#tyler writes

[hyruviandoctor]

Me? Posting a fic? In this economy?

Really makes you think huh

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

[cd-head]

Once brothers

Wrote this based off of amazing art by @sweetest-honeybee ! 

Go check em out!! Their art is wonderful!

Characters: Xisuma and Evil Xisuma AU: Poultry Man Au  TWs: Fighting, metal, smoke, night, darkness, blood

~~

As fog rushed in as figured moved fast, a flash of green light chasing another could be seen in the darkness of the moonlight. As dirt and gravel was kicked up underneath their boots.

As the cold nipped at them and yet they seemed to not be aware, ones mind set on the chase and the other set on running.

Once they were brothers. But that was a long time ago, for now they were strangers to each other. Strangers of the past that haunted each of their minds. As the memories swan as it were a mere lake instead of a haunting memory that consumed them at some points.

The feeling of ice sunk into one of their pale skin, while the other was protected by pure metal that covered his entire body, a bright neon green light beaming from the scythe that laid within his hand and the helmet upon his head. 

He moved as if the armor didn't weigh him down. As if it a were purely just a part of his skin and body. Neon glowing off of him as a pure light, so dark and yet so bright in the darkness of the moon.

A small stumble shook from the white haired man and the armored one was quick to launch, a hand reaching out as the other turned. Those beet red eyes widening before they hid behind his eyelids as a hand caught onto his throat.

The feeling of cold armor mixed with the coldness that had lurched into his skin. His hands grabbing onto the others arm that gripped so tightly onto his neck, as if it were wishing to squeeze all air out of it but instead; it just made it simply hard to breath.

Before EX knew it, a thud rang out and pain littered through out his body once more. His head ached in pain as his white hair felt like it grew heavier, the ponytail feeling so much heavier than he knew it was.

Neon green wsa all he could see before his shut eyes, not willing them to open. Not wishing to look into what was once his brother.

And yet, everything seemed to go in slow motion as a thought rang in his mind, wrapping itself around his brain and forcing him to answer the question. As its jaws latched into his mind and infected it with one pure thought -

Were they brothers?

Maybe, even if everything was different about them. From even the burns (scars?), from the hair, from the eyes - Everything.

To Xisuma, EX was a curse to this world. To EX, Xisuma was just a another person in his way.

To each other; They were no longer brothers.

But in blood, blood proved otherwise. But atlast - In some words, blood is meaningless. Not proving a true point. 

Least not to either of these men, who stood in the heat of a moment. One pinned against the wall, a hand grasped around his neck. His white hair pulled back into a ponytail with his red eyes shut. The gas mask gleaming on his face as his hands gripped onto the arm that connected to the hand harshly holding him.

The other, stood in action, his armor standing proud in the neon green light that radiated off of it, purple eyes perfectly hidden behind the helmet that stood proudly on top of his head and yet you couldn't see them. The purple eyes were replaced by a neon green light. A glowing scythe held in the hand that wasn't holding onto the others neck, as if it were waiting to strike.

And yet, the hand that held onto that scythe so tightly. As if he were willing himself to strike EX. Xisuma couldn't do it. Even as the scythe glew proudly, waiting to strike another person in its wraith.

Memories sunk their way into Xisuma’s mind, causing the slowly tightening grip to slowly lessen. Barely hearing the pained gasp that escaped the man who was still pinned to the wall.

As a hand removed itself from the others neck, letting EX sink to the ground as X stood above him, scythe and all, glowing proudly and yet; so sad and weak at the same time. 

But no words left his lips, even as they parted and opened. They were shut before a word could slip off of his tongue, as he looked down at what was once his brother. All that could be heard was a muffled sigh.

And then the clank of boots filled the air, mixing with the sounds of the harsh winds that sang and danced around the two. As thoughts lingered within each others minds. 

They were different once again.

In all ways but blood.

They were once brothers; but no more. Blood may prove them otherwise but everything. Everything else said - No SCREAMED - That they weren’t brothers.

