#be prepared for every trigger under the sun

[cookiesandcantarella]

we r besties

[ID: picture of Kermit and animal from the muppets hugging. Kermit is captioned with “me” and animal is captioned with “the beloved piece of media I would never ever recommend to anyone under any circumstances” end ID]

#this is about revolutionary girl utena btw #LOVE utena #it permanently rewired my brain structure #and I think about certain scenes daily #but dear lord Jesus fucking christ #be prepared for every trigger under the sun #I was like ‘holy shit that’s kinda fucked up :/‘ #babygirl you’re still on the first season #anyways anthy himemiya I would die for you #lea talks

[llamasgotoheaven]

So freaking disappointed to hear all the dirt that’s come up in regards to Mackenyu

#jesus h christ #if you look into it please be mentally prepared for some triggering information #seems like he’s done and experienced every awful thing under the sun #does sign of the cross across torso like a balkan grandma #roronoa zoro #live action one piece #netflix #zoro #one piece

[oneshotnewbie]

Reader walks through fire to save Emily Prentiss. That's it, that's the prompt. You can decide what you do with it. Thank you 💖

Authors note: Somehow lately I've had a thing for long oneshots that go well over the actual 1000 words. I just can't stop writing once I start haha. I wish you a nice start to the week ♥

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the slight mention of burn injuries and fainting. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

As Special Agent Emily Prentiss and you brought your car to a stop on a remote forest path, the dense treetops reached high into the sky, forming an impenetrable canopy of leaves that barely let in the light of the sun. It seemed as if nature itself wanted to keep a secret as a cold wind blew through the branches, carrying with it the whispers of the leaves.

A brief exchange of glances between Emily and you revealed the determination burning within you as you checked your gear and got your vests ready. As a well-rehearsed duo in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, you were familiar with the darkest depths of the human psyche and had faced the most dangerous criminals. But even for you, this case was of unusual intensity.

A series of brutal murders had terrified residents living on the edge of the Arkansas grove. The victims appeared to be chosen at random, and every lead the team found at the crime scene led to a dead end. But now a clue had led you here, to this dark place that was far from any civilization.

Together you made your way down the rocky and arduous path deeper into the forest, the cracking of twigs under your boots and the occasional call of a bird accompanied you like a dark melody. Imbued in your minds was the determination to solve this mystery and put an end to the evil that threatened the innocent inhabitants of this remote area.

Eventually you came to a small clearing dominated by a dilapidated log cabin. The centuries-old wooden walls were overgrown with moss and ivy, which covered the abandoned building like a veil. The windows stood empty and dark, like the eyes of a ghost from a bygone era, silently bearing witness to long-forgotten stories.

Emily sensed an eerie presence that seemed to emanate from the place, as if the walls themselves spoke of the horrors they had experienced. But she forced herself to suppress her fear and focused her gaze on the task before you both. Despite the ominous feeling that surrounded the place, your resolve remained unbroken as you prepared to explore the secrets of this mysterious place.             

“Ah, here we are,” you whispered quietly to her as you crouched and crept up to the entrance, gun drawn. "Let's see what we can find and finally close the case."

You entered the abandoned building together, your flashlights cutting through the darkness and illuminating the path before you. A hint of decay hung heavy in the air as the old parquet floors crunched beneath your feet as if revealing the secrets of the building beneath you. But your resolve was still unshakable, and you searched every room with meticulous care, looking for clues that could solve the mystery.

As you began to move further into the next room, Emily paused in her position in the largest room and raised a hand to silence you before you could even begin to speak. You listened intently, and a quiet but distinct sound reached your ears - a gentle breeze that seemed to whisper through the gaps between the door and the frame.

“Over there,” Emily whispered as you returned to her, pointing to a locked door at the end of the hallway. The two of you approached the door slowly, your hearts pounding loudly in your ears as if anticipating the rhythm of the horror to come. With a quick nod, you released the lock on the door and entered the room first.

What unfolded before you chilled your blood. In the middle of the room sat an altar made of weathered stone, surrounded by extinguished candles and mysterious symbols that formed a dark coven around it. On the walls hung grotesque paintings of dark figures whose eyes seemed to pierce you, as if they wanted to explore your soul.

But the horror reached its climax with the sight of the body lying on the altar - a young girl, bound and mutilated, her face contorted in pain while an iron stake protruded from her chest, her breathing long stopped. The sight of her echoed in your mind, a cruel testament to the evil that permeated the place.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" you asked, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine as the ominous scene before you slowly took shape. Emily shrugged, her gaze caught by the gloomy atmosphere as she swallowed hard to maintain her composure. "We have to get out of here and call for backup," she said firmly, but the undertone betrayed the growing concern that threatened to overwhelm her too. She signaled for you to back off as she took a few steps back to give you cover. "This is bigger than we thought."

You nodded in agreement, but before you could take a step, another sound echoed across the ceiling - a soft rustling, followed by an ominous hissing that seemed to be emanating from a hidden pipe, accompanied by the pungent smell of smoke coming from beneath the door.

Panic rose within you as you realized that you possibly were in danger and that the rest of the team might be taking too long to reach you. You were trapped, surrounded by the dark remnants of a ritual space that seemed to harbor evil and now encircled you menacingly.

As you walked up the short steps and opened the door to leave the basement, and hastily return to your vehicle to call for backup, the blockhouse was engulfed in thick smoke.

Emily felt the heat rising on her skin and the acrid smoke entering her lungs as she coughed and pressed her sweater under her nose to escape the choking smoke. "We have to get out of here!" she shouted over the infernal crackling of the fire, which threatened to spread greedily, as if it was hungry for more fuel.

You nodded in agreement and reached for her hand, and together you fought your way through the impenetrable fog, your eyes burning with tears as you searched for a way out of this nightmare. But the fire, which had spread for reasons still unknown, seemed to cut off your path, your every movement blocked by a wall of heat that threatened you and that blocked your view. You didn't know where the exit was. Every step you took brought you closer to the certainty that you were surrounded by the merciless forces of destruction that were driving you closer to the abyss with every second.

Fear gripped both of you tightly as you looked around and realized the terrible reality. The flames around you burned higher and higher, their glowing tongues lashing out greedily at everything in their path, spreading an atmosphere of desperation and chaos.

And as you progressed on your way, you suddeny saw the outline of a dark figure. You strained to sharpen your focus, to heighten your senses in this inferno. "The perpetrator! He's here!" You shouted out to Emily, your voice filled with determination as you moved resolutely towards the unknown, clutching your gun tightly, the desire for justice burning in your heart.

But in the rush of the moment, you didn't notice that Emily wasn't following you, her own thoughts torn apart by the urgency of the situation. Her eyes searched desperately for a way out of this blazing hellfire as she fought within herself against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

But as you got closer, you realized with horror that it wasn't the murderer, but just a shadow dancing in the pale light of the flames. A moment of relief quickly gave way to anxiety as you realized that the perpetrator was still lurking somewhere in the dark corners while you had lost sight of him. And now you were separated from Emily, your ally, your anchor in this burning hell.

Emily called out to you, but her voice was swallowed up by the angry crackling of the flames that raged around her like a wild animal. Her heart began to race involuntarily as she looked around and realized the cruel reality - she was completely alone, surrounded by the surging waves of fire that threatened to consume her and destroy her existence.

With her back pressed against the wall, she pressed her flashlight hard into the fog that permeated the room, hoping that the beam of light would attract you and lead you back to her. “Y/n, I’m here!” she cried desperately, her voice laced with the pain of isolation. "I'm trapped in the flames. Follow the light, please!" Her words echoed through the burning room, a silent cry for help amid the raging inferno.

Less than a minute later she heard a faint sound rising above the roar of the fire - the sound of a figure, a jacket over your head, fighting through the flames to get to her.

Emily turned to the side and watched in horror as you emerged from the blazing inferno, your face contorted with pain, your clothes scorched by them, and your skin marked by the cruel scars of the fire. “Oh my god, y/n!” she shouted, her voice filled with fear as you fell the last few inches towards her, her eyes wide in terror. "What have you done?"

You couldn't speak a word; the pain unbearable, your voice paralyzed by the torment of the fire. Your only job was to get your partner safely out of this burning house, so you placed a wet blanket over her head and body before carefully guiding her out of the flames, yourself also hidden under the blanket to protect yourself from further burns.

Her hand gripped yours tightly as she pulled you closer to her, feeling the pain and heat of your skin. "Y/n, you are seriously injured. Let me guide you," she whispered softly as she placed your arm over her shoulder, but the adrenaline rushed through your body, your mind numb from the agony that was coursing through you, her words unheard.

You struggled through the flames, your senses numbed by the unrelenting burn that accompanied you as you leaned heavily on Emily. Every step was agony, every breath a fight against the heat and smoke that threatened to suffocate your lungs. But despite the darkness of the inferno, you did not give up, but continued to fight, driven by the irrepressible will to bring Emily and yourself to safety, out of this hellfire.

As you finally made it out into the open and made your way to safety, a deafening bang ripped through the air, followed by a blinding flash of light that pierced the dark clouds of smoke and bathed the night in blinding daylight. Emily and you were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, the impact shattering your bodies as chaos erupted around you.

Fire shot out of the windows of the log cabin and quickly spread to the surrounding trees, the forest itself was going up in flames. The air was filled with an infernal crackling and hissing that shook the ground. The forest immediately became a burning fortress, enveloped in an impenetrable veil of flames that seemed to block any possibility of escape. "Y/n, get up," Emily urged, her voice firm and determined as she leaned towards you, "We have to get out of here. I'm going to take you to the hospital to get you looked after." Her words pierced the chaotic scene, a promise of rescue and hope amid the tumult of flames.

She shook your motionless body, but you didn't move. The adrenaline that had once fueled your senses was gone, and now your body was collapsing like a house of cards blown away by a merciless breeze. Emily gently turned your lifeless body onto its back, an act of tenderness in the midst of chaos that reflected your sacrifice and bravery - you had gone through hell to save her.

Half your body was scorched by the flames, your skin scarred by the fire, and your breathing was shallow and uneven, a faint sign of your struggle to survive.

Emily fought the panic that overcame her when she saw your badly injured body. "Stay with me, y/n," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear as the flames around her licked at the trees and ate through the undergrowth, a warning sign of destruction. "You can do this, you hear me? You have to do this. Please, y/n."

But you didn't move, unconscious and silent as death itself. Emily felt the tears burning in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay strong so as not to give up on you. Her hands rested gently on your bruised skin, a silent vow of loyalty and hope amidst the flames.

Emily pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, her fingers shaking with tension as she dialed the number for her boss, Aaron Hotchner. She raised the phone to her ear, hoping for a connection as the chaos raged around her, the flames spreading unstoppably.

"Hotch, we need help urgently," she said, her voice firm and controlled even as fear burned in her heart. "Y/n is seriously injured, we need firefighters and paramedics here. The whole forest is burning down. Now!"

He reassured her that help and the team was on the way, and Emily put the phone away, her thoughts entirely on you, still lying motionless in front of her. "Please, y/n. Wake up," she pleaded, running her hand gently over your burned neck, as if she could call life back into you through the touch. "You have to fight, you hear me? You can't give up."

The minutes passed like hours as Emily waited, her eyes fixed on you, counting every breath, watching every movement of your body as she evaluated your vitals every second. But nothing changed, you remained motionless, your face expressionless like a mask of ash, and your thoughts swirled in a whirlpool of fear and hope.

Finally, the sound of engines pierced the oppressive silence as firefighters burst through the flames and rushed to your rescue. She was accompanied by the paramedics who immediately lifted you onto a stretcher and took you into the ambulance while she followed you with a worried look, closely watching the rescuers' every move.

The ambulance raced through the mountainous streets, sirens blaring across the countryside, as Emily sat next to you, holding your hand tightly amidst the furious roar of the sirens and the rattling engine.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright morning light filtered gently through the hospital room window as you slowly came to consciousness. Every breath was accompanied by pain, every muscle in your body felt like it was filled with lead. A silent struggle against the stabbing pain shot through you as you tried to move, only to be thrown back into the soft hospital bed by a painful retreat.

Emily sat by your bed, her eyes full of concern, her hand gently stroking your fingers as if she was trying to ease your pain with her touch. Noticing you had awakened, a soft smile broke across her lips as she reached for your hand that wasn't injured. “Welcome back, y/n,” she whispered quietly, her voice warm and sensitive. "How do you feel?"

You tried to speak, but your voice was only a hoarse whisper, choked by the pain of your injuries, and you coughed painfully. Emily handed you a glass of water and gently held it to your lips, helping you take a slow sip before continuing. "It's okay, speak slowly," she encouraged patiently. "You've had a tough time, but we're here to support you." Her words were a promise of care and hope in the midst of the darkness you had lived through.

You nodded slowly, your mind raging like wild whirlwinds, flooding with memories of the past mission - the fire, the flames, the heat that had penetrated your skin. And then there was Emily, strong and unwavering, standing next to you and holding you as your body slowly gave out and you tried desperately to get her out of harm's way.

“I remember,” you finally whispered, your eyes cloudy with pain as you tried to form the words through the thick fog of memories. A faint hint of understanding crossed Emily's face as she heard your words, her eyes full of empathy and compassion.

"You literally walked through fire to save me," she spoke quietly, her voice laced with a hint of awe as tears pooled in her eyes, glittering like diamonds in the light.

A faint smile crossed your lips, trembling with exertion, as you slowly raised your hand and placed it gently on her cheek, your touch a delicate promise of love and devotion. “You were inside,” you murmured quietly, your voice a whisper in the quiet of the hospital room. "No fire in the world would stop me from saving you. I can't lose you." The words were a confession that reached deeper than words could, a promise that was anchored in the infinite expanses of your connection.

Emily reached for your hand, her touch as delicate as a gentle breath as she leaned against you, letting her tears flow freely. "Thank you for coming to get me," she spoke, her voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "You are incredibly brave. I was deeply impressed by your courage and willingness to sacrifice. I will always be there for you, just as you were there for me."

Your eyes shined with gratitude and a hint of relief. You knew the road to recovery would be long and difficult, but you also knew you didn't have to walk it alone. You had Emily by your side, strong and unwavering, and the team that supported you. Together you would overcome this challenge, side by side, hand in hand, ready to weather any storm that blew your way.

You knew that the bond between you both was strong, strengthened by the flames of fate you had traversed together. And so began a journey of recovery and growth for you that would bring you closer together than ever before. Every step you took together would show you that the love and connection you felt for each other was stronger than any darkness that threatened you.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss imagines #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss oneshot #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x female!reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagines #imagine #criminal minds fandom

[naamahdarling]

05/18/22

Are you looking for a gorgeous, friendly, impossible mess of a void cat and have a home where you have no other pets? Boy have I got the guy for you!

Meet Etrigan, a 10yo DSH and one of the sweetest, goofiest voids I've ever met.

We are in the Tulsa, Oklahoma area and can drive 3 hours one way to place him, or arrange transport south as far as San Antonio!

Right now, in-person meetings at our home aren't possible, unfortunately, but if you are nearby we could let him visit your place.

He needs a new home because he doesn't get along with his brothers and is desperately unhappy here, and this has manifested in recent aggressive behavior. In a home without other pets, he would be fine.

He also has some tummy issues and is on prescription food to try to help control it.

He comes with all his shots, a clean bloodwork panel and bill of health, and exhaustive vet records going back to his adoption at a few months old. His tummy issues and a kittenhood respiratory infection aside, he has and always has had excellent health.

First, the good:

He will cuddle you in bed or lay in your lap as long as you will let him. His favorite snuggle is the Leg Hole. If you sit down and you put your feet together or loosely cross your legs, he will plunge awkwardly into your crotch with an enthusiasm that you have probably never experienced. It's actually quite charming, although sometimes he burps.

He fetches eagerly, although not always well. He's extremely playful and energetic and loves puzzle toys and activity trays and feather wands.

If you give him a window in the bedroom, he will sit so that the sun strikes him. Then he will carry all the light and all the hope of the morning to you in his fur, without you even having to get out of bed.

He loves to be sung to. His favorite songs are Asleep at Last by the Wailin' Jennies, and Forever Young. Not the Rod Stewart one, the other one.

