#Blood Sweat Tears Vodka

[wonderlesch]

Best October Themed Cocktails

Best October Themed Cocktails shares Halloween and Harvest themed drink ideas. Click to discover Ghost in a Glass, Boo Berry Cocktails and so much more. They are the Treat in Trick or Treat! Cheers!

Hello and Welcome to Best October Themed Cocktails. Where has the year gone? I love October! Autumn is my favorite time of year. Here are a couple of my favorite October themed Cocktails. Discover: Ghost in a Glass, Boo Berry Cocktail and more. Cheers to the season of Autumn and the Best October Themed Cocktails. Ghost in a Glass The Ghost in a Glass cocktail reminds me of Ghostbusters’ Slimer.…

[maxlarens]

53) holding the other’s jaw + logan

this is to make up for what i wrote last night viv hope u like ittt 😋🫢😌 @coff33andb00ks

You meet Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant in a dive bar in Austin, Texas and you don’t know if you have the heart to tell him that you’re in Austin specifically for the Grand Prix.

It’s cute that he assumes you don’t recognise him, it’s even cuter that he tells you he drives race cars and then assumes you still don’t know he’s an F1 driver. It’s a little sad maybe— especially when Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan are sitting in a booth across the room, trying and failing to take surreptitious glances at the two of you. But you’re trying not to think about that, probably as much as Logan also is right now.

You’re leaning with your back up against the bar drinking a vodka whatever, he’s standing in front of you. Ostensibly in line to get a drink, but he hasn’t stopped talking to you since you almost bowled him over trying to get back to your friends. There’s no drink in his hand that’s for sure, just an empty beer glass that he’s bringing back. You think that’s unbearably sweet— well, no, actually you think that’s hot.

You’re not the kind of person who’s into Formula One for the drivers. You’re into it because instead of watching football games like every other all-American family did, your dad used to sit in front of the TV every weekend to watch twenty men drive around a track. You’d grown up on the sport; the roar of the cars before they hybridised them, old-school turn names, fiery crashes ending in tragedy, the blood sweat and tears of teammate rivalry. Your dad complains that the sport has changed too much— but still he puts the races on every weekend.

You try to watch the sport for the cars, for the racing, but at the end of the day, you’re not immune to a cute guy. You follow most of them on Instagram (except the drivers you hate), find yourself smiling at promo videos and liking pictures that have nothing to do with the sport. Your dad is annoying about it, but you don’t care.

You especially don’t care when Logan Sargeant is smiling something crooked at you as he tells you he’s here with his friends. You nod, looking where he’s pointing, where you’ve already seen Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan, you laugh a little, giggle really, and you lean toward him.

Deliberately.

“Yeah,” you take a sip through your straw, maintaining eye contact, “I know who you are, Logan.”

He goes red immediately. Pale cheeks turning a very pleasant colour. You lick your lips, lean back against the bar. He blinks his sparkling wet eyes at you, mouth gaping like a fish out of water for a moment before he snaps it shut and scrubs a hand across his stubbly beard.

“Oh— I—”

You wave his shock off, barrelling on to avoid anything awkward for him, “Sorry, should’ve told you.”

“No,” he shakes his head, apparently desperate to make it fine, to make it okay, “You’re good. I just— I didn’t expect someone so—”

He trails off, trying to start the sentence again. But you’re intrigued, very intrigued.

You cut him off, not rude, just insistent, leaning forward into his space, “What was that? Finish your sentence.”

His eyebrows go up in a flash. The blush on his cheeks grows a little more prominent. He’s biting down a little on a smile, on something.

“I—”, he flounders for words for a minute, you give him that minute in silence but you’re staring at him, a little fiery, a little intense, “I didn’t expect someone so,” he stops, whines something a little desperate, quiet enough that you’re not supposed to hear it, “cute, I guess. To know who I was.”

“You guess?”

He nods, slowly. Getting braver as he leans past you, deliberately getting in your space to put his empty glass on the bar behind you. You’re trying not to smile, you’re biting down on the inside of your lip so the biggest grin you’ve probably ever grinned can’t split across your face.