And that's how it would be.

~~~

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[404-not-found-xix]

A headcannon where if Tyrell is alive...he tells V*ra to fuck off and stay away from Elliot.

Warning: Depictions of violence. 

Setting: This is taking place in an abandoned warehouse. Where Vera deals out of.

******

Tyrell cocked the gun against his head, driving into Vera’s skull.

“C’mon man, there’s no reason for that,” He purred, arms opened and chest puffed out. “We both love ‘em, can’t we friends?”

Wellick’s lips curled, his swooped falling forward and dusting his forehead. “Don’t you dare put your filthy hands on him!” He took a shot at his knee, sending Vera doubled over on the ground.

That wicked smile remained, half baiting him to fucking drive it into him. “I think you misunderstand. I love Elliot! Just like you! I want us to be partners, ya know? Two kings of this fine New York institution” He laughed, “What? Do you want in on the deal too? I bet he told you about it. He knocked me out good that night. At that hot ‘n sexy therapist's place.” He whistled, peering up at him, starring down the glock. “She was really somethin’, ya know? They don’t make many like her, with her soft ‘n luscious ski-”

Tyrell sunked a boot into his chest, sending him flying and doubling over, wheezing. He splattered hot liquid on the cement. “Wha-What was that for? You hate women or somethin’?”

He cracked into him again, ignoring the bite of his foot. He should have worn his steel-toed boots today. 

Duty calls~

“No, you piece of shit,” He stepped over to him, crouching down to look the scum fucker in the face. “I hate you,” He hoicked up a noogy and spat, sending it splattered in Vera’s eyelids.

He pawed for Wellick’s shirt, yanking him forward. It sent the two into a furry of fists. They rolled across the ground, lobbing punches into each other as they struggled for battle. Wellick’s gun clambered across the concrete as they rolled. Vera had height and strength on him, but Wellick had the edge. His quickness. He sent sharp jabs to his face, disorienting Vera’s brain. He clamped his hand around his throat, throwing his weight forward, and forcibly pinned him down. He was unleashed.

“Don’t you EVER touch Elliot or so help-me-god I WILL come back and finish the job!” He screeched, veins pooped and furiously red. The other fished, soar gasping breathes released from his throat. Gutteral gasps. Vera’s feet fought beneath him, hands clawing at his wrapped fingers.

Vera snapped and sunk digits into his eye, making him recoil. He released- stopping his hands to his face as he screamed.

Vera wheezed, crawling for the gun in a desperate attempt to get away. His hand outstretched, pawing-

His body snapped back, a fist digging into his shirt and yanking him backward in a snap movement. Through hazy sight, Tyrell connected a fast fist with the back of his skull. A guttural, desperate sound bellowed from his lips. Vera collapsed, foggy. His assailant slipped his fingers together as he bludgeoned his face. Hammering down on his face in long, hard rail to his face. His blue gloves became warm with blood, smashing Vera’s fine nose into a flattened pump. He wailed on him, waiting until his body eased, giving into his slaughter.

His mouth bubbled blood, body releasing a quiet, painful primal moan.

Wellick pausing, breathing hard as he loomed over the body, taking in his damage. He was close, close enough if the ER took him. 

His hack doctor would save him. He was a wanted man by many.

“Accept this as a warning. You won’t touch him, you won’t contact him. You’ll be a ghost to his memories,” He rose and sunk another kick into his side. Vera hurled, releasing the contents of his stomach.

He smacked off his surgical gloves, running a hand through his hair as he breathed. Blood pumping.

“There won’t be a second time.”

He strolled off, slamming the door behind him.

[sonnet57]

Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding his dreams. Statement... pulled direct from subject. Sorry, love. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims… the Archive.

It starts as it always does. He’s standing over his mother, when she had first gotten sick. There hadn’t been any blood on his hands yet. He looks down at them, gripping the side of the hospital bed, his knuckles turning stark white. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t know to look. He continues looking down, at his knuckles, his mother’s face, back to his knuckles. And then the fear hits, because I know just as he knows what happens next. His mother opens her eyes. She tells him to get out, that she doesn’t need a man like him doting on her. And I know as he knows what that really means.

