#hollowmortality

[biochemissed-blog]

@hollowmortality //

          He needed supplies. He was running low on too many essential ingredients for traps, spells, serums, all of it. It was no surprise that he found himself in this sort of situation yet again. Breaking and entering was as much a science to him as his chemistry. He’d had more than a decade to perfect it. Still. There was the occasional hiccup.

          Tonight was one such hiccup.

          This place should have been empty, save for the corpses neatly tucked away into their drawers, but instead, he found himself properly caught. 

          “Erm...” well this was a cock up, if he ever knew one, “I ehm... Sorry. Uhm--”

          He is, for once, at a loss for words. He’s never quite known how to deal with being caught but this is exceptionally strange. Why? Because this bloke seemed to just be... hanging around. Not even working, just being there.

[barctta-a-blog]

   “ hey. ” he nods, greeting the man much too informally for someone on duty. he was called over to the morgue in order to ID a homeless gang members, shot && killed today in a related homicide. it’s something he had to do a little more often than he liked, but working gangs in his spare time made that a sad reality.      freddy had never seen this particular mortician before, but the guy seemed decent enough. there was something a little ominous about these guys anyway ── unable to understand how someone could work this close to a dead body. cut them open, && all that disgusting shit. that’s part of the reason why he worked in the department he did, anyway. no mess ( most of the time. ) “ sorry i’m late. he ain’t cut open yet or nothin’, is he ?? ”

@hollowmortality liked 

[macrcady-a-blog]

@hollowmortality​

              “This is completely unnecessary. It’s a tremendous find,               Mac, don’t you see! All the credit will be rewarded to               you and Ch--”

              “You goddamn assholes do the one thing I told you               not to. Now I’m going to torch those samples and if               you try stoppin’ me you’ll go with them.”

              The tall pilot towered over the small supervisor. The look               that was stared down at him could send a chill as cold               as the outside down his spine and he shivered before               nodding.

              Childs, MacReady, ten rubble pickers, and one supervisor.               The instructions were simple: clean the ruins and effectively               dispose of any corpses. Thirteen men was all that was               expected to join, but three medical examiners Mac didn’t               ask for totaled it up to sixteen.

              “The only kind of samples I want are their blood samples.               I want them tested and quarantined for the next two               days and tested again. And if you try pullin’ this shit a               second time I’ll leave you out to freeze.”

              “In the box. All of ‘em.” The crate landed on the floor               with a cracking thud which gave a jump to the men in               the room. 

              Nerves were twitching in MacReady’s bones. Nerves               that gave a FLARE to his unneeded aggression. The               samples in the examiners’ fridges were dead, as well               as the rest of the remains. After a bottle of scotch and               a long enough time staring at the ceiling, he would likely               come to that realization later on too. But for now, he               continued with his glare towards the examiners. 

              “You aren’t gonna destroy them, are ya, MacReady?               We put our whole day into those samples.”

              “Well, that’s your loss, isn’t it? Give them up.”

              “No way, Mac!”

              “Dammit, doc!” The crate slid across the floor when he               kicked it, sending it off until it came to a stop under one               of the examiners, which Mac nodded to. “Pick it up and               get the samples.” 

[fearstudies-blog]

          he sat calmly at the feet of the other, knees pulled up to his chest. the tv played quietly in the background, only white noise to zach as he stared down at the books && papers surrounding him. half of them weren’t even necessary, but he knew that a certain someone wouldn’t stand for anything less than perfect. a groan escaped zach’s lips and he let his head fall back against the older male’s knees. staring up at him ( with puppy dog eyes, no less ), he sighed dramatically. 

                  ❝ listen, just, hear me out, okay? i could study or, or --- i could not and you could hold me for like ten minutes while i have a crisis. ❞

--- @hollowmortality ♡’d !

[fronticrjusticearchive-blog]

@hollowmortality

“How’d you get a job like this, anyway?” he asked, tilting his head somewhat, tempted to ask if he had some sort of fixation on dead bodies, but bit back the question. “Seems like it’d be depressin’.”

[uncharmiing-archived-blog]

             his legs swing idly under the booth. humming along to the song playing on the jukebox, andy sticks his finger in the milkshake that had been placed in font of him. scooping up one of the toasted marshmallows on the top he sticks it in his mouth. big green on his face, he pushes the glass in front of ronnie. “ try some! “

@hollowmortality !!

[thesamevicvega-archive]

The murderer and the undertaker

@hollowmortality

          His last job was rather noisy, some people, not happy that their friend/boss was dead, were looking for him, not knowing of course of his real identity. However, better safe than sorry, and he had to lay low for a few months. There were a lot of little towns across the country, where a man could get lost easily. Gathering his belongings and thinking about his own point of destination and temporary refuge, Vic remembered about one place. It was a home town of a guy he went to high school together, so many years ago, now it seemed like something not about him. Ronnie Irwin. They never were friends in the direct sense of this word, but always knew about each other’s existense. Vic was always team Eddie Cabot, and it couldn’t be otherwise. He and Eddie knew each other almost from the craddle, his father worked with and then for Joe Cabot. When Vic alienated himself from his father and brother, Cabots practically replaced them for him.           He didn’t remember, when was the first time he noticed Ronnie, but remembered that he always felt that they were somehow close, like they shared something similar and hidden, things they couldn’t share with other kids. When they met in the hallway or in class room, Vic never forget to say “Hey, Ronnie” and smile to the guy. He knew that Ronnie’s parents were divorced, rumors also said that his mom was sick, and this affected the boy and made him weird, too. Well, usually there were another, less polite terms used, but Vic never judged people too quick. Besides, he was weird, too, maybe he could hide this more skilfully. Ronnie was an achiever student, while for him studying was mostly a dull spending of time before he would let to do jobs with elders. Sometimes Vic asked to let him write something off, in gratitude for this he was kind of an inconspicuous guardian, making sure that no one bullied or unnerved the silent and shy guy. After the high school they lost each other. Vega heard that Ronnie moved back to the town, when he was born. Now, leaving his apartment with the big road bag and the cigarette between his lips, he wondered, if he could find him there.           A few days later in the warm evening he left the motel room to take a walk and look around and saw a man, walking out of the building that looked like morgue and most likely was it. When their paths almost crossed Vic recognized him, and a wide happy grin appeared on his face. “ Ronnie! ” he hailed the guy, “ Hey, Ronnie! How have you been? ”