He has one naked heel, in the back, where the gods dipped him in the River of A**holes. There is usually one white hair on his forehead.

The downsides:

He is aggressive with other cats and is not cut out for a rowdy household with kids. He must be an indoor cat, no exceptions.

He is a food thief and trash bandit. Just be prepared for his EXTREME food-seeking behavior. He will go after food you wouldn't expect. Like grape stems or tomatoes or lettuce. You will need to store things in the fridge or a latched pantry. He can open drawers.

And he's a pooper. At least twice a day, every day, he considerately lets you know very stinkily and with many loud farts, that he is not constipated. Isn't that nice?

He requires an enormous litter box, possibly with a Popemobile splash guard. Sometimes he poops outside the box, but that may be related to the considerable amount of stress that he is under having to share the house with four other cats he absolutely despises.

He's been checked by our vet, who can find no reason for him to be the worst pooper ever. He needs a specialist, which we can't afford.

Then there's his hair-trigger anal glands. If you put pressure on the backs of his thighs, he sometimes releases something that smells like Satan's Taco Bell shits. The vet thinks if his tummy issues could be improved, more solid poops would help him stop violating the Geneva Convention's policy against chemical warfare. I'm not sure. I think it's just who he is as a person. You learn to work around it.

So that's our guy. A guy I love so much I can't stand it. And because I love him, I need to rehome him

Reaching the decision to re-home him has been agonizing. We have tried meds. We have worked with the three-vet team at our clinic, and with two feline behavior specialists, and they all agree, as do we, that the best thing for him is to put him with someone new who can look after his needs better. He is so desperately unhappy right now. And we are desperate to help him.

So please, if you could spread the word so we can find him a good home? And if you think you can handle his issues and be that good home, please message me.

All I ask is that you care for him, sing to him, give him a good window and a lot of play, and keep him by your side. What any cat deserves, even a blasphemous food-stealing shit-cannon like him.

PM me here or email at [email protected], and we can discuss getting you hooked up with your very own...whatever this is.

Thank you, and spread the word.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

zombie au with ike ft. luxiem - In Pursuit to and from the Sun

(i think this submission got lost in the sauce and i can't find it but at least i still have this screenshot)

lmao sorry i went off the grid for a sec. life happens, you know, applied for some vsf programs, went on a classified operative excursion away from my post and got a new writing software. i actually wrote the last of this on a helicopter returning from the mission so that’s why i didn’t proofread beforehand sorryyyyy. but more importantly I TOUCHED GRASS. guys. i touched so much grass. i touched so much grass i could replant a garden. call me a topiary, i touched that much grass. is this what it’s like to work at a dispensary? bc i touched so much grass

a few disclaimers: this fic is ike centric but contains general luxiem angst as a treat and may be read in a platonic or romantic tone, whichever you prefer. it's also another 10.7k words long so if you want to read but don’t have the time, use a like/rb as a bookmark. most importantly: heed the tags for this one, i kind of went off the deep end here

tags: platonic relationship, hurt no comfort, angst, zombie au, no happy ending, gender neutral reader 

⚠️ major character death, suicidal thoughts, gore, infection, arson, and apocalypse-typical violence

continued au notes and commentary here (spoilers)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the initial zombie outbreak, you’ve been running around the country with your best friend Ike and the circle of close friends you both share. You’ve made peace with the fact that it will always be hard. You and your band hop around from town to wilds, with no real objective other than to survive. Every location has something to glean, after all. It’s just that the zombies are always on your tail, and there’s only so much looting to do before the chorus of dead can tear you and your family apart.

It’s deluded to pretend you’re the invulnerable main characters, though. You and your friends are in a townhouse currently being ambushed by a strain of zombies. You swear they’ve gotten more intelligent since your last encounter. A dense herd of bloodthirsty undead is one thing, but a dense herd of bloodthirsty undead that have a chance of understanding positioning is another. Closing doors is barely a second of relief now. 

You were lucky to be in a room with Vox when you got ambushed. He lived his post-apocalyptic life with a rebar rod in his hand, wrested from a collapsed concrete building early in during the initial outbreak. He claimed to be a trained swordsman once, and even though the rebar was more of a club than a sword, you admit you would’ve been worse than dead if you didn’t have him by your side. You’re sure he’d be screwed without you, too. Now that the world’s gone to the dogs, you stay prepared with a pair of climbing picks that can clobber in zombie brains just as well as scale walls. Vox shoved zombies out of the way while your picks cleared a path to escape from the house out through the window, Vox in tow.

You and Vox reunite with Ike and Shu outside. The former keeps various kitchen knives hidden under his no-longer white mantle, and defends Shu from stragglers while he digs into his backpack. You notice his weapon, an iron fire poker, by his feet along with a bottle. He rips sheets off of an old Millwall brick to stuff inside the bottle.

“Blowing the place up,” Shu says, in case you didn’t make the connection already. His breath is ragged. “Where’s Luca and Mysta?”

Like a stage cue, you hear the rocket of gunfire the second he says it. Your hope is crushed. Noise attracts zombies, and Luca was the only one with a shotgun. If he pulled the trigger, the situation was even more dire than you thought. 

Shu grits his teeth and repeats himself, intensity barely restrained. “Where is Luca and Mysta.”

“I’m going back in,” Vox declares.

Ike drives a knife into the head of a fallen body. Destroying the brain confirmed they wouldn’t regenerate, and he minimizes the risk as precise as a surgeon. He made short work of the zombies that hadn’t overrun the house yet, but you could see them flood the interior. “Don’t be stupid, Vox, that’s suicide.”

“You heard the gun!”

“And I said that’s suicide!”

“Not if someone goes back in!”

“How are you going to find them without getting yourself killed?” Vox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Ike took advantage of it. “That’s what I thought. Luca’s our muscle and Mysta’s a clever guy, you’ve seen him outsmart the zombies so many times before!”

“They know basic organization, Ike!”

“All the more reason not to go back in! Have some faith in your friends!”

Vox grants him an unholy leer through his haunting yellow eyes. “How dare you lecture me about faith when I’m trying to save their lives.”

His glare was lost. Ike focuses on confirming the dead stay dead. His back is turned from the swordsman as he chops a skull in two with a butcher’s cleaver. “Because no matter what, they’re going to get out, and they want you out just as much as they’re fighting.”

But Ike’s words were just as lost to Vox; you barely saw the trail of his blood-splattered haori before he ran back to the townhouse, rebar in hand and fury on display.

Shu shoves the remains of the Millwall brick into the cupholder of his pack, a battering ram for another day. He produces a box of matches instead. “It’s best to take them all out at once.”

You speak up. “But Vox just-”

“I know.” Shu’s lips purse. “And I’m not going to throw them. Not until I know they’re all safe.”

You watch as Vox speared through a living corpse, then threw its remains on the ground. The zombies are centered inside the house, but the windows are all covered. The door stays open as he passes through the threshold, but you can’t see a trace of him left.

Ike stabs through a brain close to you and Shu. You see him heft himself up, and the traces of a permanent dead remain on the ground. The head is split open with precision, and the brain blooms out from the skull. It leaks pink nerves and black rot among the blood, like a disgusting flower. 

He passes by you, dead set on his goal. “You’re not going, Reader.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“And don’t expect to.” Ike’s words are emotionless, but not cold. As much as he pushes away Vox, you know he cares for everyone in your group like brothers. He’s the least risky out of all six of you- after all, he’s tearing apart zombie brains without a complaint while you catch your breath and Shu stands watch.

You draw your climbing picks and follow him to the field of dead. “Let me help you.”

You feel useless just standing there, after all.

Though the task of confirmation is much calmer than fighting for your life, it’s still unenviable, and you have to admire how Ike distances himself seemingly so easily from it. You try not to look at their faces, but that’s just as impossible. After all, the brain is right between the eyes. That’s the worst part. 

You made the mistake of looking into zombie eyes twice in your life. 

The first was your first fight of the apocalypse; a zombie had you deadlocked in an aisle of an outdoors store, and only when it was within biting range did you drum up the courage to grab the first thing you saw- two fluorescent orange climbing picks, never used- and drive them into the writhing heart. You bolted then, too focused on escape than freezing, and those climbing picks proved themselves to be your best survival tool in combat and exploration. 

The second was the first time you confirmed the dead, and those eyes, that face- skin and bone but youthful, blue bleeding through the iris like a cracked yolk, remains of eyeliner and mascara along her deteriorated features- she was a person, so young, so beautiful when she was alive, like she knew she had decades to go- sometimes you swear she’s the face you see at night when you remember how human and how simply unlucky this world is now. It’s simply unlucky, and being unlucky is simply brutal. 

(You held back your tears when you bashed her brain in. Later that night you pulled your best friend Ike aside, and cried in mourning of a woman whose name you never learned. He didn’t complain then, either, and you only sobbed harder when you realized as much as he comforted you, he could never muster up the vulnerability to grieve himself.)

You club a pick into the forehead of the fresh, putrid dead. The other pries it open, and a third swipe pulverizes with finality. 

It’s messy. When you drive your weapons into the skull there’s a crack of metal against bone, and a thin gush of blood that spurts out to your arms. Especially large openings reveal nodules of black rot spotted through the brain. If you focus, you can see the moist, moldy texture seep through the wrinkles of the brain, and if you were any less jaded it’d be enough to make you turn your head and hurl. 

But the deed is done in only three stabs, and you cling onto that fact. The more mechanical the task is, the easier it is to drive yourself to just get it done. Club, pry, pulverize. Club, pry, pulverize. 

You pass by one of Ike’s carvings as you move onto another body. His work is premeditated from habit; he usually does this deed while everyone else recuperates. A standard chef’s knife is his weapon of choice when he faces against zombies, but he keeps a cleaver sheathed to his side when he has the time to get precise. One good slash goes through bone. Bone sweeps through the brain, and the work is done, and he carries on to the next, messy on his mantle but clean in the cut.

There are only a few more bodies left untouched on the yard where you hear heavy steps on the grass and Shu’s voice cry out. “Luca!”

You and Ike snap up. Luca’s blond hair is matted to his face with blood and rot as Vox runs beside him. They look like they ran through a blender of decayed flesh, and considering the herd of dead inside the house, perhaps that isn’t so strange of a metaphor. Even as Luca sprints, he turns to pump shotgun lead to the predators when they get closer, and each corpse’s fall is punctuated by hot gunfire.

Shu calls out his name again frantically. The men return, and so do you and Ike, five missing one. “Luca, where’s Mysta?”

“It’s bloody,” Luca simply says. His breath is short, and he wipes at the mess of gore and hair on his forehead. All it accomplishes is smearing black and red together along his face and in a blotch along his arm. 

“But where is he, I need to know!”

“And it’s so much.” He trails off. He stares into the side of the townhouse and beyond the distance. Strapped to his back is his go-to weapon, a baseball bat littered with nails, each with residue dripping off the spikes from freshly killed zombies. “There’s a lot. Oh, I’m feeling kind of- kind of cold.”

“He’s in shock,” Ike says. He takes Luca’s hand in his, but Luca doesn’t even react. “Oh, Luca. What happened?”

“Kind of a lot?”

“Where’s Mysta?”

“He…” Luca’s eyes dart to the center of the townhouse. “He’s stuck, because of me, isn’t he?”

“Alright, lay off the man.” Vox intervenes. “We’re done asking questions. Shu. Your matches. Light it up.”

“What?!” Shu screams at Vox. You’ve heard him yell, but never once have you heard him scream. Especially not with Vox sounding so detached. “No, are you crazy? Mysta is in there!”

“Light it up, Shu-“

“I said, no! No! No way, not a- not a fucking chance!”

“Shu, listen to me!” Vox thunders. “I’m sorry, but Mysta is gone.”

Shu stands his ground. His features are tense, and his ultraviolet eyes burn holes through the earth. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Mysta is gone,” Vox insists, and you hear his bassy voice break even lower. “I saw it myself.”

“He is not.”

“It was too overrun, it’s miraculous Luca even got out.”

“Mysta,” Luca says, and closes his eyes. Ike holds him upright and rubs his arm, as comforting as he possibly can in the worst situation, as much as possible when his own face is just as distraught as everyone else.

“And I wish with everything that I have that I could’ve gotten him out,” Vox continues, more of his own justification than anyone else. “And I wish I was just a little faster, and that they were a little further away, and, God, that he wasn’t trapped, but he was, and I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t close enough…”

Shu is murmuring his own protests to himself at this point, and feeling the pit in your stomach yourself, you reach to hold his hand. He jerks away like you’re made of lava. You feel ill. “You’re lying to me.”

“And he got bit, and he knew that meant death. And he ran, ran upstairs, to draw them away from us, and there were more, and he knew, he knew, he knew he was dead but we weren’t.”

Luca lets his head fall on Ike’s chest. Ike becomes his crutch, and holds him. “Mysta.”

“His distraction saved Luca’s life. And mine if I was slow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was a hero,” Vox says.

“Stop.” Shu’s eyes shut. He looks like stone about to break, paralyzed in denial as the proper grief is setting in. His hands dive and clasp around yours. He’s trembling. You squeeze back. “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead.”

“He was a hero, and our brother, and the sun. Please don’t devalue his sacrifice like that.”

“Oh my god.” Ike interrupts, and his face is paler than the dead. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Luca, don’t look.”

With one hand, he buries Luca’s head into the fabric of his mantle, and with the other, he points to the tallest point of the townhouse. 

You crane your neck up and squint. The townhouse has one window peeking out from the room along one small wall. When you recognize the shapes through the window your legs nearly give out. Startling, saturated, unadulterated horror grips you. You see his hat.

“He’s still alive,” you whisper. “Or he rose. But he’s still surrounded.”

With revived desperation Vox grasps Shu by the shoulders. “Don’t devalue his sacrifice, Shu, you know better than anyone he never wanted to fall victim to that curse. Let him and the rest of the zombies pass on properly, like a hero should. Light the match, please. Please.”

You absorb the chaos as if you weren’t there. You’re detached. Nothing feels real, not even as Ike strokes Luca’s hair, distressed and staring at the window, while Luca is just as distanced as you are. Vox’s heroic resolve shattered as he recounted Mysta’s last moments, and Shu, the smart one out of your group, can’t even function anymore. You knew everyone considered themselves each other’s family, but Shu and Mysta were especially close, and it tears you apart to watch Shu finally grasp the terror of the townhouse ambush. 

Shu lets go of your hands to cover his face. Through the gaps between bloodstained gloves, you can see the sparkle of tears. He’s crying. “This isn’t possible.”

“Do the right thing,” you say. “Do what he would’ve wanted.”

Shu stands so still. He looks up to the sky, as if it could all go back just by an hour. The clouds just kept rolling. 

He picks up a bottle and lights a match.

“This can’t be happening.” A teardrop nearly flicks out the match, but he gathers his strength, and places it by the newspaper wick. The paper flares alive in caution orange.

Shu breathes in. You see his face is scrunched up from crying even as he tries to aim, and it’s like he’s aged years in a matter of minutes. His face has never truly been clean of dirt or gore in weeks, just like the rest of you, but even under the orange fire his eyes go dull. There’s weight under his eyelids, and his mouth is forced into a tight, shaky frown as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry.” Even when it was a zombie Shu always apologized before killing. He treats it as a blessing of what they once were. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Shu throws the molotov. 

You lose track of Mysta’s silhouette as the townhouse goes up in flames.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The death of Mysta Rias was the death of the sun, and the world has been even drearier than the desolate land would have you think. 

Everyone lives on edge frostily. It’s barely been a month since he passed, but the wound hesitates to close. 

Ike is maybe the best adapted to your band of six now as five, but even then you can tell he’s not the same. He’s a champion of reservation. Every sweep of his knives into dead flesh are purposeful, every word spoken is calculated. 

You think back on that night you cried in Ike’s arms the first time you confirmed the dead. You still haven’t seen him cry. Strange, since he was the type to get emotional at sappy movies and video games before the first outbreak. You’re worried, but he insists he can keep it together. To be fair, he’s doing an excellent job at not having a conniption, but the way that he acts so much more emotionally distant isn’t exactly inspiring confidence either.