It shifts. He’s standing over his mother again. There’s so much hatred in her eyes. She calls him by his father’s name. I want to reach out to him, but he still doesn’t know I’m there. I wish he did. I wish you did…

Another shift. He’s sitting over me. We’re both still, me from everything-but-brain-death, him wound tight with hope. My burnt hand is in his, wrapped around the scar Jude Perry bestowed upon me. He’s gripping it tight, and begins speaking. He tells me he loves me, that he needs me back in the institute, he doesn’t even try to prevaricate and say that they all do. There are tears in his eyes. They drip down onto the pale grey sheet of my hospital bed. He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm. I have to look away as he begs me to wake up. To wake up for him.

Shift. He has an arm full of tape recorders. He piles them on top of the coffin that leads to the Buried. As they hit the wood, they start playing statements, a cacophony of my own voice flowing through their tinny speakers. He places his hand on the wood and pulls another recorder from his breast pocket. He stares at it for a moment, his thumb poised to press record. He thinks better of it and instead decides to press his words into the scratched lid of the coffin. He tells the empty room with the hope that it would reach me that he loves me. That I have to come back. It’s then that I realize how many times and in how many ways Martin Blackwood has been telling me he loves me.

Shift. The Lonely. He’s standing still. He barely reacts as he hears my calls. I can feel the loneliness within him, radiating off of him, surrounding him. I can feel his contentment, as well. I reach him finally, but he doesn’t look at me, even when I implore him to. In his dreams, he’s determined to stay in the Lonely. I expect this dream me to become furious, to storm away, to try and compel him to tell me why he wants to stay here, but I don’t. I circle around him, I drop to my knees, get myself into his field of vision. I continue to beg him to leave this place with me, that I know the way home, that Peter Lukas is gone and we don’t have to worry about him anymore. But he closes his eyes. He doesn’t look back at me and my voice begins to fade away. In his dreams, he never leaves the Lonely.

Statement ends.

There’s a shifting on tape and the creaking of a bed frame.

“Martin…” the Archive whispers. There’s a small noise, a kiss to a forehead, “Martin, wake up.” Another pause, another shift, a sing-song, “Love.”

The ancient sheets shiff as the body entwined in them awakens, “Oh, hello,” the Archive whispers, voice fond, “how was your nap?”

There’s a drawn out yawn and a hum, “It was good. Are you alright? Do you need something?”

“No, I just missed you. And… you were dreaming. You looked… distressed. Wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Another hum, “Can’t remember it.” A slight pause, “Are you sure you’re alright, Jon? The recorder is on. Did something happen?”

“It’s just reacting to your dreams, I think. Wanted me to… make a statement about them.”

“And did you?”

The Archive doesn’t speak for a long moment. There’s a sigh, “Play it for me.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Though this is the first and only time. Agreed?”

The Archives speaks, a fond smile in his voice, “Agreed. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[nodaudaboutitt]

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

Wrote a short Bloodhound centric piece after playing a bunch of Apex Legends again tonight !

[amremington]

Mitch and Alec ch. 1 part 2

part 1 is here also tagging @veronicabunch bc they asked me to <3

Somedays, Mitch really wishes Alec was a normal type of vampire hunter and would just stab him in the back. Literally. With a stake. It might be less painful than actually living with Alec.

And maybe... death is what Mitch needs. Even if it means an eternity in hell. Living on earth for an eternity doesn’t sound much more appealing.

But then Mitch opens the fridge and sees that Alec picked up more spinach and pomegranates  for him, and his cold heart softens just the tiniest bit.

Mitch eats a lot of iron rich foods. It helps limit the amount of blood he really needs to consume to live, and the less blood he needs, the better. If he could figure out a way to completely eradicate the need for blood at all, he would. He doesn’t enjoy being a bloodthirsty monster. Also, it’s quite difficult to steal a lot of blood from the hospital in one go. Getting a couple bags every couple weeks isn’t as alarming to a hospital as tens of bags at a time. They can write off a couple bags going missing, but too many make the hospital staff suspicious. And as Alec says, “Suspicion drives superstition.”

