here you go magpie, sads as promised, along with a 34% share of my blackened soul
(wildstar, nsfw but not nsfw enough for sideblog, jackcody, oliver/numeric)
His hands shake when he pulls the metal plate away, sucking air through his teeth so quickly the scientist nearly chokes on his own rushed breath. Numeric’s mouth is too wide - like someone’s carved a smile into it, rows of skinny stalagmite razors cobbled together against the creature’s decaying gums like an open, toothy zipper. The rusted mask feels cold in his hand, rough metal scratching against his fingers as he lows his arm. Why are you scared, Oliver - isn’t this what you wanted?
heeeeey guess who just found this !!
He was cornered.
At seventeen, Atticus was built more than half the kids his age and it showed — but still his arms and torso were pockmarked with bruises and wounds that were covered in grime now that his shirt was half torn away. He could hear the distant klaxons sounding as another round of missles tore through the satellite and he stumbled into a scrap heap wedged between two shacks. Dead end.
The trio of armored Cassians were shadows on his heels. He couldn’t guess why they actually cared about finding him, but it didn’t matter now. The tallest of them turned the corner and paused as he watched Atticus squat against the junk pile, catching his breath. The human scrubbed a hand over his dirty jaw.
"Listen," the boy said, and spat blood. "Don’t say nothin’."
The Cassian sergeant sneered at him as he stepped into the alleyway, flanked on both sides. “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate, scum—”
"You’re right." Atticus looked up and smiled with a laugh that was little more than a puff of air. "I just hate the sound of your voice."
He could see the fuming hate in the sergeant’s eyes and before he stepped forward to bear down on him, the ground beneath them both rumbled as another missile hit less than a mile away. Didn’t matter. Atticus was out of ideas long before then anyway.
He groped down at the scrap he leaned on, hoping for a bottle, a rock, anything — he curled his fingers around a small, jagged piece of metal and tugged. And tugged, and tugged.
It was not a knife — it barely qualified — but the jagged piece of metal was a yard long, broken off from a long forgotten piece of mining equipment and it bit into his hand when he held it. He hefted it in front of him with little idea of what he was doing, feeling the weight in his palm. When he looked up again, he smiled.
Atticus didn’t win that fight, but he never forgot the look in the sergeant’s eyes when he rose to his feet with that sword in his hands.
Years down the line he found her in Shadow Town. Plotting, or reviewing, in the dingiest bar in a ten click radius. He left his gun with her man at the door. The rest she sent away. Could take him in a fight, she told them. She couldn’t. They didn’t need to know.
(Nsfw, smut, death, misery)
yes! i am, in fact, that asshole.
heychief replied to your post “your porn is terrifying also does that count as necrophilia”
dw anon we’ll get to the necrophilia when numeric fucks oliver to death
i don’t even