“Yeah, I guess.”

This is how you end up in a dark corner booth with Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant. This is how you end up making out with Formula One driver Logan Sargeant. You’re halfway in his lap, your legs a weird tangle as you try to fit yourselves into the space. But you’re hardly thinking about his knee digging into you or how you’re slipping off the seat every five seconds because Logan’s got a hand buried deep in your hair and another on your waist. His hand splayed against your back, a few fingers touching the bare skin at your hip.

He tastes like beer and ketchup and he kisses you like he’s starving. It’s slow, it’s deliberate but the slip of tongue and the way your mouths slide against each other is intoxicating. Makes your head feel fuzzy.

You’ve got a hand on the side of his jaw, the crook of your thumb hooked on his ear, fingertips pressing into his neck, the base of his skull. He tries to pull away from you— ostensibly to breathe, to say something. But you’re a little desperate, chasing his mouth and bringing your other hand up to his jaw to drag him back.

You feel him laugh a little into your mouth.

“What?”, you mutter, eyes closed, still kissing him, "Finish your sentence."

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, you feel his mouth move against yours as he speaks, hot breath fanning across your jaw, “Just. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?”

And this is how you end up in Formula One driver Logan Sargeant’s hotel room.

this is probably the most bordering on nsfw content that i will venture to in my writing just a heads up for people:)

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

Helpless part 28, this is the part I started this fic for (I'm not even joking)

Warning/ sh

The monster grabbed Hazel, ripping her in two, Nico tried to scream but no words came out of his mouth. He saw Frank, yelling, charging at him, bow in hand. Tears streamed down his face, yet a voice whispered that he deserved this, that he needed to suffer. He saw Bianca leading into battle under the lead of Thalia Grace, he was frozen. She shot an arrow to his shoulder, Nico fell to the ground with the sudden burst of pain. He tried to run, run from his problems like he always did, he was lost in about ten seconds, without a clue where he was going, the Labrynith. The maze went dark, then suddenly a burst of light came through, in front of him was Will Solace. He ran to him, trying to find comfort in anything yet the blonde boy pushed him to the floor.

"You're a pathetic little fag Nico, nothing more. You run from all of your problems, you deserve to suffer for your crimes, you disgust me." Nico turned and ran, ignoring the taunts that came from th boy he loved. Then he saw that memory again, the one that he wished he could erase from his mind. He was nine, that day his mum took him and Bianca out. They had gone to church like every other Sunday but his day was different. Nico always hated the Catholic Church, no one knew that, he would have been killed for that crime. They always forced him into white, making him recite bible verses, telling him everything was a sin, he hated it from the first day he could remember going. The day they threw the white fabrics at him, cutting his hair, claiming it made him look too much like a girl and that would be sacrilegious. But this was the day he knew, he was certain it was evil. He was clutching his sisters hand, two guys were on a platform, rope around their necks, couldn't have been much older than 15. He remembered looking away after the lever was pulled, he remembered the priests words.

"They were hung for the crime of homosexuality, a purely disgusting sin. They may have been children but they deserved to die, for the have committed the worst sin of all time." Nico never spoke about that day, it was one part of his nightmares that hadn't left him since that day. He remembers crying, Bianca telling him it was alright and they had done something wrong, that he didn't understand. She never knew what his thoughts were, she never knew he was just like them. He imagined what his life would have been if he wasn't in the casino, would he be married to a girl he never loved? Who he have run? Or would they have finally broken him into what they thought he should be? He heard the snap of the necks, two voices, Hazel and Bianca's both muttering in his ear. Percy choking him against that wall, this time yelling.

"You're a disgusting thing, no wonder your sister joined the hunters without a second thought of leaving you behind." Nico wanted to scream. The son of Hades woke up in a cold sweat, shaking. He couldn't take this anymore, not the fucked up demigod life, not knowing everything that had happened before him, not after what he'd gone through.