Too much suspicion means people rely on old stories to make light of the situation, but... they’re not always wrong. One nurse was quoted in the local town newspaper, claiming that vampires were stealing their blood bags. He wasn’t wrong, but he was laughed at and ridiculed. Mitch still sends him some money each month - anonymously - as an apology. The message probably isn’t getting through, and if it was, the retired nurse probably wouldn’t be too happy knowing a vampire was funding his new RV.

Not that Mitch keeps up with Luke Hershaw.

Mitch quickly makes himself a salad with a side of fruit and goes back into the living room, glaring at Alec’s legs until they move out of his way.

“If looks could kill,” Alec snorts, curling his legs up to his chest. Once Mitch is sat, Alec stretches them back out, tucking his toes under Mitch’s thigh.

Mitch doesn’t respond, but he stabs at his salad a little more aggressively than he normally would, which just makes Alec laugh. That’s all Alec does: laugh at Mitch. Again, it would be so much easier if Alec was a normal hunter.

But he isn’t. Instead, Mitch is stuck with a roommate hellbent on torturing him for the rest of his life because that’s the kind of hunter Alec is.

If only he hadn’t decided on that university. Honestly, Mitch could have picked any university in the world and gone there, but no. He decided that sunny, sunny California was the best idea since Claudia casted a spell on him so he could go out in daylight for the first time in three centuries. He was a little anxious to try it out and see how long it could last.

Five years later, it’s still going strong surprisingly. He does see Claudia every so often to charge the spell and also to visit because she is a delight. She often makes Mitch tea and gives him gossip on her coven that he never has and never will meet. If anyone found out she was helping him... it wouldn’t be good. Not even Alec knows.

Mitch shivers at the thought of Alec finding out. He wonders if Alec would finally have to report him to his family.

“Hey,” Alec says softly, nudging Mitch’s thigh with his big toe. “You got all rain cloud dark and gloomy over there.”

Mitch rolls his eyes because Alec is severely exaggerating it. “No, I didn’t.”

“Are you thinking about him again?” Alec asks, knowingly.

Mitch shakes his head and takes a huge bite of his food so he doesn’t have to answer the next question.

“Oh, is it one of your...,” he stops before he finishes the sentence.

“Victims?” Mitch supplies helpfully around the food in his mouth. “Surprisingly no. It’s nothing.”

“Is it about how you can walk in the sun?” Alec continues his questioning. He has always wanted to know how Mitch can walk in the sun, and Mitch will never tell him. It would be dangerous for both of them, but mostly it would be dangerous for Alec.

“Yes,” Mitch answers truthfully.

“Not that you’ll tell me how you can do that,” Alec grumbles, not even bothering to hide how upset he is by Mitch refusing to tell him.

Mitch doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he keeps eating and asks if they can continue watching their current show. Alec leans over to grab the TV remote and turns on their show. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for a while, but his toes are still wedged under Mitch’s thigh, so Mitch puts his hand on Alec’s ankle, who flinches at the cold touch, but he relaxes immediately.

It took a while for them to get this comfortable with each other, and it definitely has been a while since Mitch had someone he was this comfortable with who he hasn’t known for centuries. Even the people he has known for centuries aren’t exactly... open-minded. Claudia is distrusting of everyone, especially humans. Frederic is overly cautious and never comes out of hiding. In fact, Mitch isn’t even sure where Frederic is right now or where his new hiding spot is. He does know it changes every ten years, and it’s never in the same place.

But Mitch? He’s always wanted a companion, but he knows Alec can’t be that. Alec is human and will die sooner than Mitch is prepared for. Still. Alec has vowed to be Mitch’s “pain in the ass” for as long as he lives, so at least Mitch will have a good friend for that long.

The show is paused, so Mitch looks over at Alec with a raised eyebrow.