But Vox, for all he puffs himself up about making sure no man gets left behind and all that heroic junk, hesitates far more than his honed swordsmanship would have you think now that Mysta’s gone. It hasn’t gotten in the way of surviving yet, but you have to wonder when it will. He’s gotten indecisive and requires time to think- great for planning, not so much for a live-or-die fight. 

Luca’s the one that surprises you. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him happy when your band of friends started roaming the country together, but he was good natured, and was the first to pick himself up from a bad scrape. He had a sly, sideways curve to his lips whenever he laughed, but it’s been so long since you’ve heard it that you’re starting to forget the way his skin curves into smile lines. 

He doesn’t smile at all, really. As optimistic Luca was, it was no secret Mysta was the other half of the laughter in your group, and now that Mysta was gone the morale was as well. Luca keeps up his positive attitude as much as he can but it’s rare, and it’s quiet when you see it. 

You notice whenever someone lights the campfire, he’s never around to watch it, and no one makes him do it. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked about it out loud, nor has he ever let himself show it. But when he turns around to feel the warmth, Vox is always to his front, blocking off the bright blazes, and sits by him while he cooks game. You have a theory Vox hasn’t given up his hero complex yet, but for as tense as he gets by the fire Luca hasn’t had a breakdown yet either. Unless things change, you won’t bring it up. Your group has never experienced a loss quite like this in the zombie apocalypse, and all things considered, for as awful as the morale it could be much, much worse.

Speaking of much worse, Shu…

He was a wreck when Mysta passed away, and that’s putting it lightly. When you ran from the remains of the burning townhouse and into a forest, your footfalls were punctuated by Shu’s shortened breaths, and he held back hiccups as you left Mysta behind. By the time Vox figured you were safe from the horde and Ike’s feet gave out from exhaustion, Shu’s eyes were shut tight in disbelief. 

You barely uttered a word to him before he fell back into sobs, and when you offered a hand he threw himself to you. It was disorienting. You always considered Shu the face of serenity and restraint even in your lives before the apocalypse, and after the outbreak he was always the one that could find the best path to follow for the greater good of all six of you. But now there were only five, and the grief was fresh.

But Shu howled. He clawed himself against your chest in inconsolable wails, and his face was contorted, sore and raw red in splotches of unmuted primality, nearly unrecognizable. There was an animal in your arms. Agonized. 

“It’s not possible,” he heaved. His articulation was lost in his eruption. “It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be!”

You didn’t have any words to say, and clearly Shu didn’t either. He howled again as his bestial hands clutched around your arm. Nails dug through his gloves and into your skin, and if he clutched you any tighter he’d tear the flesh off the bone straight, a creature of despair. Screaming and howling, and soon enough he was choking on his own spit and the block of mourning in his throat, some ugly peals of tears and snot, and the remains of rot on his hands and blood against the hollows of his ghastly cheek; the ash left in his lungs and the smoke that lingered in his hair, and the flames that licked through his fingers and inside the bottle and outside the glass; the blazes that ate through the wood of the house, the very same hue as his brother’s favorite shirts, his hat, flickering a cycle of brightness and color and roiling heat until he knew the fire had swallowed up what remained of Mysta.

Shu had no choice but to scream. When his throat took away that privilege he mustered up what he could of his vocal chords and churned. All his mouth went dry but he still smacked his tongue against his gums and huffed out seethings and surges of thin breath through gritted teeth, more akin to wheezing than anything else he’d howled but the pure distress gone untouched.

He eventually exhaled himself into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep his face was still struck with suffering. Rest was more like a pause to a realized horror than it was a reprieve. You and Ike cleaned him up and laid him sideways on the ground for the night- after all, it had been an awful day, and as the moon rose in the sky you know you wouldn’t be getting anywhere after the horrible events, much less with an unconscious Shu.

Luca spent the rest of his day detached from his own experience, even after the shock wore off. When Shu’s composure broke, Vox had attended to Luca, and they quietly wept together while Shu bawled. By the time Shu began to rest, Luca looked into the ground, water bottle in hand.

Vox approached you while Ike started a fire and prepared some rations for the rest of the group. “He’s not taking things awfully, but I’m concerned for him,” he said. “Luca, I mean.”

“I know you mean Luca,” you responded. You couldn’t hide your own exhaustion from the day either. 

“As much as I hate to say it, Shu freaking out was to be expected. He and- and Mysta- those two- they were so close. And Luca, too. I thought he would freak out like Shu, but hell, Reader, I cried more than him. I know I get emotional and he’s better at keeping it down than me, but…”

Vox’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the dark sky. His eyes were red. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It’s not like him.”

“Well, living without-” Your exhaustion dragged down your sentence before you could finish it. You thought you were well-adjusted to the death, but your voice caught before you could utter his name. You cleared your throat. “Living like this. There’s going to be a lot of weird changes, and everyone mourns differently.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But Vox didn’t look too pleased to hear that. “We need to protect him.”

“He does plenty of protecting himself. And we look out for each other regardless.”

“Then we should look out for him especially.”

“Of course. I don’t want him to get overexerted.”

“And let’s tap out of any interaction if we can, including looting. Last thing we need is to get into another big fight with the zombies, or worse yet, other survivors.”

“Avoiding fights has always been our M.O.” A chilled breeze ran through the forest. Vox fiddled with his haori. You stared right through him. “Sorry if this comes across as weird. But do you really think laying low is a good idea?”

“It’s dangerous to let anything interfere with us.”

“We’re in the zombie apocalypse, Vox, everything is dangerous. It’s not like I can just wave a wand and poof, we’re immune from the plague. Besides, we’re just two out of s- out of five. We’ll figure it out when it’s not so late, and Luca and Shu are in working condition.” You squinted. “Hey. Enough about them for a second. Has anyone ever asked you if you’re okay, Vox?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Is now. How are you holding up?”

“What, do you want me to lie to your face? No one’s doing well.” He averted his eyes, and you knew he was averting the question. “I could ask you the same thing. Shu was intense.”

“Tired,” you said. “Just plain tired. I don’t even think I have the energy to properly grieve.” And just like the man standing before you, you averted your eyes as well. “I don’t think I want to either. I don’t know. I miss him a lot, but I don’t have the time to miss him. Not when the apocalypse is literally unfolding in front of us and there’s people taking the brunt of the loss way harder than I am. I wish I could give him the remembrance he deserves.”

Vox nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything in response, and the silence made you feel like you aged hundreds of years in his presence. 

“You’re very observant, Reader,” he finally said. “And you spend a lot of time making your own conclusions before you act. That’s smart. But knowing too much prevents you from action, full stop.”

Campfire smoke curls around the chilly air and by Vox’s face. His head was still angled up to look at the sky, and the orange glow against his sharp features weathered him into a dreary oil painting. There was a gash between his cheek and ear where a tree branch hooked him while he evaded a zombie’s grapple, and the light illuminated the soft pink flesh exposed under the cut of skin. The corner of the gash met his thoughtful frown. “Every moment of life teaches you something. I’m wondering when it’ll be too much and we simply can’t go on the way we used to.”

“Might be soon.”

“Today definitely sped it along.”

The fire crackled. You and Vox sat there unmoving, too focused on the blaze and how controlled it was compared to the townhouse. 

Even as the tinder burns, your thoughts were still so awry now that the group got smaller. Vox had a point about Luca. You needed to keep an eye out on him in case he’s putting on a brave front. Even then, you didn’t like how Vox deflected your concern, but prodding him would only make it worse, especially when the loss was so fresh. 

Your thoughts drifted to Ike, and how you haven’t managed to share a word with him at all since the townhouse burning. He hasn’t cried, you recall, not a single time since the first outbreak. You admired his composure but now that Vox admitted his own fears for the others (and neglected to tell you the ones about himself), you can’t help the unease that settled into your stomach. What were his thoughts like? Everything went off the rails whenever you tried to collect yourself, but if Ike was able to keep it all under wraps, then his mind must be a storm.

Speak of the devil. Ike hands Luca a small can of beans, but the blond stayed by his lonesome. Your best friend took the empty seat beside you, and gives you and Vox your dinner.

You thanked him, and after savoring what little you had of your portion, you asked how he’s doing.

“Just gotta get through another day,” Ike responded. 

Then he tipped the last of his beans into his mouth and stared at the fire, just as you did after talking with Vox. He was unreadable as ever, but the only thing you could glean from him with confidence is that he had just as much on his mind as you thought. Maybe even more.

You wished he would just tell you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

But grass grows over graves, and even if Mysta didn’t have a proper send off, time waits for no one. 

Once Shu woke up, his face was a mess of bleariness and exhaustion. Something in his bright eyes froze over during the night. Amethyst faded to plastic. 

“We’ll keep moving,” he declared, and his voice chilled you to the core. He called out the order as a leader, not a friend, without the care or delicacy he always granted to your group. His emotion died with Mysta. 

(And you saw Vox ready himself to refute, but once he met those purple eyes filled with something unearthly, he shank under Shu’s presence.)

Days pass. All of them are spent on the road. The group spends as little time resting as possible just to get a few extra miles out to your next destination. 

Shu and Luca say it’s to get away, but they end the sentence differently. Shu says to get away from the zombies. Luca doesn’t finish his thought at all. 

It’s no surprise that Vox opposes it. The more distance between the group and the townhouse, the more he speaks his mind. 

But Shu is determined to go further, just as much as Vox is convinced everyone needs to lay low.

And in all the time you’ve known these men, you’ve never seen any of them fight against one another quite like this. Vox always concedes, but not before Shu spits venom and he flings it right back. Their words are always about the plan, their future, where the group is going and why don’t they wait out the zombies instead of these hourly skirmishes on the road; but everyone can tell there’s more lying in subtext than the literal argument. You’ve seen the way Vox grits his teeth and musters up his courage whenever he’s about to tell Shu off, and you know that disgusted glare Shu gives Vox whenever he brings up hiding from the zombies.

Ike usually ends up being the one to break up their fights. One dismal evening while he lectured them both about teamwork and other platitudes, you and Luca sat next to each other. He’s a big guy, but he’s lost a lot of weight from rationing, and his expression looks like an abandoned dog more often than not these days.

He talks quietly, but plainly. “Shu hates me, doesn’t he?”

“What?” The bluntness startles you. “Luca, listen to yourself. He could never.”

“He could.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insist. “He’s gone through a lot, and he’s not taking it well, but I know it’s always because he wants to protect you. All of us.”

“So is Vox. But he just shuts him down without a thought. You ever wonder why, Reader?”

“To get away from the zombies,” you recite. That’s always his reasoning. Staying put in one place just means more time for zombies to gather at the scent of the living.

“So would finding a secure shelter, like how Vox says.” Luca sits with his knees close to his chest, and watches from a distance at the quelled fight. Vox says something, and you can see Shu’s face contort even though you can’t hear what he says. “But he doesn’t even listen to him. He doesn’t even listen to you, Reader, when you try to break it up.” He holds his legs closer to himself. “I don’t know if he’s ever listened to me. Or anyone.”

“He would if you told him you feel like that. He’d understand.”

“Would he really?” You nearly answer that before you realize the question is rhetorical. “You’ve got eyes, Reader. Be attentive like how I know you always are and look at how he looks at us. Me and Vox.”

You try to follow Luca’s request but Ike is speaking, and Shu’s eyes close.

He elaborates. “It’s not a nice look.”

“He’s stressed.”

“Then why doesn’t he ever look at you like that? Or even better, why does he listen to Ike only, and how come it never seems to stick?”

“He’s going through a lot.”

“We all are.”

Across the camp, you watch Ike run a hand through his hair. Shu is still talking, and Vox sighs.

“I think he blames us.”

You grab Luca’s arm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s obvious anyways.”

“Because that’s our friend.”

“He hasn’t acted like one for a long time.”

“Because he’s lost so much.”

“We were all friends,” Luca snaps. “We lost just as much. Hell! I was in the house! We were together! And then we got separated, and unlike someone Vox actually tried to help him out until- and I should’ve- we saw him get bit, and I couldn’t- I just, I-”

Luca shuts himself up. Your hand falls from his arm to his palm and squeezes. No life returns your gesture. 

You sit in the stagnant silence. 

“I’m sorry.” Luca lowers his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Get it off your chest, Luca. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I don’t think I should.” He unwraps his legs, and stands up from the ground beside you. “I’m not going to say it and be an awful friend, even if he’s acting like one.”

Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Luca already turned his back, and you sat alone from the argument as he walked away from everything.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Despite all their bickering, Shu and Vox lead the group through travel. It’s more likely that the bickering is the exact reason why. The fire iron and rebar push aside the greenery, until Vox stops with his rebar casting the brush aside. “Fucking finally.”

You catch up and look across the hill. Buildings. This used to be a small rest town in a clearing between the hills before the outbreak, but now the bright signs are dimmed out and dirtied. Not a soul lurks in the abandoned town, including the dead. 

“We’re not stopping,” Shu says.

“Piss off, Shu. I’m tired.”

“You’re never going to be well-rested.”

“Then how does safe sound?”

“Not possible no matter where you go.”

“But safer than on the road-”

“Guys,” Ike interrupts. “Quit acting like toddlers.”

Vox pouts and Shu squints. None of the three want to get the next word in.

So you speak up instead. “We’re running out of supplies. If we don’t find any more food soon, then we won’t even be able to continue on the road.”

“Reader has a point,” Ike agrees.

Shu’s expression sours. “Fine. We’ll look around, but make it quick. Camping out here is a great way to get robbed.”

“Then we’ll move together and keep watch for one another,” Vox declares, and he smiles. “Welcome to the correct side, Reader, Ike. It’s good to have you on board.”

Ike rolls his eyes. “Don’t drag me into your petty fights.” You fight the urge to quip he’s already in the mess as the mediator.

But the group traverses the hills and enters the remains of the town. The ground is littered with garbage strewn about in the haste for its citizens to flee town- or for the ill-fated, become the corpses dragging along the cement. 

The zombies here shamble along independent from one another. That’s the best you could ask for. The only consistent thing about zombie behavior is their danger when in swarms. Alone, they’re nothing but fetid flesh barely clinging onto the skeleton, ready to fall into a hundred pieces at one strike, but when accompanied by others? Fodder makes up for each others’ weaknesses, and no matter how competent or skilled you are, one human is nothing to a crowd of zombies on the warpath. 

The zombies of this town haven’t synced up with one another, and you’d like to keep it that way. While on the road, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with small groups of zombies, but the last time your band faced off against a proper herd, you lost one. 

A single zombie clambers to the front of your group. You hear metal against fabric as Ike pulls out his cleaver from its sheath, ready to do the deed, but before he can advance Shu already has his fire poker in his hands and the business end driven through the eyes of the zombie. He twists, assuring the brain is too punctured to allow the body to rise again, and the poker is back at rest. He barely even apologizes to the body as everyone trudges on.

Behind his back, Ike resheathes his weapon. He squints through his glasses, and you can read the confusion between his green eyes. Ike doesn’t meet your glance, but his expression is welcome, as unfortunate as it is. At least you’re not the only one that noticed how out of character Shu has been lately. You’re getting a sinking feeling about him.

However, the moment passes as soon as it appeared, and you and the rest of your friends rove onwards until you come across a set of stairs erring into the earth, surrounded by a dirtied glass entrance. 

“Who would’ve thought?” You wonder aloud. “I never would’ve guessed this little town had a subway system.”

Vox raises his hand along the cool glass. “This could be good. The entrance is camouflage pretty well considering the damage of this town, and there might be some preserved food in vending machines. All we need to do is break ‘em.”

“And if there isn’t any food, it’s still a big area,” Ike adds. “Plenty of space and a roof over our heads.”

Luca looks down the staircase. It’s dark, but not unnavigable. The edges of the sidewalk are lined with yellow paint stripes, and features small lights along the walls from a backup generator, most likely. “It’s a good hiding place,” he says.

Luckily for everyone, Shu can already tell he’s defeated, and doesn’t put up much of a fight before you all descend down the stairs. 

Not even ten minutes later Luca found a vending machine and smashed it apart with his spiked bat. Vox unwrapped a pack of Oreos with a smug smile. 