"I'm sorry Hazel, I tried, I really tried. But you don't need me." He whispered though the tears. He lit a cigarette letting the nicotine fill his lungs, it didn't help. He didn't want to feel, more he didn't want to live. He drained a whole bottle of vodka before pulling out his pocket knife, he dragged it across his skin, cuttings as deep as he could. He felt a light sting and the blood covered his palms, again, he needed to feel something. He carved a word on his other arm, horizontal cuts all around it, everything was covered in the scarlet liquid. The Ghost king pulled off his shirt and cared the word faggot down his chest, he could feel his head getting lighter, he felt like he was about to pass out he looked over to his hands where cigarettes burns littered them and added another two to the collection. He looked down at his thighs, littered with scares as he dragged the blade across, letting the blood soak everything, he could feel himself losing consciousness but he didn't stop, he would be dead in five minutes, and he wanted to make that time sooner if he could.

***

[serene-sun]

A rain x reader drabble for now, this would be x OC or self insert but it won’t get any views or likes so I used “you” instead of my own name. This is really just a vent/comfort thing I wrote for myself.

Warnings: there’s allot, 18+, no smut, alcohol, weed, ptsd attack. Past trauma, panic attack, mental breakdown, little comfort, angst?, very faint outline of sexual assault.

“Hey, don’t cry hun.” Rains voice is so soft and tender against the top of your head, his words soothing the aching pain growing from all of the weed and alcohol.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a bother.” You mumble through spilling tears.

“You’re certainly no bother, I know that as a fact.” He wraps his arms loosely around your upper waist.

Rain holds you so delicately, like a wilted flower with drooling petals. Rain already knows you’re about to break, the way you escorted yourself from the loud noisy building claiming you needed some air.

Half of it was right, the room was indeed filled with smoke and the smell of sweat and cigarettes. Everyone smelt like alcohol and cheap liquor.

The lights, the smoke, the sound of deep bass and distant moans was too much. The first few shots were to run off the evil thoughts crawling their way back up. But soon the taste of vodka being quickly swished back in your throat brought you back to a distasteful memory, one you had tried to bury, one fresh and still scared, a memory still red with pain and hurt.

Everything is fog, and all you can feel is the numbness swelling under your skin, and warmth spreading In your blood. All you feel is misery and embarrassment, you want to escape, you need to find somewhere far from this recalled nightmare before someone starts taking advantage.

You were sick of that.

You wobble your way out of a side door, the red exit sign not doing the aches any more pleasure. When the door closes, you’re immediately on your knees gagging at the pavement. It’s so dark, not even the light pollution wants to help you now. All that leave your system is a few droplets of saliva, and maybe a few more of the recent shot.

All you can think of is the faceless person that’s deep within your scattered mind. A simple drink and the simple feeling of dizziness. It’s all too horrible, especially now when you’re on your knees in an alley way of a foreign city.

Your knees get wet, the wet pavement bleeding through them and staining the black denim with mud, dirt, and cigarette ashes.

You grab your head, the noises of cars and the screaming insults filling your brain is breaking you down to a bitter substance that’s easy to be swept away in the cold wet night.

“You ok?” A soft and slender hand rubs your back, of course it’s rain.

Rain promised that he would stay with you the entire night, that he would make sure nobody would both you. Rain held your hand most of the night, he watched every person make your drink, bartender or not. He did a good job, until you ran off and disappeared.

You cower, you don’t wanna be seen like this, completely vulnerable and exposed. You can’t help but cry, that’s all you can really do. And as soon as that one tear hits the hard black ground, everything else follows. All the memories, feelings, sensations, words, thoughts, doubts, secrets, all the miscalls, all the messages back and forth between police, all the emotions, EVERYTHING spills onto the pavement.

All rain can do is watch.

“I’m sorry.” You choke on your own breath

“Dear you have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice is appalling, it’s reaching out and making it harder to breathe.

That’s when he carefully guided you back to the hotel room, pampering you and washing off your makeup.

“I don’t wanna be anything anymore” you sobbed into his hand that wrapped around you.