“Dude, your vibe is bringing me down,” Alec explains. “It’s ruining the show. You either need to suck it up or we’re going to go do something fun.”

Mitch grimaces. “You think it’s so easy to just suck up the guilt of what I’ve done, what I’ve put people through?”

Alec groans. “Mitch, seriously. You made horrific mistakes in the past. You are an evil creature of the night, but you’re not still the monster you were.”

Mitch thinks through that for a moment. While Alec is right, it’s not easy to accept every wrong act Mitch has committed. It’s been almost a century since he last killed someone, but there isn’t enough good he can do to right the wrong he has done.

“Are you really going to spend the rest of your immortal life feeling guilty about succumbing to your instincts?” Alec asks.

“Yes,” Mitch immediately answers.

“How is that going to make up for anything you’ve done?” Alec looks genuinely interested in the answer, but also doubtful that Mitch even has an answer.

Because he doesn’t have an answer, Mitch asks, “Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Keep doing what you’re doing.” Alec waves his hand at the empty salad bowl. “Keep figuring out ways to cut down on the amount of blood you consume. Keep leaving people’s lives better than when you found them. You’re doing good now, so keep doing that.”

Mitch doesn’t really have a response, so he doesn’t say anything. He stares at Alec, confused because why is this vampire hunter helping him? It’s been years, and it still baffles Mitch. Alec’s excuse of, “You don’t kill anyone,” for not killing him doesn’t make enough sense. From what Mitch has seen of vampire hunters, they teach their children from young ages that vampires are  immoral monsters. No exceptions. The question is, why is Alec making an exception?

[mouse-the-hat]

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

Yo i’m writing an Edgy widowtracer fic with Talon!tracer and yeah

[cd-head]

The pain of almost losing one

Hermitcraft space outlaws pog!

Shitty title but oh well

Inspired by sketches and the AU is made by @martuzzio! 

TW: Guns, gun wound, stab wounds, blood, bandages, passing out, near death experience, crying

Ethoslab centric (Kinda) 

I tried my best!

-----

Etho doesnt remember what happened, all he knows is that pain was withering at him and when a gunshot rang out, his knees went weak and he was on the ground. He could barely process that he was hardly breathing, only focusing on the blinding pain filling his body. 

He laid slightly curled up as the sounds of running filled his ringing ears, causing blinding pain to emerge into a bursting migraine that he let out a pitiful whimper to as the ringing in his ears got worst.

The wounded man hardly registered the feeling of a hand landing on his leg and another sliding behind his head as he was turned to look to the leader of the outlaws. He coughed up harshly and he could hardly taste the copper stinging lolling into his mouth while Xisuma’s eyes stayed worried and in a mild fear at him before the taller man looked forward and anger mixed in with the worry. Overpowering it.

Etho barely noticed that he was now facing forward and that Xisuma had moved as black spots pulled at his vision and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He heard his friends shout but he didnt understand anything. The ringing in his ears grew till it felt like it was unbearable, he let out a pained scream.

He fought to keep his eyes open, knowing that he needed to be awake. He didnt want to die, he wanted to live with his friends and stay happy. But the pain was getting to him, the exhaustion weighing heavier on his shoulders, the ringing dancing like it was rather a melody than a horrible deafening noise.

He fought his eyes open once more before he was to pass out to find his vision impaired with black spots and everything moving around him quickly. He couldnt tell that his helmet was off, he couldnt feel the blood pouring from almost every part of his body and the blood dripping off his lips. He couldnt see Beef’s terrified glances at him nor hear Stress’s voice.

The only thing that would register to him was the white pain filling his body and how tired he was. The black grew in his vision, swarming it as a wasp would a man close to their hive. His eyes fought to close once more but he tried to lift up his head a bit but the pain grew and he was forced to slump it back into the cold metal of Beef’s chestplate.