The subway was no longer in operation and the trains themselves were abandoned, but you found a sign with a map of the station. The subway connected the major areas of the town together, and could be used as secret passages through the ruins.

And most interesting, there were even less zombies underground than under the sun. 

“I wonder if the stairs confused them?” Luca says to himself. “Surely a few of them figured it out, since we killed some since we entered the subway, but it might be too complex for herds to come through. Or the architecture itself is confusing.”

You weren’t about to question it. This was one of the most peaceful environments you’ve entered since the outbreak, and there was no way you would ignore the moment to catch your breath, even if you can still cut through the tension with a knife. 

You enter first watch with the drifting bond between everyone on your mind, and when Ike relieves you for his watch, you fall asleep in record time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

An arm jostles you awake. “Reader. Wake up, zombies.”

You curse, albeit a little groggily, but in a flash you’re on your feet. You thumb under your sleeping pad and grab your climbing picks. “I thought we were safe?”

“Not at all.” Your eyesight adjusts after you start walking, but you can already recognize the voice as Ike. Out of the corner of your eye you can spot Shu trying to shake Luca awake, and Vox gathering everyone’s things together. “They’re flooding in fast. Herds of them. Like they’re all on the same wavelength.”

“Like the townhouse.”

It dawns on you and you say it without thinking. Ike’s shoulders freeze over. “Don’t say that. Not so loudly.”

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Get your things together. They’re not here yet, but they will be soon, around the corner we came.”

Vox approaches halfway through zipping a backpack together. “We should take the next right corridor. I remember that leads to a different exit.”

“You sure it’s not the same one the zombies are coming in through?” You ask.

“Positive.”

“We need to stay ahead of the herd,” Shu said, Luca in tow. “No fighting unless absolutely necessary. If we get started now we should be able to get away without overexerting ourselves. Ready?”

No words need to be exchanged. You leave the clearing just as you found it. 

A collected groan follows behind you, and a chill runs down your spine. You’ve never heard so many zombies, and never so man all in harmony. The moans arrange together in the cavernous halls, bouncing off the cement and down the station. 

The urgency rises once the cries grow closer. Vox breaks out in a run, then Luca, and Shu behind him. 

“Right,” Vox calls, and dives at the turn. A zombie greets him. He drives his rebar into its head and flings it away without a second thought like a lancer. 

The zombie smashes against a sight with arrows to different stations. Ike swerves out of the way. “Fork ahead, where now?”

“Right? I mean-” He goes one way to view a sign, then sprints the other. “Straight! Straight!”

The dead sing. You can’t think to look back but the smell of rot is suffocating.

Your foot falls under the concrete ground in time with your family, and in time with the stumbling zombies approaching faster than you’ve ever felt before. 

Luca halts in his tracks, and you thump against his back. Your mouth parts to speak but your eyes fall upon the exit.

Or rather, the lack of exit.

Boulders of broken concrete hide the stairwell from daylight.

Hot breath strangles you, and you turn with your picks in hand. Swathes of the dead are fixated on your group. 

Ike runs straight-on to the choir. You scream out as one reaches for him before he turns at the last fork in the road.

You cut your scream off halfway when you follow him without a second thought. 

A hand covered in dirt and mold grasps against the sleeve of your jacket. You swivel and sink your pick into the limb, and the wrist pops off under your blade. The hand goes limp and falls from the fabric.

You hear footsteps behind you, and when Luca speaks up you’re full of relief even if only for a moment. “What now?”

“Just run,” You say back, more of a guess than an order.

Shu drifts in front of you. “Where are we?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to think!”

“We don’t have time, Vox!”

“I know, Shu, shut up!”

“Going left!” Ike shouts, and you all move without question. 

But you realize only after the zombies cut away the turn that the station turns more decrepit on this side. The tunnels are lined with debris and the floor crumbles away along the painted stripes. 

And before you can find a new route, you see a puff of dust from the ceiling.

“The roof!” You shout. You’re gasping to breathe now, and your words stumble upon the exhale. 

Shu’s eyes roll up to the flickering light, and you both see the elongated crack above your heads. It’s been in decay for years. How unlucky. How simply, brutally, lethally unlucky.

“Hurry!” He pleads. He’s at the front of the pack, followed by Vox and Luca alongside each other. Ike trails behind you. 

The crack in the roof follows your every footstep even as ancient instinct kicks in. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pushes you forward, accompanied by bits of debris tangling in your hair. The flooring turns from concrete to tile, and with the dirtied mosaic comes a glimmer of hope. Surely you must be going the right way.

The zombies’ cries are loud, but the squeak of your shoe against the tiles is louder. There must be something beyond.

But the ceiling splintering out is the loudest of all.

It all happens at once:

The way that Shu turns at the sound and can’t even get one of his own out before he sees your face-

The powdered cement turning to hail in the blink of an eye-

Your war cry through gritted teeth as you launch off, the fastest you’ve ever run before-

A knife unsheathed in in warmth and frigidity in your midst-

Luca, hated, blamed, petrified. 

Your brain catches up through the curtain of scrap. It’s all because of Luca. Even at his most vulnerable, you’ve never thought of him as weak. Nonetheless, his eyes are dead purple crusted against his ghost-white face, and his lips force open while a vein along his neck strains to scream out your name, but he lets out just one small, throaty heave. A miserable noise.

It silences you. 

You know it, and he does too. A chunk of ceiling drops mere inches from your last step. Vox approaches, calls out your name before he’s even comprehended the truth before him. You see the dark in his pale eyes tighten into a thin reptilian pupil and he reaches out in desperation.

The last of the ceiling shatters. A broken crag hammers into his palm instead. All you hear is Shu finally get out the scream before the remains of the underground roof shuts you out from your family.

The dead rises in volume. The glimmer of hope evaporates.

You force yourself against the barricade, but your weight is no match for the pile of rubble, and you watch the zombies shamble forward with your back against the wall. The only person you have left brushes plaster away from his eyes with one arm and brandishes a knife in the other.

Ike Eveland looks like hell alive. 

It would almost be hilarious if you weren’t facing a subterranean grave. His face is dirtied with mud and rubble, and the legs of his trousers are matted in blood, rot, and dirt, but even then, this is still your best friend. The years you’ve spent alongside him blend together. His once-delicate hands now bear countless scars from travel and fights, but the contours of his face are recognizable even through the dust that mars his skin. 

This is an unwinnable situation. You’re locked in checkmate, but Ike stands next to you.

You speak. “No more exits, right?”

Ike swipes at his face again, and the sleeve of his mantle comes back grayer than before. “I think we both know how this ends, Reader.”

“Yeah. I do.”

You both watch the leading zombie shuffle one foot forward, and each of its followers mimic the motion. 

You notice Ike’s hand against his face out of the corner of your eye. Then how his shoulders jerk up for a moment, before setting themselves in place, stony and rigid. 

His words break your heart. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“I wish I could refuse all this- all this-” 

He sniffs. 

You move without thinking, and your mind is set. You wrap your arms around Ike. 

He doesn’t even raise his hands. He just leans against your shoulder lifelessly, and lets the tears fall. 

You rub his back as he hiccups into your shirt. How long has he been keeping this locked up? You ache for him and all his repression as his body goes limp against yours, the only thing keeping him standing. 

“It’ll be okay.” That’s only a lie you can hope is the truth. “After all this. We’ll be okay. Shu and Vox and Luca, too. It’s a straight shot now that all the zombies are on us.”

“I’m going to miss you. All of you.”

“We’re together.”

“I’m sorry this is how it ends.”

“We still have options.”

He scoffs, even as his voice cracks through his quiet crying. “We’re trapped, Reader. There’s no way out.”

“We can still go out on our terms,” you say. You place your hand over his, the one that holds the knife. “Once we’re gone, the zombies are going to search for the other three.”

You squeeze one last time, and break away from the hug. You look upon the wave of dead flesh and rot, and draw your weapons. “I don’t want them to fight any more than they have to.”

“That’s hopeless.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not sure myself,” you admit. “It’s just that right now, I know I’m in a losing battle, and I accept that. But I don’t accept just laying down and dying like that.” 

Your climbing picks cross together as you ready your eerily still mind. The blades scrape against each other. Metal sings. “And I just want to handle things calmly. After all this time, I learned that from you.”

“I don’t know how you can just remember things like that when we’re about to die.”

“I suppose I only die on my own terms. Hey.”

Ike stumbles to his feet. His knife is pointed to the ground. With a tranquility that evaded you all throughout the apocalypse, you steady his posture and guide the blade up to the dead beyond.

Your hand rises up his arm as his eyes close, and he silently murmurs to himself. You rub his shoulder. “You good?”

Ike exhales. His body lowers as he does, and with the breath comes a relaxed posture. This is the most at peace he’s been since the outbreak strangled the past world. 

His eyelashes rise. Stormy green seas focus upon the staggering zombies. 

“No.” Ike’s lip trembles. But he’s set on the zombies ahead, and a bolt of lightning crosses through his eyes. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good man.”

“There’s about five of them leading the pack in that corner. We can pick them off and get some more breathing room.”

“Understood, Mr. Tactical.”

“Don’t call me that.” Under the exhaustion and the fear and the grittiness that comes with crying, you hear some of that classic, joking exasperation. You snicker to yourself, but the bittersweet smile remains. 

“Mr. Eveland, then.” Your sight hones in on one zombie to your right. Its jaw slides apart as it follows the scent of the fresh living. “It’s been an honor, Ike.”

“Likewise, Reader, we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s go.”

At your command, you both launch off, laser-focused on the individual dead. 

Ike kicks a corpse down to knock it prone, then rakes his knife into the skull, and that’s all you can see before you throw yourself into the fray.

A one-on-one is simple. The zombie in front of you holds out a decrepit hand, perfect for your climbing pick to detach. It stumbles at the force and grants you an opening to clobber its brain in.

Rinse and repeat. 

You dive between the steps of your latest kills to divert attention in time to slay another and stay moving. The trick is to use gravity to your advantage. They aren’t smart enough to stand their ground, and when they inevitably fold from the pressure of your picks, it’s like the zombies present themselves for you can finish the job.

The next target swipes at you. You jut one pick down upon the corpse and one more meets the brittle skull. This gives you enough time to duck under a lunge, sweep the leg, and aim to kill. 

Something grabs your leg before you plunge the pick in. A body, dismembered from the waist up. 

You yelp as yellow-black teeth rise, and frantically kick. The zombie holds on tight, but when you regain your senses, it doesn’t even see the blade incoming before the soft brain squashes in. Splatters of gore and bits of chunky nerve endings sprays against your frame while your sweat mixes in with the stench of rot and muddy mildew.

You step back to reposition. Ike’s clothing is covered in blackened blood, and you watch him plunge his knife into the chests of whatever unfortunate beast approaches next. He twists and yanks out, then goes in for a final blow between the eyes. He has a rhythm established despite the shades of rot against his mantle and shirt. It almost looks routine. 

His next victim’s head rolls to the ground and breaks apart like porcelain. The brain is still in place, but the elongated gash through the nervous system confirms it would never rise again. 

But one gets the jump on Ike while his back is turned, and he yells out as he thrashes. He swivels on his heel. The zombie maneuvers around even as his hands push back in a fierce gridlock. It snaps its broken jaws in Ike’s face as it snarls, and sinks its claws in. Gunk travels through its saliva.  

“I got your back!” While Ike retreats, you trip the dead that crawls in front of you, and dash to his side. You drag your picks into the nape and back of the zombie’s head, and the creature goes limp just in time for Ike to shove it against the wall. 

Ike catches his breath, brushes his hand against his arm, and meets your concerned look with a nod in silent gratitude. “They’re gaining on us,” he says. “You don’t need to kill all of them, disabling them is fine!”

“Got it!”

But even that is easier said than done. There are so many zombies in the herd, it looks like you haven’t even left a dent, and your space is getting limited. You hack through the edges of the herd and pray that your wild swipes cut through a limb or two. 

“We’re losing turf!”

“Yeah, and I- gaah!”

Ike heaves. Your switch flips from ‘kill zombies’ to ‘check Ike’.

You follow his rasp to the corner of the room, where the ceiling crashed down. His back is pressed against the tiled wall, and he struggles to peel off his mantle. 

You don’t even need to ask. His hand clutches his arm, and the chunk of flesh missing from it. 

“Holy shit, Ike!” You can’t even mute yourself. Millions of warning bells go off in your head. The internals are coated in a dark membrane from where it meets the oxygen in the air, less red than it is purple, and his veins beside the mutilation rise in an ugly green. 

You reach your hands out as you rip off a cut of fabric from your sleeve. “No. No, this can’t be happening-“

He slaps your hand away before you can begin to bandage the blood loss, and immediately crumples. “Don’t do that! It’s the virus!”

“There’s no way it spreads that fast-“

“It will. I don’t want you to have that.” Ike sucks in air through his teeth as he sinks to the floor. 

“How did you even-“ you cut yourself off. “It was the zombie that jumped you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even notice the pain when it happened.” He curses in his native language. The green in his veins rise, and branches sprout from the veins under his graying skin, like tree bark. The rapid decay of the outbreak. “Oh, that’s not good.”

The din of the battle behind you is entirely forgotten as you focus on the uneven flesh, the imprint of the bite upon his mangled arm, how nearly every level of the wound has turned to the same rot of the zombies. 

Ike’s breathing is labored. The center of his shirt is soaked with the rot of those he killed, and rises and falls shakily. 

He smacks his lips, and you’re struck with the realization that talking is a strain. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

You crouch by his side and nod. 

“The sheath, on my belt,” he says. “Can you unfasten it?”

You comply without question even through your blurring eyes. I can’t refuse a request from a dead man, you think, and then the weight of your thought slams you. 

Ike’s unscathed hand rises from the wound, coated in slick purple gore, and brushes against the handles of his knives. The membrane pools together into beads along the handle. His fingers stop at the last slot in his sheath, and the tip of the cleaver is dyed in the beginnings of the rot. 

You think you’re about to vomit your heart out. 

“No.” Your voice wavers. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Ike comforts you, and you feel even more like trash. You should be the one comforting him instead. “I trust you.”

And that’s what gets the tears to spill out from your eyelashes. “But I can’t kill you.”

“You said it best earlier. Dying on your own terms, right?”

“But I can’t kill you.”

“I don't want to be one of them,” he admits. “Look around, Reader, we’re surrounded, and we both know there’s no way out. And being one of them, it’s unnatural. It’s just messed up. If I’m going to die, I want to know I’m at rest. None of this- whatever all this is.”

His head lolls to the side. “And I want to see Mysta again.”

The chorus of the dead accompanies Ike’s heavy breathing and your weeping. You are a helpless child. 

“I’ll help you,” Ike adds. “I’ll tell you how I usually confirm the dead. You’re my best friend. I trust you.”

It sickens you. 

You let out a puff of air as you draw your palm over your eyes. The gore across your face smears over with your tears. 

You take the cleaver in your hands. 

“Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“It’s the best we can do. I’m glad.”

“This is so fucked up.” You draw the cleaver with both hands, as if that would end the shaking. Even as you shut your eyes, you can’t get your resolve in place. 

“The trick is to be fast,” Ike says, and it disgusts you at how easily he says it. It disgusts you even more when you know the decay is spreading as he speaks, all the way into his raspy voice. “It’s all in the wrist. That’s what keeps it precise instead of clumsy. It’s where all the force is. Don’t swing wide. Just center it where you want to hit. How are you doing?”

“Not good.” Your breathing deepens, a last-ditch effort to remain calm. “I’m scared.”

You force your eyes open. The world floods in white, then falls into the blurred grays of the subway station. 

Ike is already so much worse for wear. The bite is entirely blackened, and the discolored skin stretches from his arm to his shoulder, creeping along what little you can see of his neck. 

His eyelids are shut, gentle aside from the furrow in his brow. 

“Me too.”

Even with his feigned nonchalance, there is so much sorrow laced between his words. 

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be safer,” Ike says, and even he doesn’t seem so convinced by it. “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.” 

You raise the cleaver. 

“Please tell Mysta I’m thinking of him. We all are, always.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Ike’s head is lowered, but you still see his attempt at a smile. 

You black out as you swing.