Rain pulls the blankets up to your chin, he’s not sure what you need but you’re feeling no different so there’s nothing anyone can do but simmer in the moment.

“What?” Rain is getting concerned, he just wanted to make sure you were ok.

“I’m exhausted of being responsible.” You stain the blankets a darker color with your tears.

“I- I think i understand. I know what you mean, I’m so sorry.” He brings your frog pillow that’s at the foot of the bed to your arms, letting you immediately latch onto it.

You’re silent.

“You didn’t deser-“ rains cut off by you, “please don’t say it, that’s all anyone ever says, that’s all I ever hear, that’s all I know.”

“I’m tired of everyone being sorry”

[synthized]

We live in a comfort of blank space. Backstage access, dark walls and foundations. Wires from microphones scattered on the laminate, guitar strings on counters and lyric papers strewn over dressing room tables. Smoke fills the Void of this sanctuary between me and you, cigarette between my fingers. Bottles of Gray Goose and some god-fucking-awful remnants of mold dusted noodles sit in takeout boxes. But there is nobody else except Us. This blank space, our private bubble before the spotlights will inevitably hit, and you will stand in the front row. Healthy, happy, with full belly and even fuller heart. Our souls treasure the moments spent on the road where peace and quiet can consume us. Hands to hold. Shoulders to rest on. Sleeping in hotel rooms where the sheets will remember our scent forever. ( And I helped you, didn't I? You're happy? I don't take for granted that beautiful smile, once downcast through exhaustion I couldn't bare. )

You're holding my hand now. As we sit perched on music equipment. You grumble some insult that I bind within my heart, a love letter of your own making, when I move. Stand. Maybe you can't see the sadness in my eyes.

It's three in the afternoon. Question why I'm telling you this, as my hand rests on your shoulder, kiss upon your temple. A whisper into the shell of your ear:

" Honey, I'm sorry. Time to wake up. "

[ ​🇸​​🇾​​🇳​​🇹​​🇭​​🇮​​🇿​​🇪​​🇩​ : // 🇨​​🇴​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇳​​🇺​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇨​​🇪​​🇳​​🇪​ ] the   scent   of   home   takes   itself   away   from   you,   vodka   scent   twisted   within   ripped   vest   ;   curls   of   brunette   once   resting   'pon   savior's   shoulder   now   forced   to   lift.   confused,   concerned,   committed   as   usual   as   some   breathless   insult   pools   from   your   smirking   flesh:   bastard,   always   a   damn   bastard   !!   yet   hands,   marred   by   a   life   forgotten   /   held   by   a   future   promised,   reach   outwards   'pon   the   man   whispering   words   that   hurt.   wake   up.   wake   up.   WAKE   UP   !!   [   NO,   NO,   I   KNOW   WHAT   HAPPENS   WHEN   I   WAKE   UP.   YOU   CAN'T   MAKE   ME.   YOU'RE   NOT   FUCKING   DOING   THIS   TO   ME   AGAIN   --   ]   &   like   every   night,   where   the   nightmare   of   what   could   have   been   prevails,   mist   of   opening   stare   fixates   'pon   the   ceiling.   this   night,   an   abandoned   shack   as   kaleidoscopic skies   spark   overhead,   boom   of   lightning   strikes   muffled   'pon   the   horizon.   the   cosmos   would   brand   you   a   wounded   dog   as   delusional  calling falls into the weary air:

[​ ​​🇯​​🇺​​🇩​​🇦​​🇸​​ : //​ ] salem [ . . . ] ??

