#dyingforastory

[sickxride-blog]

¥ - dyingforastory

Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Would they date them: yES | no

Favorite thing about them: That curly hair, big, sparkling eyes, oh GOSH where do I start. Miles Upshur is a treasure.

Least favorite thing about them: Awfully uncooperative and distrustful. Nothing a doctor can’t fix.

[sickxride-blog]

I want the K. :c

10: Oxygen Deprivation 

It’s not that his toy — that Miles — gets boring. No, he’s endlessly entertaining, endlessly amusing in that sense that he can find new buttons to press and new wires to pull and new springs to pull out of shape.

It’s Pestilence’s temper that finally tips the game past the point of no return.

An arm snakes around the front of Miles’ throat, almost playfully — and then it tightens. Yanks the reporter back against his narrow chest and holds him there, and, oh, his limbs start flailing. He scratches and scrabbles and scrapes against his hands and kicks against his shins and his pale, skinny ankles, and Pestilence shushes him with a cruel, cruel smile, hidden against the edge of his ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. It’s alright, Miles," he says, and the fight starts to die. He can feel the pulse weaken against the crook of his elbow. If he loosened his grip he’s sure his mortal would be begging, but the sound of air shivering out in thin, desperate wheezes is far more sweet.

"It’s alright," he says again, and sighs. "I’m going to take good care of you."

[sickxride-blog]

dyingforastory

The walls were thin here, the floorboards rotting, but as Pestilence stalked through down the corridor, nothing more than a dark shadow, he made no sound. 

Trud.

Mahr.

Schrat. 

Walrider. 

Nightmares, spirits, sleep paralysis, fascinating theories, delightful folklore --  what a ambitious, fearful name for such a little swarm of nanites. The horseman hummed under his breath, miasma carefully bitten down under his teeth, the dark eyes of his recently borrowed vessel sweeping over the ground. 

It would be fun. A new experiment. A new project. Hefting the length of his broken pipe, he just barely resisted the urge to drag it against the length of the hall. 

His skin was already decaying under beneath his hood, blistering in his excitement.

[sickxride-blog]

Miles doesn't get so much as a warning before Pestilence flops down across his lap with a heavy sigh.

Good luck with that one.