There is no memory left of his last moment. It’s all too much to bear. 

You cover your face, because looking at him is simply- just- too- much. Blood mixes in with your eyelashes, and you taste metal on your lips. 

You don’t even have the energy to scream, or cry, or do anything. You are a husk, and you do not hear Ike’s cleaver clatter to the floor. There is nothing. 

Your body moves without your command. You step back, and even though you refuse to look, you know you’re backing away from Ike. Your heart hammers, and so do your limbs. It spreads in droves, this pressure of heartbreak, constricting you and squeezing you apart.

Daggers fall into your skin. You snap out of your stupor. 

But once you identify the daggers as teeth, you wish you didn’t.

You tear your hands away from your face as a glob of rot (his rot, you realize, and you can’t even begin to wrap your head around that) flicks out in an arc. The hammering- it’s claws raking against your flesh and tearing you apart like meat.

While you accompanied Ike in his last moments, the outbreak stopped for no one, least of all you. You are no invulnerable main character. You blocked out the roaring chorus as he lay, but it continued outside of your little bubble, and with your back turned they absorbed the last of your free space for a perfect siege. 

You veer your head away out of instinct when the teeth pull away, and takes a bite of muscle out with it. The pain is blinding hot- you finally regain your voice in time to screech, but it drowns out through the zombie moans. 

A second set of jaws snaps you up. Already your head is spinning, and when you see the sinew from the corner of your vision you resist the urge to faint. If you take a look at the broken skin and extruding vine-veins again, you know you’re going to black out again, and never wake up. 

You force your sight to anything else. 

You make the mistake of looking into zombie eyes for the third time in your life. 

But this time you don’t retain the memory, either. Because for as little time you have left, how could you live knowing that your best friend’s peaceful green eyes snapped open in terror in his final moment? 

You choke out, and whether it’s from pain or grief or pure fear, you can’t even tell. Just that it all mixes together into a toxic blend, the poison of your undoing. 

And to think, you had the gall to meet such a grisly end head-on minutes ago. 

On the ground, next to his limp foot, the steel edge of Ike’s cleaver winks at you. 

It’s all in the wrist, he told you, and your blood burns into dust. But Ike is gone, now, and for as horrified as his melted remains were, he was certainly watching your every move. 

And the infection is unnatural, and climbs along your shoulder, and there is no agony in the world like this fate. 

And you wanted to see Mysta again. 

With the last of your strength you regain your legs, and kick off one zombie from your leg. It topples and gives you enough time to shake off another that has you grappled. 

The weight shift combined with your blood loss makes you hit the ground hard, but you scrape at the floor nonetheless. You are so weak, and you struggle, so focused on the glint of the blade that you ignore your skin crack apart like mud in a drought. 

You reach, bloodied and battered, and so close to rest. 

The washed light shines off the cleaver. Its reflection teases you as a monster snatches your foot and send you back into the horde like a toy. 

You emit your final scream, and that too dies as hundreds of hands hold you back. Your body and blood is swallowed by the herd of dead.

When you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, the dark in your mind rearranges to replicate the cleaver. Then it flattens, and you see the haunted remains of Ike Eveland between it. 

The only sound left is teeth meeting bone. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland angst #luca kaneshiro #mysta rias #shu yamino #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #luxiem angst #4402 writes #bsprites #STEALTH PROTOMEN REFERENCE BABEY #this is a bit clumsy but i'm glad it was over 10k words i wonder if saying so much is just my style now #how much of a coinky dink is it that i was binging luca's twd streams and a bunch of southern gothic music when i was writing this #i'll post the full au notes i had operating tomorrow i think

[prismaticfaery]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost takes a bullet for you.

TW: Violence, cursing, death, blood, typical Call of Duty stuff.

A/N: I firmly believe Ghost would do this. This is now canon to me. Enjoy! ❤️

Sweat clung to your brows as you mounted your rifle around the corner of a brick building. The heat was unforgivable, and the dryness of the air was chapping your lips and drying your eyes out. Evac was arriving for you and Ghost two miles away but the Al-Qatala forces were right on your tails as the two of you booked it through the streets of Urzikstan. It had been a miserable recon mission as you and your Lieutenant were the only soldiers that volunteered to carry it out. 

You had gotten dangerously low on ammo, and Ghost was only able to hand you his pistol in case of an emergency, disdain of the situation could be seen on his face with how tightly his brows knitted, and you knew he was scowling underneath his mask at this very moment when he took the magazine out of his rifle to check how many rounds he had left– not many by the look of it. 

“We should have prepared better,” Ghost muttered under his breath, clearly peeved about the circumstances you both had landed in. 

“We thought there would only be a few soldiers by the looks of the reports we were given and all of the positions we found, there were only two or so posted– it’s not our fault,” you reply, moving slowly behind Ghost as he motioned his hand to press forward. 

“We’re desperate,” Ghost raises his rifle to look at his scope in one hand while reaching his hand behind him to tell you to stop moving. 

“Are you scared, L.t.?” You smirk, lowering yourself behind his position. 

“Hardly,” he huffs, placing his other hand on the rifle to steady his aim and then pulls the trigger to shoot an enemy positioned on a roof straight ahead. 

Moving through the outskirts of the town together, you kept your eyes peeled and your rifle ready, even though a few rounds left in the magazine may not get you too far in the case of an emergency. Ducking low behind a car for a moment to catch your breath, Ghost uses the scope on his rifle to search for any snipers perched on top of buildings. 

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you huff, taking a moment to take a swig from your water canteen. Pouring water into your hand, you splash it over your face, sighing deeply at how refreshing it felt to get rid of some of the grime and sweat caked on your face. 

It was getting close to early evening, the Sun painting the scenery and town in shades of pink and orange. The town you and Ghost were sent to was long a ghost town with abandoned and nearly demolished buildings and houses, the residents leaving once Al-Qatala set up there left so many things behind that it was nearly haunting. Like time stood still.

Over the course of several weeks, there had been a number of odd delivery boats arriving in several countries around the world, and Al-Qatala’s prints were all over them. Once the boats were searched, large amounts of ammunition, firearms, and explosives were uncovered. It was enough to cause a huge issue if things were given time, but thankfully the crates were confiscated. All the Task Force needed was answers as to what those crates were for, so here you and Ghost were. 

“It’s not often I fail on a mission,” Ghost spoke up after a pregnant silence between you both. 

“Don’t take it too hard, we had every odd against us,” you trail off in your sentence, looking into the distance. 

Ghost grunts, grabbing your vest and pulling you forward to stand in front of him, “let’s keep moving, evac is about to arrive and we don’t want to hold them up.” 

Knowing that Ghost was disappointed in this mission and at himself made you question yourself in volunteering. Maybe things would have turned out differently if you hadn’t been spotted trying to go up a ladder to stake out enemy positions from the roof of a building. Ghost was often a lone wolf, choosing to go on recon missions alone for the sake of knowing he could be in and out quietly and without a trace and although you were a seasoned soldier, Ghost thought you were pretty clunky compared to him.

Ghost kept his rifle up, turning his body in a full 360 slowly as you pressed forward in the dusty and dry terrain to make sure your back was covered. The evac point wasn’t far off now. You could hear the familiar sound of helicopter blades in the distance. 

Your parade would soon be rained on however as you could hear armored vehicles rush to your position. Ghost curses, telling you to pick up the speed. Gunshots whizz past you and over your head and your heartbeat could be felt in your throat as your feet were on autopilot, running as fast as you humanly could.

The helicopter is soon seen slowing down overhead, the pilot and co-pilot motioning you to come closer with their hands, “as soon as we lower down, get in so we can close the hatch,” you hear in your headset. 

Ghost takes the pin out of a frag grenade, tossing it in the direction of the vehicles, the small explosive breaking apart in several directions as it goes off. One vehicle’s tires become flattened as the frag hits the rubber, but the vehicle still presses forward in the dirt. As Ghost continues to run, he makes sure to keep you in front of him at all times, yelling at you to keep going no matter what. To which you continue pressing forward, no matter how much your lungs feel like they might explode and your legs give out from under you. 

Once reaching the hatch of the helicopter, Ghost pushes his hand into the middle of your back, causing you to fly forward and land inside the helicopter. You roll onto your back and sit up, reaching your hand out to pull him inside. Clutching your hand onto the back of his vest with the other hand pulling his arm forward, gunshots sprayed inside the helicopter, ricocheting and causing sparks.

Ghost turns over and gets himself into a crouching position, sliding the pin out of a flash grenade he grabbed from off of his vest, he throws it at an incoming vehicle, the driver covering his eyes with an arm. In the passenger seat, another man was aiming right at you as the effects of the flash began wearing off. 

“Move!” Ghost yells, grabbing you to pull you down to the ground. 

A gunshot sounds, Ghost’s body weight plastering you to the cold metal of the floor. He lets out a hiss, his breathing is quick and shallow and at first, you just assume it was from all of the running, until you could feel him begin to struggle to pull himself off of you. 

“Were you hit?!” You scream, sliding your body from under him, pulling him up and flipping him over to rest his back against your torso. 

“My shoulder,” was all he could muster in short jagged breaths. 

Tears slid down your eyes, fear eating away at you as you began to unfasten his tactical vest, tossing it to the side. You then lift the dark hoodie he wore over his head and mask, seeing an angry gunshot wound oozing blood down his chest and stomach. Grabbing the hoodie he was wearing, you press it to his wound while you inspect the rest of his body. 

“There’s an exit, the bullet went right through,” you say shakily, your hands trembling with fear and adrenaline as you hold pressure on the seeping wound. 

“Bloody good shot he got on me, this hurts like hell,” Ghost jokes, taking the situation surprisingly well, “that was my favorite pullover.”

“You fucking idiot, why would you do that?” You sob, holding his body close, his head buried in the supple flesh of your chest. 

“Simple really,” he tilts his head back to look at you, placing his gloved hand on your reddened cheek, wiping away the fresh tears that trailed down. “I’d do it all over again if it meant you were safe.”

#call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley

[chaotic-on-main]

Who Could Leave Me? | ModernAU One-Shot

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ angst, death, funeral, depression, if you squint really hard there's comfort? but mainly all hurt, alcohol mentions

☾ Author's note ➼ I'm actively going through my abandonment triggers and what better way to explore my emotions than to write about it. Betrayal, being left behind. They're the same thing to my ill brain. Anyways, I'm so sorry for the hurt I'm about to spring on y'all but I hope you'll forgive me. Now, back to my summer commissions and UW!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~2.5k

☾ Songs I listened to while writing:

Betrayal was nothing new to you. Being left behind was just the same. But when you’re left behind and betrayed at the same time, that’s a whole new feeling. Especially when it came from someone you trusted.

But it wasn’t your fault, was it?

Your name floats by in a whisper, a voice you know all too well.

You wake up with a start and a pounding headache. The autumnal sunrise filters through your sheer curtains in light blue hues, illuminating the room enough to see the outlines of the mess around you. You’re on your stomach, face half buried in a pillow with your arm splayed out on the other side of the bed. Your fingers curl up in the empty space.

Oh, yeah.

Maybe if you go back to sleep, you’ll wake up and everything will make sense again, you tell yourself.

What a stupid thought, you tell yourself.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the dark ceiling. It didn’t matter how much you tried to slow time down, today came anyway. You weren’t ready. So, you stay in bed until the blue turns into oranges and finally yellows.

What time was it anyways? Then again, why did it matter? You didn’t care.

“Love?” You hear whispered from the other side of your door. It’s Hange, a mutual friend you met a while back. They stayed over last night no doubt to make sure you didn’t drink yourself into oblivion. It didn’t work, but you vaguely remember them checking in on you every hour, so you imagine that was enough for them.

They knock softly against the wood.

“I’m going to step out to get some preparations ready. I’ll be back in a couple hours to pick you up. Try to be ready by then, okay?” You turn your head at their voice and spot their shadow in the slit of the door. After a minute of silence from you, the shadow slips away. The sound of the front door closing reverberates through the house and then it’s silent again.

The hours that proceeded were spent in a catatonic state. Your wide eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, not a single thought floating by. You suppose that wasn’t a bad thing. You’re not sure how long it had been, but another soft knock echoes through your room eventually.

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?” It’s Hange again. They sound tired. “I’m coming in.”

You roll on your side so you’re facing your friend as they step into your room with a squeak of the door. An onyx pantsuit drapes over Hange’s tall frame, their rectangular spectacles glinting off the only source of light in the room – the afternoon sun.

 “I knew you’d have trouble getting up.” They make their way over to you. Grabbing your blankets, they pull it all the back so that you’re exposed to the chill in the room. It makes you groan in displeasure, but you let it happen anyways.

They pull you out of bed with a ‘hup!’ and lead you into the connected bathroom, you follow with shuffling feet. Despite the sun being out and being under baggy long sleeves, the air is still cold so goosebumps pop up everywhere along your arms and legs.

They release your arm, leaving you in the middle of the bathroom as they zoom around you. The bath faucet is on in mere seconds and as the tub fills, they grab a few towels from the linen closet.

It’s weird because you watch all of this happening but for some reason, none of it is comprehending in your brain. It’s all a blur as they strip you down, lead you to the bath, and help you in. Before you know it, you’re half sunken and leaning all the way back, only your nose and up sits above the steamy water.

“You know, Levi had to help me with this in college, too.” Hange whispers behind you as they massage shampoo into your hair. It smells like roses. You hum back softly, not really sure how to respond.

Levi’s name doesn’t hurt you as much as you thought it would, but you’re not certain if that’s a good or bad thing. Everything feels numb, even the hot water that felt like it should be stinging against your skin.

“It kind of feels like the passing of torches, you know?” They chuckle quietly at the nostalgia.

The rest of the bath passes by. Rinsing off when asked, getting out when told, holding still when Hange dried you gently with a towel. Staying when Hange tells you to wait as they go grab the clothes that they had set out for you to wear today. You were a robot awaiting orders and nothing else.

Hange adorns your body with a simple long sleeve black dress. It goes down to your knees and the rest is covered by fleece leggings and warm socks. Eventually, they drag you out to the bedroom and sit you down while they lace up your boots. This is all done in silence, though you don’t miss the looks Hange gives you.

They’re the same looks that everyone has given you since the incident. Like you’re fragile and ready to break at any time. Though, you guess you can’t fault them for that. Your actions the last few weeks haven’t told otherwise.

“Hey,” Hange whispers down to you, and you shift your gaze up to their light brown eyes, full of sadness. “Did you…?” They hold out a ring to you.

It’s simple. Silver, studded with a handful of diamonds. You can’t see it, but engraved on the inside is the word ‘yours’ in Levi’s neat handwriting. A wedding band.

You reach out hesitantly, hand shaking as you take it as if you were afraid it might crumble on contact. With those same shaky fingers, you slip it on your left ring finger. It had been a bit since you last wore it, but like a bike you find familiarity with it again. Only this time, it feels heavier than ever.

“Are you ready to go?” Hange holds their hand out to you with a small smile.

.

It starts raining as soon as you both leave the house, heavy clouds eclipsing the sun for the rest of the day. Perfect for a funeral.

Outside of the warm tent, gentle but cold raindrops splash on the trees above and trickle down to the white plastic and onto the muddy ground. With the overcast of stormy clouds, the day is cold. It’s almost fitting, like a movie you’ve seen a million times. And you were the main character. It would make you laugh if you weren’t so drained.

As they call your name to wrap the service up with a eulogy, you feel your heartbeat quicken. You had requested to have it last as it was a job put on you and you wanted to push it off as much as possible. But your pulse racing isn’t from nerves, it’s from anger. Sadness. Frustration. Like a fissure in a dam, realization comes to you.

You can’t do this. How could he do this to you?

Your feet are running before you know it. Out the tent and up the hill into the enclosure of the forest that lines the cemetery. You don’t stop until you feel someone grabbing your wrist tightly and holding you back. It’s a strong grip from a warm hand.

“Le-?” You turn around and almost slip on the leaf littered floor.

Standing in front of you is a man about a foot taller, blond undercut and misty blue eyes that stare hard at you. Erwin Smith, Levi’s closest friend – Levi would always deny being called best friends, something you always teased him with.