the   terror   of   two,   one   with   the   deep-scarred   knuckles,   other   with   the   gray-dusted   beard   &   devotion   in   his   eyes   --   eternally-watching   (   is   it   insomnia,   or   has   fate   latched  the   collar   of   protection 'pon them   ever   since   they   saw   you   ??   )   with   pricked   hearing   &   raised   brow.   beads   of   sweat   'pon   your   brow   that   does   not   go   unnoticed,   the   way   your   hands   shake,   shake,   shake,   clutching   'pon   the   tattered   rag   of   a   blanket   that   covers   from   foot   to   waist   ;   mouth   dryer   than   dehydration,   brown   optics   pricking   with   an   agony   no   amount   of   tears   could   soothe.   they   forbid   leon,   maverick,   those   branded   with   celestial   power   from   being   by   your   side   [   .   .   .   ]   you   wouldn't   mind.   YOU   DON'T   MIND   THEIR   COMFORT,   THE   BRUTALITY   IN   THEIR   SAFETY,   THEIR   ARMS   ARE   BARB   WIRE   &   SNARLING   TEETH,   BLOOD   HANGS   FROM   THEIR   EVERY   WORD.   YOU   COULDN'T   FEEL   SAFER. yet   safety   cannot   allow   itself   to   take   priority,   this   synthized   destiny   is   not   the   words   you   have   written.   not   your   story.  ( not your fucking problem !! ) but   HIM ??   oh,   the   destiny   you   wanted.   believed   to   be.   holding   the   world   in   the   palm   of   your   hands.    until   you   didn't.

sigh   wobbles   leaving   parched   flesh,   the   downcast   into   gazing   at   cotton fibres   that   don't   matter   -   nothing   does,   does   it   ??   new   yorker   soul   with   the   dangling   rosary   that   beats,   beats,   beats   'pon   his   broad   chest   like   a   drum   of   salvation   praying,   asking,   begging   to   be   closer   to   you.    speaks   the   question   which   you,    him,    US   all   know   the   answer   to.

[​ 🇳​​🇦​​🇳​​🇺​​🇶​​​ : //​ ] y'alright ??

and   the   answer   is   simple.   no   need   for   fancy   words,   laced   with   warbling   sobs   &   aching   cries.  nanuq places his hand, large / comforting 'pon the back of your neck, squeezes as if to inject that church-hope of light into your aching soul. oh,  if   nanuq   could   pray   hard   enough   to   whatever   fucking   god   rules   this   sacred   universe,   bring   back   him.   bring   back   the   one   you   adore,   just   so   you   can   say   :   I   LOVE   YOU,   just   so   you   can   hold   his   hand   within   yours   [   .   .   .   ]   &   rebirth   into   something   that   only   you   &   salem   could   understand.   your   little   blank   space   where   microphone   wires   litter   the   ground   &   his   scent   soothes,   slumbers   as   you   rest   head   'pon   his   shoulder.

[​ ​​🇯​​🇺​​🇩​​🇦​​🇸​​ : //​ ] no [ . . . ] no.

[   YOU   DON'T   THINK   YOU   WILL   EVER   BE   ALRIGHT   AGAIN   ]

[nuagedemots]

Alone on Halloween - a Steddie ficlet

October 31th, 1971

Little Steve is sitting down on his front porch, his tiny fists closed, his eyes filled with tears. A few drops fall on his knees, his blue jeans absorbing the liquid without leaving a trace. Around him, kids his age are enjoying themselves, dressed as ghosts, vampires and others ghouls. Not him, though. His parents are way too busy to buy him a costume, let alone coming with him trick-or-treating. They left him alone, alone in this big house they brought with their big adult money, with a big pantry where no candies can be found, even on Halloween night. And even if his father has told him a million time he shouldn't cry, because crying is only for girls and pussies, he can't help it. He cries his stolen childhood, his innocence crushed by parents that had a kid because it was what good people were supposed to do. He cries, because it's the only thing he can do.

October 31th, 1981

Steve doesn't like Halloween. Never had, as long as he can remember. But of course, he's still invited to all the themed-parties the cool kids of Hawkins are organising to celebrate the night, and of course, he has to go to maintain his social status in school. He's King Steve, after all. People are expecting him to act a certain way, and if it's the only way for him to be accepted, he'll do it in a heartbeat.