His eyes fluttered a bit again before they slid shut and he didnt have the energy to force them open once more exhaustion tugged him into a slumber and the ringing quieted enough in his ears for his body to drag him into a slumber while his mind fell numb and the pain grew less blinding and he passed out in his friends arms.

---

When he woke up again, the first thing that came to him was his sense of hearing, he heard Xisuma’s and Stress’s voice but he couldnt make out what they were saying.

Next was his sense of smell, he smelt the faint sscent of blood but other than that, just the medical bays normally bleach like smell.

His third sense to come back was his taste, he tasted the faint hint of copper from, hes guessing, blood. Next was the bitter taste of morning breath. 

He let out a small groan of protest at the terrible taste, the sound of talking quieted down before he was pretty sure it stopped. He forced his mismatched eyes open and flinched at the bright light, he heard Stress mutter something and the lights were dulled down enough for him to open them again.

He let out a small groan of pain when he tried to sit up and a gloved hand rested on his shoulder, silently telling him to look back down as his eyes looked to meet his captains eyes who gave him a small smile and Etho sighed and let himself go back to fully laying on the bed.

He took his eyes off of X and looked down at his body, his gear and his shirt was gone, his chest was wrapped up with blood staining the white already, his left shoulder was wrapped up as well. He pried his head up a bit and ignored the warning look Xisuma shot him. His entire stomach was wrapped up with blood soaking the bandages but it seemed slow so he didnt think to much about it.

He still couldnt really make out words and he covered his ears a bit before he pryed them open and opened his mouth a bit before a cough broke from him, he winced a bit at the pain before more coughs began to rack at his body. Causing him to curl up as the pain grew worst.

A heavy hand rested on his back and rubbed circles into it, once his coughing died down a calm yet worried british voice filled his ears, peacefully replacing the horrid ringing. “You alright?”

The man could only nod as the leader of the outlaws rubbed his back still before the hand lifted and a small hand landed on his shoulder in change and his eyes looked up to see a kind face of a young woman with her fluffy brown hair pulled back into a bun and her worried eyes stared at the masked man.

He gave her a weak smile that trinkled in his mismatched eyes as she sighed and rested a bowl of soup on the table, gesturing with her head for Xisuma to leave as Etho sat up and he looked to Stress. “w.. wa-wait..” He inwardly cringed at how weak and raw his voice sounded, the whisper like tone now rough and jagged, as if one was dragging their nails on a chalkboard.

Stress looked back and tilted her head at him. “Yes love?”

“ho.. how..... c... clos-” Etho cut himself off with a harsh cough, a hand flying to rest on his pained stomach, grimacing at the feeling of the rough and damp bandages. “close... w-was... i.... t.... to...” He was struggling to speak, the pain in his body acting like it was a funny game to see how much this man could stutter and struggle just for one sentence to escape him.

“Close were you to.... dying?” The medic questioned, a bit of sadness lacing her voice. Worry sparkled in her chocolate eyes when the wounded man nodded as she glanced to Xisuma who just nodded to her telling. She sighed a bit and turned back to Etho.

“You... flatlined for a bit, we... barely got you back, you lost so much blood and you were hardly breathing. We’re honestly lucky youre still here.” Stress answered before she led X out to give the man privacy to eat.

Etho sat there after he moved the rabbit stew to his lap and stared at his hands, losing himself to the thoughts that flooded his mind. His left hand trailed to his shoulder blade where the gunshot had hit him before his eyes trailed down to stomach to see the stab wounds still producing small amounts of blood.

His hand moved up to uncover his mouth and he let out a shaky breath before he laid his head in his hands and the tears began to drop, falling onto his pale skin hands as he began to shake with the sobs that began to break out from his throat.

There the man sat, pain eating at him, showing the only vulnerableness he probably has in a while.

Etho Slab was a mess, but, he had his friends to help him once he was done with this melt down.

And once he regained his grip, hopefully, the man would turn to his fellow hermits for help.

----

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