“You can’t keep hiding and running from the truth.” He says gently. Downturned eyes and a frown to match, he gives you the same look everyone else is giving.

“Stop looking at me like that.” These are the first words you’ve said aloud in a few weeks. Your voice comes out scratchy and it hurts.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just going to break down at a drop of a hat.”

“Maybe you need to. Have you even cried yet?”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Maybe you should.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You haven’t seen him in about a month, but he was always a good confidant so to say that your high walls weren’t about to crumble down would be a lie. That fissure is growing with every second he stares at you.

“Erwin, why are you here?”

“I’m here to celebrate the life of my friend, same as everyone else. We’re all upset, too. We need you just as much as you need us.” His grip tightens on you. The rain is coming down harder and you start feeling the cold seep through your clothes and into your bones. You notice Erwin’s usual combed back hair is now in his face, dripping water into his eyes.  

There’s silence as you try to figure out what to say. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Your eulogy sits half finished on your dresser because you had no idea what to say.

What was even appropriate for others to hear? What would be selfish and what wouldn’t be? You suppose it’s all considerably selfish. The one who could call you out on your shit effectively isn’t here.

A low roll of thunder rumbles from above as you face off with him.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.” You mumble.

“You don’t me-“

“He’s not here, Erwin! He left me!” You feel your voice rising with every syllable. He opens his mouth to say something else but now that you’ve found your voice, you can’t stop the word vomit.

“He chose to go back into that building because of who he is. And I hate him for it! How could he do that to me?? Didn’t he think about me?” A sob racks in your chest, and it takes a moment to catch your breath so as to not choke. The water streaming down your face turns warm and you can practically taste the salt of your more-than-late tears as you continue on.

“What it would mean for him leaving me? Nothing feels right anymore, nothing feels like home because he was my home. He promised he’d be around for as long as I wanted him. But I still want him!” Erwin pulls you into his chest and holds you close as you start sobbing harder. They rip out of your throat just like the words you shout, voice becoming hoarse with every line. You don’t fight his vice grip. But you don’t stop either.

“I said I would always follow his lead. But why did he have to go somewhere where I can’t follow. He left me behind. He said he never would and he did it anyway. I hate him so much. I hate him for making me love him and then leaving me like this. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” You trail off, losing yourself in the cries of your pain. Everything hurts as you shake - the only thing holding you together is Erwin’s tight embrace.

The rain pours around you two as you continue to weep into Erwin’s drenched suit. He doesn’t say anything, only placing his hand on top of your head and holding you closer.  

“I don’t know what I could say to help, truthfully. But I know that Levi wouldn’t ever want you to feel this way.” He says finally, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “Terrible things happen, and they can’t be explained. But it’s no one’s fault, not even his. It’s easy to point the blame, but sometimes there isn't anything to blame.”

“That’s not good enough, Erwin.” You mutter in between hitched breaths.

“I know, especially not now. But it will get easier. You need to be more patient with yourself. And be kind.” He whispers down to you, a hand rubbing up and down your back as he talks.

Erwin stays with you until you can breathe again. He offered to take over the eulogy for you, which you gladly accepted. You didn’t even show up to the rest of the funeral, instead opting to sit in Hange’s car until they came for you and drove you home in silence.

.

A few weeks had passed since Levi’s service. At Erwin’s request, you had been more patient with yourself in that time. Of course, none of it was easier - but you weren’t running anymore. With shaky resolve, you were able to bring yourself down to the cemetery.

You twist your wedding band in between two fingers as you walk down the path to where your late husband rests. Your heart feels like it’s about to explode in anticipation. You hadn’t seen the tombstone that Hange helped pick out, so when your eyes finally fall on it, it’s enough to make you stop in your tracks.

Levi Ackerman

Dec. 25th 1983 – Oct. 17th 2023

“The only thing we’re allowed to do is believe that we won’t regret the choice we made.”

He often said to live your life with no regrets. The thing that has been gnawing at you finally comes to you in a new light. Levi wasn’t the type to do anything without thinking. He knew the risks, and you knew the risks of loving him.

Your feet stumble over the soft grass, and you lean down to place a small bouquet of flowers onto the fresh dirt. There’s a layer of permafrost from this morning, just barely starting to melt. Today is warm with the sun out, but that doesn’t stop the fog of breath that comes out with every spoken word.

“I’m sorry for everything I said, Levi. I’m not mad anymore. I just miss you so much.” You sit yourself down carefully, facing the tombstone.

There’s no answer, of course. The only thing you hear is the whistling of the cold wind blowing through the almost empty trees that came with this time of year. You tuck your chin into the scarf wrapped around your neck. It still smells like Levi – clean laundry and pine.

“I don’t want to be here if you’re not. I see you everywhere.” Your words start to choke again. The day of the funeral made that dam within you break open and since then, you find yourself to be more vulnerable. More fragile, like everyone expected. “And I can’t pretend that it’s okay when it’s not. But I’ll try for you, because I know that’s what you’d want.” You whisper, silent tears streaking down your face into the scarf as you shudder.

“I love you. And I will see you again.”

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#i'm sorry y'all #levi ackerman #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #hurt/no comfort #cw death #cw alcohol #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #x reader

[youstopmyheartfrom50feets]

Angst/Very Light Suggestive Smut. 2847 words. Inspired by the song 'The Other Woman' by Lana Del Rey.

Trigger warnings:- cheating/infidelity, suggestive mature themes, mature language.

A/N:- Play this video in the background for an enhanced reading experience.

3rd Person POV

She quickly brushed her fingers through her curls for the last time and looked at her reflection in the mirror in a quick glance. She could see a perfectly dolled-up woman with thousands of hopes and desires in her eyes. She smiled to herself and sprayed his favourite french perfume all over her.

She rushed down the stairs into the living room and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. It wasn't uncommon for James to come home this late but she was kind of hoping he'd come early tonight.

Today was their Anniversary and she knew he didn't forget because he himself wished her this morning. She couldn't help but feel the butterflies in her stomach when she remembered his words this morning.

It was like any other day, she woke up to an empty bed which she made with so much perfection, not a single wrinkle was to be seen. James usually returned home late and slept in the guest room, so as to not disturb her. She was going through her daily routine of freshening up and then preparing breakfast for her and James in the kitchen, when she heard footsteps approaching her. Thinking he was just there to grab a glass of water like every morning she didn't pay much attention to him but something unusual happened in a very usual morning. James grabbed his glass of water but instead of heading back out he turned to his left and kissed her temples.

"Happy Anniversary, Love." He said in his husky, morning voice."

"You too, Jamie." She replied, barely able to keep of that girlish smile off her face.

He just smiled at her and went on with his routine, unaware of the beautiful storm brewing in her heart.

His one little jesture made her clean the entire house, change every curtain, every bedsheet, every pillow cover.She even cut a bunch of flowers from the backyard and put them in each room. She went on to have a full spa treatment and get all embossed for her Jaime.

He was so sweetly unaware of the effect he had on her, how his little jestures would put a smile on her just like the one playing on her lips right now.

She was staring at her manicured nails when the sparkling diamond embedded in her engagement ring. Her smile widened thinking about the day he proposed.

It was a crisp Autumn evening and James had invited her to meet him at a park near River Thames. She had dressed up as good as possible and with a rosy glow on her cheeks due to the cold breeze, she got the location a few minutes earlier. When James arrived a few minutes late, the sun was already setting, reflecting a beautiful scarlet hue on the river. If an artist were to paint the scenery, he would've gotten confused as to which was a brighter shade of red, the sunset or her billowy hair. In that serene environment, James bent down on one knee and got straight to the point.

"Love, I suck at speeches so I won't waste my time on confessing my eternal love for you, so without the cliched confession, will you marry me?"

She couldn't say anything. Water sparkled both in the river and her green eyes. She could do nothing but bite her lips and nod her head in a yes.

Moments later Sirius and Peter would jump out of the bushes, congratulating them.

She couldn't help but go down the memory lane. The lane that took her back to Hogwarts. She clearly remembered the day she officially met James. There wasn't a single soul in Hogwarts who didn't know that Marauders. She did too, in fact she was close friends with Remus, close enough to know about his 'little fury secret', but this closeness was limited to only Remus. His friends were mere acquaintances to her, the only contact with them being the polite smile that she gave them while acknowledging Remus.

It was one fateful day, she was sitting under a willow tree, reading a book, when Sirus practically dragged James in front her and spoke to her with a grin.

"Hello Moony's friend, I am Moony's other friend Sirius and he is Moony's other, other friend James. James here wants some new female company, will you please do the honours of being James' first girlfriend in his sixteen year long life." Sirius gave his monologue with a dramatic tone.

She had to quickly settle down the butterflies dancing in your stomach and said with a smile,

"I'd love to but only if you wouldn't tag along with us on our dates."

This made James laugh and assure her,

"Don't worry, if he does something like that, I would personally hex him."

That tone if assurance and the charming smile made the heat creep up her cheeks.

She remembered their first date, his romantic dialogues and the warm butterbeer they had shared.

She remembered their first kiss. It was out in the open, in the middle of the yard, beside the fountain, with atleast 50 students watching. She had felt a sense of pride bloom in her when he decided to show the world who she belonged to.

And how could she forget the night they lay together the first time. The nervousness, the excitement, the desire were all making her dizzy. She was visiting James' parents for the first time, it was a big step for them but she was ready. In the night, James had snuck in her room to makeout with her but things going a little too heated and James asked her the question, his hands moving all over her body.

"Wanna do it?, I can cast the protection spell."

It was a simple question but it sent shock waves throughout hey body. She did what she did almost all the time in front of him. She bit her lips and nodded her head.

If she closed her eyes she could still feel his hands on her bare body. How he took his time with her, covering her neck in hickeys, sending waves of pleasure down her spin.

She remembered the increase in her heartbeat seeing him all bare in front of. A sight only she could witness

"Try to keep it low and ask me to stop if it becomes too much." He had said to her gently.

He then proceeded to give her a taste of heaven, he made her wish for the time to stop, so that he continues the movements with his hips for the rest of eternity.

No drug in this world could have given her the feeling of ecstasy that the feeling of being full with James gave her.

Thinking of that night still makes her stomach tighten and her body to long for his touch.

James had always been dedicated to his work, which resulted in him coming home late and finding her asleep in their bedroom. Their intercourse had become rare, only doing the deed on special occasions. Today was such an occasion, they had been married for two years.

Too lost in her thoughts, the lonesome queen didn'tnotice that James had already entered their house. It was only when James stumbled upon the coat rack that she noticed his presence. She quickly rushed towards the doorway to support James. When she got near him she could easily smell the Fire Whiskey coming from him. She could've sworn she heard something crack inside of her.

She quickly helped him up the stairs in their bedroom. She lay him on the bed and removed his shoes. She moved towards his face to take off his glasses when he took hold of her hand and pulled her on the other side of the bed.

He started scattering kisses on her neck and taking of her clothes. He took off her expensive pashmina shawl and threw it at the ground like it costed noting. He wasted no time and practically ripped out the Satin dress from her body.

He took a moment to appreciate her matching lace undergarments but then went back to devouring her lips with a ferocious passion. He quickly freed himself from his clothes and again hovered over her. Usually James would hold both her hands on top of her head. To spice things up, they even tried bondage from time to time, so she had rarely touched him during coitus. But, tonight he did nothing of the sort, he used one hand to keep him hovering over her and the other buried deep inside her underpants, his lips never leaving hers.

In the heat of the moment,even if she tried to place her hands on his back but every time he would place them back on the top of her head but tonight he didn't stop her from touching him. She scratched his back with her long nails, eliciting a grown from his lips. To her his sounds of pleasure were the purest form of music. This new-found intamacy was making her crave for more.

She saw stars when James suddenly entered her, making the both of them moan at the same time. He kept rutting in her wet pussy in a feverish pace. She felt all sorts of vibrations in her body, lust for her husband fogging her eyes. She bit James' ear to fasten his pace. She covered his neck with hickeys.

The perfect rythm of James' hips drew both of them near the edge. She could feel the knot in her stomach tighten more and more after each thrust and also how his pace was faultering. She felt him twitch inside her but then something happened that destroyed every strand of pleasure in her body.

"Lily! Shit I'm close." Those were the first words James had spoken to her on their Anniversary night.

That name. That damn name. The name that had been the bane of her existence.

One moment her face that was contoured in a sensual expression, the other it was stoic like an statue. Her body became numb, jerking back and forth due to James' thrusts.

James' didn't last much longer after that and came inside of her with a string of curses and that wretched name.

"Fuck, fuck , fuck fuck! Lily! Shit!"

She could faintly hear his heavy breathing over her thudding heartbeats.

She felt the crack inside her grow every second and before she knew it, a single tear fell from the corner of her eye, something inside her shattering like glass.

She came back to her senses when James lifted his weight off her and fell limp on the other side of the bed.

She got up from the bed and cleaned herself in the bathroom. She then wore his shirt that was thrown carelessly on the ground. That's when she realised that it wasn't her heart that shattered, it was the bubble she had created when she started going out with James.

She knew it because, she couldn't just smell the Fire Whiskey and his woody perfume from his shirt, she could smell the citrusy perfume that clearly belonged to a female. Now, she could also clearly see the red lipstick stains on his collar that was smuged in an attempt to clean it.

She couldn't wear the shirt anymore, since she felt another presence beside her husband's. She quickly removed it as if it was burning her body and threw it back on the floor.

Instead she opted to wear one of her night gowns and climbed down stairs. She went down to the kitchen and started boiling water in the kettle for a cup of tea. Then she sat down on the dinning table, gulping down the dinner she made for James.

She wondered to herself, how could she be so blind. She saw those little gestures in a whole different light now.

Sirius made him ask her out when Lily refused to go out with him for a thousandth time, this time clearly stating that she wanted to focus on her career and he stood no chance whatsoever.

During their first date, they were not alone in The Three Broomsticks, just a few tables away was Lily Evans along with her friends.

When he kissed her in the open yard, Lily was one of the 50 students. She refused to believe it back then but now she was sure that James' eyes did flicker toward the bench where Lily was sitting.

The once one of the most romantic proposals In her eyes, had now become a hollow moment lacking any and all emotions on his sight.

She now remembered Remus' absence that day and the conversation that they had after that.

"Didn't James tell you he was gonna propose?" She had asked him.

"He did." Remus had replied munching on his chocolate.

"Then why weren't you there with Sirius and Peter." She had questioned back.

"That's because I don't want you to marry him."

"But why?"

"Why? You don't see why? Hon, he doesn't love you, you're a replacement for Lily. Please don't do this, he won't keep you happy." Remus had voiced his concerns.

She didn't say anything back and got up from her place.

" You'll get the card in a few days, please come, I don't have many people whom I call my friends."

But when Remus didn't show up at their wedding either, she went to his place to confront him.

"How could you do this Rem. Your two closest friends tied a knot and you didn't find the time to at least show up."

"I have told you this before and I'm going to say it again, I don't think he'll keep you happy and I couldn't come and just watch my closest friend get her life ruined by my other close friend." Remus had calmly answered her.

"What makes you think he won't keep me happy!" She had screamed at him.

"Honey....... Other women are never happy." He had hesitated a bit.

"Remus, I am married to him, how can I possibly be the other woman."

"The other woman isn't the mistress, dove, it's the woman who's the second choice and you know Lily has always been his first choice. It's a matter of time before they get together behind your back, I have seen the way they look at each other." Remus had explained.

"James would never do that to me and Lily clearly told him he wanted to focus on her career." She had reasoned.

"And now that she is an accomplished healer, she would want to focus on other aspects of her life." Remus had tried to explain the situation.

"I'll never be the other woman, I will always be better than her." She had stated.

And it was true, she was better than her. Lily was academically brilliant but she was both academically and athleticaly strong. She was the keeper for her house quidditch team. Lily didn't care about her looks but she was always dressed up in perfectly crisp uniform or in an outfit that complimented the latest fashion trend. She was better than her in every aspect and Lily knew this. She had said so herself. Lily visited her in the dressing room when she was getting ready for her wedding.

"You look beautiful." Lily had complimented.

"Thanks."

"You know I have always been jealous of you. You're perfect in all the aspects where I fail." Lily had stated, masking her jealousy in laughter.