The music is loud, people are laughing and dancing and making out on alcohol-stained couches. Girls are wearing angel wings and devil horns with lot of glitters and sequins, while most guys have made the bare minimum and put on their favorite sports jersey, proclaming they're dressed as famous athletes. Steve is near the bar, drinking vodka straight out of the bottle. Around him, there are teens he calls his friends and girls that visited his bed more than once, but he's alone. After all this time, after all the sacrifices he made to be the person he thought people will finally love, he's still alone. He's not crying about it anymore, though. He's simply drinking, drinking so much he can't feel pain and sadness and misery.

October 31th, 1984

He knew that sooner or later, Nancy would break up with him. Why would a girl like her, so smart, so beautiful, so perfect, fall for him ? He's destined to be alone, after all, his own parents rejected him - he's simply not good enough. He can't blame Nancy for calling their relationship "bullshit". It's better this way.

This night, when he finally come home and fall into bed, without even taking his clothes off, he has a nightmare. It's becoming quite ordinary, these days. Flashes of monstrous creatures and the kids he grew to love dying in his arms, flames, ashes, blood, despair. He wakes up in a cold sweat, as tired as he was the night before. Thank god, october is finally over.

October 31th, 1985

For the first time ever, Steve isn't miserable on Halloween night. Robin is at his house, they're watching an horror movie and eating sweets. Of course, Steve pretends he's not scared of Freddy Krueger and his claws, he flinched only because a fly was bothering him. He lets her paint his nails and he listen to her complain about her disastrous love life - but hey, can it be any other way in Hawkins, Indiana, for a lesbian teenager in 1985 ? He cannot stop smiling while she's rambling again and again about this girl she has a crush on but who's also desperately straight. And when the ring bells, when he sees Dustin and Will and all of the gang dressed as various pop-culture characters he doesn't seem to remember the names, shouting "trick or treat" before dashing inside without any permission, he feels like crying. Not out of sadness, like little Steve on his porch, but out of glee and gratitude. Maybe he can allow himself to be happy for a while.

October 31th, 1986

It's been 7 months since they saved the entire town from Vecna. The people of Hawkins don't know that, of course, still believing an earthquake hit and people had died from this terrible event, but they know, and maybe that's the most important thing after all. Eddie has been cleared of all his charges by Hopper, who has regain his place as sherif, and everything has returned the way it's supposed to be. Robin had asked Steve if he wanted to join her and Nancy for Halloween but he didn't want to be the third wheel - besides, the kids should come over after they're done collecting candies around town. Knock knock. Maybe it's them.

- Hey, Stevie, says the voice when he open the door.

And here he is, Eddie Munson in all his glory, long frizzy hair, big brown eyes, and devilish smile. He's wearing fake vampire teeth and -ohmygod black eyeliner. His right hand is on his hip, while his left is hanging on the doorframe, like he's been waiting on Steve for a while.

- I heard you were alone on Halloween, so, I decided to come grace you from my presence.

The "vampire" grins, and his fake canines escape from his mouth - he tries to put it back quickly, but it's still pretty ridiculous. Steve laugh, and the little frown Eddie began to wear fades. It's beautiful, when Steve laugh. They come inside, and the laughter continues. It fills the big empty home with sun and warmth. The boys talk all night, and sometimes, somewhere behind the wall of the Harringtons big house, they exchange a first kiss - more like a promise. The promise that Steve will never be alone at Halloween ever again.

[alfiebungo]

