hands that had stabbed May to death, separated from his body. So he pulled the chain on the light and bolted the shed door shut behind him. Maybe he’d bring Murdock some finger food for breakfast in the morning.