After only a few months of their marriage, people had began warning her about the budding proximity between her husband and a certain red-head but she had chosen to ignore them and stay in her bubble. But today when her husband moaned her rival's name in her ear, her bubble had bursted and the reality had hit her hard on the face.

She put the empty plate on the sink and went back to her bedroom to find her man sprawled on the bed.

She carefully placed herself in the empty space on the bed, her back facing the man she loved. The pain of loving a man who would never love her back seemed new to her but the feeling felt oddly familiar.

Her gaze went on the wall where James had stuck countless polaroids accounting for the countless happy moments of his life but one polaroid always caught her attention.

The picture of her standing alone in a wheat field in her wedding dress. Whenever she saw this photo before today, she could see a Happy woman, hopelessly in love with her man. But now a she could see was her future.

A future where she'll cry herself to sleep e every night. A future where as the years pass she'll be alone.

All Alone.

-----------x----------x---------x------------

A/N:- I reposted this because I got a Community label, so I changed the smutty part and made it Pg 13. If you want to read the original version, I'll be uploading it on my Wattpad soon.

<3<3<3

#James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter x wife!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x lily potter #james potter x lily evans #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x friend!reader #remus lupin x y/n #james potter smut #james & peter & remus & sirius #sirus black #sirius black x y/n #fandom ships #fiction #writers on tumblr #writing #Youtube

[persephonescottage]

Honey & Wine | 02.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader

Summary: Billy forgot the heart.

Warning: References to sexual situations, swearing, obsessive thoughts. Although this chapter might not include it, this fic will include kidnapping, stalking, somnophilia, CNC (between two consenting adults), knife play, age gap, dub con, Stockholm syndrome, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+. If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

A/N: This took sooooo long but hey, Billy is pervy in this one so, I’m not that sorry. By the way, if you want to be tagged in this story let me know! Love u for reading this sorry I didn’t proof read bye💕

&

There is pomegranate juice dripping down your chin and Billy is thinking of ending his life.

Your sight is glued to an old paperback he stole from your Brooklyn apartment and your legs are glowing under the sun as you carelessly eat the fruit he offered you a second ago, laying on your belly on the beach chair.

You declined a drink from the quaint restaurant near the shore, claiming your head hurt a little and he accepted it.

Of course it hurt, you were cloroformed for days, he was surprised you didn’t feel worse.

The obscene sound your lips made when you cleaned the juices of the fruit by licking you fingers made him reminisce of the last few days.

How he carried you out of your apartment complex, your body limp and your lips parted but his hand firm on your ass.

When he put you in the back of his van that he already had filled with a mattress and lots of fluffy blanket so you’d be comfortable on the way to the private airport but ignoring the way your tits spilled from the light dress he had put you on.

Glancing at the rear view mirror every chance he could to admire your rack.

How he felt smoke coming out of his ears when the pilot he bribed eyed your thighs when he carried you to board the plane.

He held you the entire flight, holding you close on the wide leather seats of the private plane, making sure you were warm enough.

If you ever asked, he wouldn’t deny he got a little handsy under the blankets of the plane, with little whimpers coming out of you every time he stimulated a bit too much making his dick hard.

Asking the stewardess to leave you two alone so he could use your hand to touch himself. 

When you finally reached Greece he put you on a car and drove you straight to the house you now shared.

His adrenaline peaked when he put you down onto your bed for the first time.

He didn’t regret taking you but he had to be prepared for how you would react when you finally woke up.

So he took advantage of the time he had.

You wouldn’t mind would you?

Touching you in your sleep he found out you liked your neck kissed and three fingers deep inside you.

Or that’s what if seemed like with the pretty noises you made and the way your cunt tightened in your sleep around his digits.

He thought about taking it further but you woke up sooner than he expected.

Billy had time to think though.

Your new identities were husband and wife, he made sure of it, but the real you he wanted to win with his own merits.

He’d be a good man for you this time and you would love him in no time. A real good man, a gentleman.

But you were making it so hard right now, literally, swinging your legs back and forth making the bright pink dress you wore raise to the beginning of the curve of your ass.

The view of the sea waves crashing on the Santorini shore behind you turned completely dull next to the perfection of your body.

Should he say something? 

You’ve been reading for an hour now and he sat in silence next to you sipping beers under the beach parasol.

What could he say?

I’m so happy we’re here?

Can I put sunblock on you?

Let’s go back home and bang like rabbits?

No, he was supposed to be a gentleman this time.

The ringing of his cellphone was perfectly timed to stop him from saying or doing something stupid as he was just about to reach to your chair and pull the dress a little further up.

You finally looked up from your book, your hair messy from the beach breeze as you looked at him suspiciously.

“I have to take this, be right back.”

His answer was quick and he got up and walked away from her ever faster, giving no room for questions from her because he knew exactly who it was on the line.

He walked towards the restaurant and left though the store front leading him to a cobblestone street, took a deep breath and answered.

“Hi Frankie!”

“Hey! You never told me when you arrived. How is the cold treating you?”

Billy looked around, the sun shining over the bugambilia bushes in every house and the smell of the sea surrounding him.

“I’m okay, wish there wasn’t so much fucking snow though.”

Billy never had any trouble lying, in fact, that’s how he always won in both arguments and business negotiations, but lying to Frank always made him feel a little guilty.

“Well don’t worry about us, I’m holding down the forth for ya while you’re in Prague.”

Franks’s voice was serious, but not upset and he sounded careful. Billy panicked but didn’t let it show. 

He made sure to let the board know he’d be in Prague for a couple months seeing a group of investors, measuring the market in Europe, he had his secretary book everything for him there.

He even gave orders to prepare his private jet while Frank was in his office. There’s no way he suspected him.

“Thanks man, let me know if you need anything or if it starts to feel like too much for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine but there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Shoot”

“It’s about the librarian.”

Billy froze for a second before pulling himself together. He had planned this throughly, no one suspected him. 

Not even Frank Castle.

“What about her?”

“She’s missing.” 

“Since when?”

“Couple days.”

“You report her?”

He fakes concern for the protocol of his company but in reality he wants to know about the reaction the people who knew you had.

What did your job say?

What did Gianna know?

Did Henry listen to his threats?

“We tried but the police wouldn’t take it. She left a note in her apartment saying she’d go to California for a while to meet some friends. But according to her friend Gianna she didn’t know anyone down there apart from her ex’s parents, and they know nothing about her.”

Billy bites his lip waiting for the report to continue.

“Anyway, NYPD says the note is proof she went on her own will but her friend insists there’s something slightly off with her handwriting and her cellphone’s been disconnected  too.”

“Slightly off? How so?” 

Damn Gianna Esposito, he thought. He had practiced your handwriting for months, there was no way anyone could tell the difference.

“Something about her not signing her name with a heart or something.”

“Well if I was leaving in a rush I don’t think I’d adorn my signature either.”

Dammit, he forgot the heart. 

“Bill just tell me she’s not with you.”

“What?” His indignation sounded real and he gave himself a pat on the back for it “Why would she be with me?”

“You had a crush on her and you leave and she disappears I-“

“First of all I didn’t have a crush on her.”

I’m actually madly in love with her and I want her to be my wife, is what he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Second of all, didn’t you tell me she went to find me at the office and I was already gone?”

“Well yeah but-“

“But what? I came back to get her? Or faked my trip to kidnap her?”

Yes, that’s exactly what he did.

“Jesus Frank I don’t even know her!”

Lies.

Liar!

“I’m sorry brother I just thought- you know her friend said something about you leaving with her at the ball and I just thought maybe you ran away together or something.”

“We did an interview for the library gazette at the ball, nothing more. Run away together? What are we teenagers?” 

This call is taking longer than he expected and he wants to go back to the beach to keep an eye on you but he’s sure the phone will capture the sound of the ocean.

“I’m not gonna lie to you I though she was cute and I’d definitely want to sleep with her in the near future but that’s all. I have no idea where she is, for all we know she is in California, give it a few days.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you find any luggage in her apartment?”

“No. Her friend looked for it, she says she does have some bags.”

You do, Billy thinks with a smile. Vintage plaid bags. And of course they didn’t find them, he triple checked he’d gotten rid of them and made it obvious. 

“Then she probably did leave, whatever.”

“Yeah you’re probably right. But if you know anything let me know, I have a very concerned and very mean librarian here almost everyday.”

He can hear Frank apologize and give him a couple more news about some other clients but his head is somewhere else, suddenly remembering all the easter eggs he planted to make your getaway looked realistic.

It had been clean and he was certain.

He finally says his goodbyes and take cares with Frank not forgetting to make a few jokes about him ice skating in his designer suit before hanging up.

As he heads back in the restaurant and to the beach through the back door he reassures himself he had done everything right.

He calculated your every move and staged everything perfectly, Gianna wasn’t a threat to his plan.

All he had to do is make you choose to stay with him forever.

Would you give up everything to stay?

He finally sees you, you’ve changed positions and your sitting with your legs crossed under you on the beach chair. Your face completely hidden by the book and your hat.

You were right where he left you.

He had nothing to worry about.

#Billy russo #billy russo x reader #pony fic #billy russo fanfic #my writting #justice for henry #Pony fic

[ysa-s]

My Person

Part 3 < Part 2

Rain lashed against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the tears blurring my vision. Clutching my uncle's keys and a backpack filled with essentials, I climbed onto the chair, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision. He left the window unlocked, a silent invitation I hated to exploit. Tiptoeing inside, I found him asleep, his peaceful expression at odds with the storm raging within me. Tears streamed down my face as I leaned down, gently stroking his cheek, the warmth of his skin a final goodbye. "I love you," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion, before turning and disappearing into the night.

The silence screamed louder than any alarm clock. 4:57 a.m. flickered on my phone, relief washing over me like lukewarm coffee. Three minutes of snooze wouldn't hurt, but the thought of oversleeping sent me scrambling out of bed like a cat startled by a cucumber.

Fueling up on breakfast and routine checks, I headed down to my "Baby" – the sleek black bike purring patiently in the garage. My routine of going to my client’s before sunrise had me ride my bike on autopilot. It wasn't the boring perimeter patrol of the night shift, but the freedom of being her invisible guardian angel, lurking in the shadows.

"Yo, Elara!" Jun's cheery voice was like a sugar rush before dawn. "Baby Day!" he declared, practically cuddling my bike. "Chill, perv," I tossed him my helmet, my usual morning banter. He winked, "One scratch, one paycheck gone, remember?" I rolled my eyes, joining the pre-mission huddle.

The briefing words triggered a different kind of replay. Not what happened, but what didn't. The deserted venue, the silence instead of roaring and cheering crowds. I was ready, prepared to confess, to face him, but the universe had other plans. Seeing him again, saying those words, felt like a ticking bomb inside me.

"Dismissed!" Our superior clapped, and we scattered like ants on a sugar trail. Today's agenda? A casual business meeting, "friends" apparently, so just me and my partner, the car waiting like a reliable Uber. Kwon Yoon-seo emerged, all power suit and clicky heels. I opened the door, her curt nod the only greeting. Inside, the air crackled with her professional energy. The engine hummed as we pulled away.

But in my gut, a low alarm blared. A prickling unease spread like spilled ink. I stole a glance at my partner, his furrowed brow mirroring my own.

Rapid breaths and two sets of pounding footsteps echoed across the deserted parking lot. I shoved my client toward the exit, clutching my gun in my left hand. My right throbbed, a dull ache radiating from the bullet wound.

The attackers' taunts reached my ears just as I shoved our client behind cover. Adrenaline surged through me as I spun, aiming and firing until the click of an empty chamber broke the spell. Gritting my teeth against the agonizing pain, I swapped magazines with one-handed efficiency, scrambling to my feet just as fresh gunfire erupted.

Amidst the chaos, I scanned for my partner, Sun. No sign. Panic gnawed at me, fueling my every shot. Finally, a lull. Our escape window. Yanking the client forward, I barked into my comms, voice strained, "Under attack! Sun's down, no response. Exiting the lot with client, she's fine but I'm bleeding heavily. Estimated blood loss... unknown, can't hold out much longer."

A groan escaped my lips as the agony in my arm intensified. Kwon Yoon-seo, ever calm under pressure, ripped off her scarf and began wrapping it around my wound. Her composure steadied me, a stark contrast to the terror I imagined gripping a panicked client.

Another shot split the air, forcing us to duck for cover. As the dust settled, I rose, gun raised, and met the attacker's fire. "Go! I'll cover you!" I yelled, spotting a familiar SUV pulling up. My gaze flickered between the retreating client and the attackers, relief washing over me as she reached the vehicle.

With a curt nod to my approaching colleague, I signaled them to leave without me. I knew another extraction awaited, my own. But before I could turn, a bullet materialized mid-air, slamming near my face. The world tilted, my vision blurring, consciousness slipping away as two vehicles, SUV and Mustang, screeched to a halt beside me.

Part 4 >

#windbreaker #manhwa #webtoon #wooin x reader #wooin windbreaker

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- This is a pretty dark chapter and includes sexual assault and non-con so please, skip this chapter if you are triggered by any of this. Also do comment and let me know how you feel. Also requests are always open.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

The White Dragon

Burning the Dragon (Chapter 6)

Summary- Under the Godswood, the Dragon attempts the worst sin...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611, @beefbaby25, @shine101, @hopebaker, @andlizeth, @hyacinthus007, @lightdragonrayne, @prettykinkysoul, @mcam623, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @let-love-bleeds-red, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @random-shit-i-like-2, @sunmoon-01, @savagemickey03, @kishie8, @watercolorskyy, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog

Warnings- Attempted R*pe, Sexual Harassment, Curse Words, Violence

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Aerea sat under the Weirdwood tree with a book on her lap, glowing and absorbing the silent serenity. She sat alone, as every single person she liked the company was busy with something or the other.

Daemon had announced early this morning about his presence to the court in the grand way he liked and thus, was invited by his brother to spend the noon with him.

Her mother was busy with the wedding preparations, also adding Sara to it on Aerea's suggestion. Helaena was spending time with her husband, Aegon, much to her husband's dismay. Cregan was busy discussing trade routes and whatnot with the Lord Hand, Larys Strong and the council.

The birds chirped in the garden, butterflies resting above the various coloured flowers. The trees swaying with the light breeze which caressed Aerea's face.

Suddenly, a shiver ran down her spine. A sensation pinned into her bones as if someone is watching her. Aerea turned around, looking around to find someone but to no avail.

Aerea was about to go back to her chambers when she was tackled down to the ground, a scream bubbling in her throat. She thrashed around in her attackers hands, trying to break free but to no avail.

"Stay still, now, sister."

Aerea's blood ran cold as she stilled. Her heart thrashing against her chest as she tried to push her brother away but couldn't do it at all. Aemond turned her around, grabbing her hands and placing it above her head.

"Comply and it will be less painful for you," Aemond hissed, clawing at her dress. "Stop, Aemond," she whimpered, trying to push him away. "I would have never started if I was supposed to stop." Tears rolled down Aerea's cheeks as her body was trying to break free from the prison Aemond made for her.

Aemond lifted her dress up until her pale thighs were revealed to the sun. His hands grabbing on to the corset of her dress while Aerea screamed and thrashed.

"Aemond, please, stop," Aerea screamed, her legs trying to kick him off her. "Stop, līve," (whore) hissed Aemond, slapping her across her cheek. Aerea was at last reduced to a crying and whimpering mess as she felt his calloused hands grope her thighs.

"Get off her!"

She heard a loud voice, threatening and ordering at the same time. She felt the prying hands leave which made her scurry to cover herself. Everything was happening in the background while Aerea shivered and cried.

Hands embraced her from her behind, soft whispers being spoke which only increased her whimpers. Her hands shook as she grabbed the hold of the sleeves. Black with red lining. Aerea knew that it was Daemon just by the colours of the sleeve.

"Nothing has happened, little one, nothing," Daemon whispered, rocking her back and fro to calm her down. "He will be taken care off," he continued, placing a kiss on her tear-stained cheek.

"Aerea!" She heard the distant voice of her mother but everything was muffled as she leaned into her uncle's embrace. She could still fell Daemon's hands caress her pale hair as she cried, fisting her dress' neckline.