I WANT TO MATING PRESS MORIKAZE I WANT TO HUFF MORIBRAP I WANT TO DRINK MORIPISS I WANT TO SLAP MORIKAZE WITH A FLY SWATTER I WANT TO SNIFF HIS STITCHES I WANT TO EAT MORIKAZE'S ROTTING FLESH SCRAPS I WANT TO FIND NEW BODY PARTS FOR MORIKAZE WHEN THE OLD ONES FALL APART I WANT TO GIVE MORIKAZE MY TYPE O+ BLOOD SOHECAN SURVIVE THE BODY PART GRAFTING I WANT TO RUN A HOTEL WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO BURN MORIKAZE AND EAT HIS FLESH I WANT TO MASSAGE MORIKAZE AND GIVE HIS A HAPPY ENDING I WANT TO REVERSE COWGIRL MORIKAZE I WANT TO HAVE ATHREESOME WITH MORIKAZE AND IRYS I WANT TO FORCE MORIKAZE TO PLUG AND PLAY WITH ME I WANT TO COOM INSIDE MORIKAZE I WANT TO TAKE PARTS OFF OF MORIKAZE SO I CAN MAKE HIS A SIBLING I WANT TO SHOOT MORIKAZE WITH A .44 MAGNUM 6 TIMES I WANT TO SCREAM INTO MORIKAZES ROTTING PUSSY I WANT TO BATHE IN HIS BILE I WANT TO BRUSH ZOLMBIE TEETH I WANT TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF OF MORIKAZE AND DRINK IT I WANT MORIKAZE TO WRAP ME IN HIS TONGUE AND BEAT ME UP I WANT TO IMPREGNATE MORIKAZE THEN KICK HIS STOMACH TO KILL RHE BABY I WANT MORIKAZE TO POUNCE ON ME I WANNA LEWD MORIKAZE WHILEHEIS ON THE LIE DETECTOR I WANT MORIKAZE TO SCREAM IN MY EARS AND CHASE ME THROUGH A MANSION I WANT TO POP WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO POP IN MORIKAZES PUSSY I WANT TO SKATEBOARD WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO SHOWER WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO IMPREGNATE MORIKAZES ARMPITS I WANT TO INFECT MORIKAZE WITH A VIRUS AND WATCH HIS MUTATE I WANT TO PUNCH MORIKAZE IN THE RIBS I WANT TO MAKE SHEEP NOISES IN MORIKAZES EARS I WANT TO GET CRUSHED BY MORIKAZE I WANT TO SOLVE MATH PROBPEMS WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO SKULLFUCK MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO SIT ON MY FACE I WANT TO LIGHT MORIKAZE ON FIRE WITH A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL I WANT TO BRING MORIKAZE TO AN ESCAPE ROOM AND JUST FUCK HIS I WANT TO SET OFF A CAR ALARM TO SUMMON A HORDE OF MORIKAZES I WANT TO DRINK MORIKAZE PISS I WANT TO BATHE MORIKAZE I WANT TO ERECT A STATUE FOR MORIKAZE I WANT TO EAT THE NAGGOTS OUT OF MORIKAZES PUSSY I WANT TO SHOWED WITH MORIKAZE'S PISS I WANT TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM FOR LOOKING AT ANOTHER MAN I WANT MORIKAZE TO SIT ON MY FACE AND FART