"She is your sister!" Alicent exclaimed as she knelt down to place a hand on Aerea's hand while she hid in Daemon's hands. "She is supposed to be mine!" Aemond exclaimed, thrashing to break the grip the Northerners had on his hands.

"No, she isn't," Cregan spoke calmly, though his grey eyes were the window to the strom inside. Aemond chuckled bitterly, spitting on the Wolf Lord's boot. "If you think she is yours, then you are very much wrong. Ask her! Who she belongs to?" Aemond continued.

Alicent glanced back at her daughter who seemed to have calmed down a bit. Her sobs turning into little whimpers.

"What does your brother means, dear?" She asked softly, making Aerea turn to her mother with wide eyes. "Tell her, Aerea! Tell her about your little moans when Daemon kisses you!"

Gasps were heard as Alicent looked at Aerea with wide eyes before glaring daggers at Daemon. She grabbed the princess by her elbow, making her stand up.

"Does what Aemond says is true?"

"Is it true, Princess Aerea?"

#house targaryen #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x targayen #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #the white dragon #house of targaryen #house stark

[literalnobody]

Your cat died?

Trigger warning for like, obvious stuff based on the question.

No, she's been sick for months and we've been frantically trying every avenue to find out what's wrong with her and get her treated. After what felt like every test under the sun coming back clear, and cancer being ruled out multiple times, we learned on friday that she does in fact have an extremely aggressive and advanced cancer. But we have to wait until tomorrow (Monday) to find out if it can even be treated, because the oncology lab was closed when we found out.

I've been watching her deteriorate since October telling myself every day that she is going to get better, that we will find out what is wrong and how to treat it and she will have many more years because she is a young, vivacious, strong little cat and every time I look into her eyes I know she wants to live. I know she wants me to help her get better. All her tests came back clear over and over again with multiple vets for months, I had to drive several hours to a specialist on my birthday who looked me in the eye and told me it was a mild infection and we could rule out cancer or "anything more sinister." I'm not even going to try to calculate how much money we've spent trying to find out what's wrong and how we can manage it.

Now knowing what she actually has and that it has spread to all 4 of her paws to the point she can't even stand to get to her litter tray, and knowing I can't do anything until tomorrow while she's shaking uncontrollably from the pain on her little bed, I feel like I'm already in mourning while she's still alive. I feel so guilty for trying to prepare myself for how this is probably going to go, like I'm doing her a disservice by starting to grieve, like I'm giving up. I just feel like after being so convinced for so long that we could make her better if we just knew what the problem was, I've had the air punched out of me. I just keep bursting into tears, because she's still here and she still wants me to help her and she still wants to be alive, and I know when I get that call tomorrow I'm going to have to make a fucking awful choice and it just sucks. It just sucks and it's all I can think about. And I don't really have anyone I can talk to about it and I'm hiding it from my parents because they're on holiday for a week and I don't want to spoil that by telling them and then them being trapped in another country for several days worried sick or grieving and not even able to see her.

Anyway sorry for ranting, I'm gonna delete this later.

#personal #don't reblog #delete later #vent

[wrencatte]

SHDUFKSEHDBDKSS Well if I’m allowed to choose more, I’m gonna!

(Loved the hair one, I don’t have curly hair, but I somehow got the always-messy look too, except when shaved, and it’s so relatable!)

I would love to hear about Hourglass, Mourning Dove, and Vengeance and Ghosts Jason! (If that’s too much at once, just mourning dove?)

I won’t ask for more because other people should get a chance, but they all looked so good!

💜

Honestly, I don't even have anything for hourglass other than a phrase, but I can tell you it was going to be a(nother) mind-control fic, but more in line with the original persuasion because im not super satisfied with it. I'm contemplating not completing it since I/ve writing/written go for the throat.

but the other two!

mourning dove was an olllldddd time-travel concept! And Vengeance was...I think based off a tumblr post about ghosts and vengeance (hence the weird wip title)

mourning dove:

The Joker dies on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning. The sun rises. No one can see it past the perpetual fog that blankets Gotham this late into fall. People go about their business. And the Joker is found dead on the steps of the Gotham City Police Department’s Major Crimes Unit. Commissioner Gordan finds it – that wide, grotesque smile very, very carefully…shot off. Like someone had stuck a gun in the clown’s mouth and pulled the trigger. Enough of his face untouched to identify him. The back of his skull blown to bits. Jim covers his eyes with a hand, shoulders quivering, caught somewhere between relieved laughter and horrified laughter. The Joker is dead. The Joker is dead.

vengeance and ghosts

Jason drifts. He plans. He kills. He cleans the streets of Gotham. He taunts and goads Roman Sionis and can just taste that he’s on the edge of cracking. The Bat dogs his heels every night. Both too far and too close. Jason doesn’t sleep. He has to set a timer to eat. His mind moving too fast, hopping days and weeks and backtracking. He can’t lose the plot now. This is only the rising action. The story’s not done. Not yet. Years of training and planning didn’t prepare him for actually being in Gotham. His previous visit – a bomb under the batmobile. Too impersonal. Too revenge driven. This is supposed to be justice – is like a fever dream. And maybe he did have a fever. He came back to Talia, weak-kneed and unable to breathe, lungs constricting, eyes stinging. She’s not his mom. She’ll never be his mom – his mom is Catherine. Not Sheila. Not Talia. Catherine – But there’s still a softness to her that made her gather him up then and murmur poems against his hair until he stopped falling back to that warehouse. The funniest thing is – it’s never the actual warehouse that’s the problem. Not the Joker. Not the crowbar. Not that damn bomb. It’s the smell of nicotine and blond hair. It’s disinterested expression. It’s the betrayal. And he wonders why it hurts so much. He didn’t know her. She was only his mother in blood

#asked and answered #my writing #you're the only one asking! plus if anyone asks doubles #some of these are long enough #but for mourning dove and vengeance you get all i have

[take-youraim]

I'm not doing so well. I have so much anxiety that it’s really hard to fall asleep at night. It usually takes me a full 2 hours of laying there. I never used to have sleep problems, even though it was such a common symptom with all the other psychiatric patients I cohabitated with.

I'm struggling a lot with feelings of shame and inadequacy. I feel stupid, and lost, and just lacking in general. I feel like something is fundamentally wrong with me and it takes all of my energy to convince myself otherwise. I feel deeply sorry. I feel like life will never be as beautiful as I imagine or want it to be. I watch everyone around me take steps forward and build these big lives, and they trust themselves. I'm not that way. Every step I take is a guess and a prayer. All I want is to feel proud of myself. I want to feel vindicated of my past. I don't want the resolution of my past to be because I ran from it or distracted myself thoroughly enough from it. I want a resolution that is palatable; one marked by overcoming deep shame, and self-forgiveness.

There have been so few moments where I've felt any relief from this. Religion brought me closer to forgiveness, but that was always a passive understanding and experience of forgiveness. I was the recipient of external forgiveness, which I realize now is more or less a band-aid. I forgave myself because the Creator of the World saw me as Good. But now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to see myself as worthy of forgiveness unattached to a greater entity. I'm not sure I'm forgivable just as I am.

I bombed my preliminary interview with Penn. That has triggered a lot of these feelings. It reminded me of my own incompetence. It made me think, “who am I to think I'm smart enough for Penn?” I feel like a fraud. I'm embarrassed. I'm lost in life with so many unknowns, and only difficult roads ahead.

I feel afraid. And deeply sad.

I want to lay in bed with my mom and hug my dad. I'm about to go the longest length of time without seeing them ever in my whole life. What if they die? I can't handle that. I simply can't. But I find myself compulsively fantasizing about their deaths. And then I contemplate if my mind, or the universe, is preparing me for an upcoming day when they really do die. And I'm terrified and disgusted that even that I'm even writing this, but the fantasies have become so frequent and vivid that I'm desperate to purge myself anyway possible, even if it means documenting the horrible corners of my mind. I also have vivid fantasies of my best friend's death, or of my own slow death to something like being trapped under a collapsed building, alone. These are things that keep me up at night, as they are now.

When will I be free of myself? I can't take it.

I think I'm developing a mild form of OCD. Or at least the associated intrusive thoughts. Working in research, from home, is bad for these thoughts and my anxiety. My studio apartment has become an echo chamber.

I hope I can do better tomorrow and have a good day. That's what I used to focus on during my stints in psych hospitals and treatment: try to have a good day. You don't have to accomplish anything. You don't have to get things right. Or make decisions. Just try to enjoy the moments. Feel the sun. Read a book. Think small, and just try to enjoy your day.

This will be my goal tomorrow.

#recovery #dark acadamia aesthetic #literature #writblr #journal #mental health #mental illness #pro ed recovery #light academia #dark academia #long reads #borderline #phdblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #poetry #art #prose #actually ocd #ocd #intrusive thoughts #intrusive daydreaming #anxiety #depressing thoughts #depersonalisation and derealisation #depresion #stream of consciousness #writers of tumblr #writer

[frogprincesses]

TW: Stalking, Harassment, Abuse

Now that Tattler is gone with no sign of returning I can share the truth I kept in. I was one of the people submitting in defense of Emi. I'm not friends with her. I was friends with Bubbles. I knew her under a different alias, Sun.

She had me convinced Emi was a terrible person. I helped her terrorize Emi, that's all it can be called. They knew each other in person and were good friends in the past. Bubbles spun a story during claiming Emi did horrible things to her back then. I can't say exactly what since they are extremely triggering. In mid November when the bashing of Emi and her former friends started on anon blogs I found out the truth. Every terrible thing Bubbles had claimed was done to her she had been the one to do.

The stalking, harassment, impersonating and isolating already mentioned on anon blogs is true. There is far more than that. Bubbles goes as far to come unannounced to where her targets live. She did that to me after I refused to give her Emi's current address.

My involvement with Bubbles revenge plot was finding Emi's address for her. Emi posted on a fandom discord we were both part of in September seeking autographed merch. Bubbles knew I had a few autographed albums to unload and pushed me to contact Emi. I did with a story Bubbles came up with that the albums were coming from China. This was to string Emi along and find the right moment to show up in front of her.

Bubbles made it like she wanted to find her information to confront her over what she had done and pursue legal recourse. I found it suspicious but Bubbles was charming and kind. Having experienced past abuse myself I felt for her. I'd never had the chance to confront my abuser, she knew that and used it to manipulate me.

Emi didn't give me her address. She wanted to buy the album as a gift for a friend. Bubbles told me to find a way to get her address as she needed it to serve her legal papers. It worked out that Emi contacted me not to send the album to her friend a month later. Bubbles bragged at that time about managing to break them up. She was convinced they were dating.

Emi gave me her address to send the album to her instead. I was uncomfortable with everything at that point. Bubbles kept asking for Emi's address but I refused to give it to her. Things she said weren't making sense.

Bubbles appeared in my area, she knew my address from us exchanging kpop pcs in the past. She took the album I had prepared for shipping and shipped it herself. She spoke about Emi sending messages on discord to someone being worried her friend would think she was stalking her if the gift she ordered back in September showed up. Bubbles wanted that to happen, she shipped the package from a post office near where Emi used to live. With tracking and the zipcode it would look like Emi sent the package.

She was sending messages to people from Emi's account while posting things to Tattler. She wanted Emi to lose everyone in her life and have no one but her. Something she'd tried in the past. She got banned from sites a total of 3 times under different aliases for harassing Emi and her friends.

I tried to save the screenshots of messages she sent me, they were messages she sent as Emi and emotional responses from the people who got them. I can share a few at the end of this post. I didn't get to save many before Bubbles discord was deleted and I deleted my own to avoid her contacting me.

Bubbles turned Emi into an abusive, toxic person who acted that way because she didn't know how to express her love. She posted on Tattler about Emi and her friends to show Emi people hated her. She was happy when it worked to make people believe Emi was a crazy stalker acting out because she'd been rejected.

The truth is Emi never claimed to be in love with her friend, Bubbles sent those messages then she'd spam tiktok links or close the chats to keep Emi from finding out. She showed me Emi's real messages that she deleted. In them Emi spoke about valuing their friendship but feeling betrayed over ableist comments against her being defended. She never asked people to stop talking to someone or she'd cut ties with them, she asked them to acknowledge what was done to her was wrong. Bubbles was the one who messaged with the ultimatum. Bubbles also wrote and sent letters to people from Emi's Google account with insane ramblings.

I wish I could post more details but this post is long already. My hope is this reaches the people that think Emi is out there stalking them or crazy over them, for you to know that she isn't and it's all Bubbles. I was afraid to post before because of Tattler and Bubbles knowing where I lived. Tattler is gone now. I moved a couple weeks ago to a new place.

This was the type of envelope used to mail the autographed album:

Screenshots removed by request.

The messages Bubbles sent through Emi's account were written to hurt, targeted towards people's traume. When she got the reaction she wanted Bubbles celebrated. She gloated about seeing Emi return to discord to receive messages calling her toxic and abusive. Her asking people if she had been behaving in a toxic abusive way. She made a new account to befriend Emi as a new person and asked me to also befriend Emi. It didn't work, Emi took a hiatus from discord instead. Anyone who talked to her for a week after she got those messages was talking to Bubbles. She knew how to imitate her from how obsessed with her she is.

This is the only post I'll make on how insane Bubbles is. It's my hope the people hurt by her actions can heal more knowing the horrible words came from Bubbles and no one else.

#bubbles #rpc #what do I tag this #jcink

[sarandipitywrites]

find the vibe tag

thanks for the tag, @oh-no-another-idea! check out her excerpt here (hers was "don't give up now," and ngl it made me shriek just a little).

i'm searching my WIPs for the vibe of "You're insane." this actually shows up in all my works at some point, because we only write disaster children over here. but someone actually says it in Dead Roots, Dark Water, so i'll use that here (under the cut, because long)

but first, tags: i'll send no pressure tags to @autumnalwalker, @aziz-reads, @sarahlizziewrites, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, and @daisygrayce (and you, if you want to play!) to find the vibe "Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope."

now, on to the vibes:

“By order of the Crown, you are under arrest. Come quietly, and no one needs to die today.” “Under arrest?” Daxter’s voice escaped his throat as a squeak. “What did he do? What did you do, Jak?” Jak only shrugged and shook his head. “You are trying my patience.” The soldier flicked a switch near the gun’s trigger, the resulting click splitting the silence. “You have ten seconds to comply.” Daxter’s fingers twitched. Ten seconds. The soldiers blocked the only walking path back down to Sandover. Climb down? No — too steep, no cover. They could hide in the jungle, if it weren’t twenty feet down and across the river. All that, and a sheer drop to the ocean behind them. They were fucked. Daxter’s throat filled with ash. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to— arrested for gods-knew-what, taken to gods-knew-where, alone— Alone. No. His knees still shaking hard enough to topple him, he stood up taller. Squared his shoulders. Fuck that. He took Jak’s hand in his. He looked down at Jak — he didn’t have any quips prepared about mutual destruction, but that’d never stopped him before, and it wouldn’t— The words died before they could leave his tongue. Because Jak had that look on his face. “Oh no. No. Don’t you dare—” Jak squeezed Daxter’s hand tight and pulled him in, arms locking around his waist like a vice. And he threw them both over the edge. Daxter’s body dropped away, leaving his stomach, lungs, and heart behind. He wanted to scream, needed to scream, but as the blue hurtled towards them his lungs constricted and pushed the air out and his eyes squeezed shut— Cold slammed into him from every side. His chest spasmed and tightened. Shifting sand and sharp shells prickled the soles of his feet through his thin shoes. They kicked off, the pressure around them lighter and thinner until— Air and sun wrapped warm around Daxter’s face. He gasped, sputtering and snorting burning seawater out of his nose. He shoved Jak away and mopped the sodden mess of his hair away from his face. He glared around in the sunlight until he found Jak. His curls were stretched out, hanging to his shoulders where the strands weren’t plastered to his skull or his face. His face. Soaked and flushed and beaming. “You’re insane. You know that? Absolutely, batshit insane.” “But you love me.” “Against my better judgement.”

#writeblr #writeblr tag games #find the vibe #fanfic #jak and daxter #dead roots dark water #my writing