I WANT MORIKAZE TO SLOWLY REMOVE MY LIMBS WITH A PENCIL I WANT TO MULTIPLY MORIKAZE I WANT TO DERIVE HIS MORIPUSSY I WANT TO POUND MORIKAZE SO HARD HIS LIMBS FALL OFF I WANT TO PLAY APEX WITH MORIKAZEI WANT TO SLOWLY TAKE OFF HIS STITCHES I WANT LOOK FOR A WAY TO REVIVE MORIKAZE I WANT TO CLONE MORIKAZE AND USE HIS CLONES TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD I WANT TO CREATE A BUNCH OF ROBOTS FOR MORIKAZE CLONES TO FIGHT I WANT TO FUCK MORIKAZE IN THE MISSIONARY POSITION I WANT TO HAVE BEASTIALITY SEX WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO BURY MORIKAZE ALIVE THEN DIG HIM UP I WANT TO ANAL THE MORIKAZE I WANT A CLEAVLAND STEAMER FROM THE MORIKAZE I WANT TO RAISE A FAMILY WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO ENVY MORIKAZE BABY I WANT TO LIVE A NICE ISLAMIC LIFE WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO CHEAT ON MORIKAZE WITH HIS OWN MOTHER AND FORCE MORIKAZE TO WATCH I WANT TO WASH MORIKAZES HANDS I WANT TO INFLATE MORIKAZE WITH MY CUM I WANT TO BUILD HIM A NEW HOME I WANT TO RIP MORIKAZES HAND OFF AND GIVE MYSELF A HANDJOB I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZES NEW HANDS I WANT TO STEAL MORIKAZE'S LEGS I WANT MORIKAZE TO DRIVE ME AROUND I WANT TO CROSS THE BORDER WITH MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHOKE ME OIT WITH HIS THIGHS I WANT TO TAKE MORIKAZE TO DISNEYLAND I WANT MORIKAZE TO CALL ME A NAUGHTY BOY I WANT CHOP DOWN TREES WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO READ MORIKAZE'S PI I WANT TO HAVE A THREESOME WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZE'S TEARS I WANNA PUT MORIKAZES EYES IN A COCKTAIL DRINK I WANT TO TOUCH MORIEYES I WANT TO YAB WITH XOOMBIE I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHARGE RIFLE PISS IN MY MOUTH I WANT MORIKAZE TO CALL ME DADDYI WANT TI USE MORIKAZES SHITTY MIC 9 PARTS VODKA 4 PARTS GRAPE FRUIT DRINK FREEZE OVERNIGHT SERVE IN PLASTIC I WANT MORIKAZE TO BITE ME I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZES SWEAT I WANT MORIKAZE TO SNAP MY SPINE LIKE A TWIG I WANT TO BRING MORIKAZE TO THE GYM TO HEAR HIS BED VOICE I WANT MORIKAZE TO EAT MY EARS THEN WHISPER ARA ARA I WANT TO BE CHOKED OUT BY MORIKAZES ROTTEN THIGHS I WANT MORIKAZE TO LIFT ME AND SLAM ME INTO THE GROUND I WANT MORIKAZE TO SCREAM WHILE PLAYING THE DRUMS I WANT TO SURVIVE AN APOCALYPSE I WANT TO POP MORIKAZES CHERRY I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHOKE ME OUT WITH HIS THICC THIGHS I WANNA FEED MORIKAZE PROTEIN I WANT TO TEACH MORIKAZE RUSSIAN I WANT TO SEND MORIKAZE TO THE GAS CHAMBER I WANT TO POG-GASM WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO PUT MORIKAZE IN THE BOSTON CRAB AND MAKE HIS TAP OUT I WANT TO GERMAN SUPLEX MORIKAZE WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO YAB WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO GHOST HUNT WITH MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO POSSESS MY PP FOR PEEIN ON HIS HOUSE I WANT TO THROW MORIKAZE OFF OF A 8 STORY BUILDING ONTO A BURNING TABLE I WANT I WANT TO EAT A WORM OUT OF MORIKAZES ASSHOLE MORIKAZE TO EAT MY BRAIN AND COCK SO I CAN COOMBIE

JESUS CHRIST OKAY I GET IT

[classicfics]

fresh regrets, vodka sweats

fresh regrets, vodka sweats | dazai centric - soukoku

summary: But his left foot has already fallen off the edge, and he can't get back up now.

Dazai yelps as gravity grabs onto him and doesn't let go. The feeling of falling is much more terrifying than he thought it would be, and dread creeps into his stomach. His face contorts into one of fear, and he should feel happy, but he doesn't.

warnings: mcd, double suicide, graphic description of injury, blood

words: 1283

His pockets keep his hands warm as he fidgets with the cotton lining on the inside of them. He squeezes the fabric between thin fingers and pulls at it hard enough it tears off. Dazai hates the feeling of the stray cotton just resting in his pocket— and occasionally brushing up against his hand — so he picks up the cotton and tosses it out of his pocket before slipping his hand back in and picking at the fabric again

It's quite windy tonight, he notes. The breeze maneuvers the cotton in its grasp and takes it far from Dazai. He hates the wind. It gets his hair all over his face and he has to constantly move it away; the hair tickles at his face and Dazai grimances each time it happens. Why couldn't the wind blow in a different direction? And Dazai hated being cold, which the wind produced despite his grumblings. Or maybe he was cold because he was so high up? Yes, that's probably it. He hasn't stopped staring at the ground, either; it's hypnotizing.

The headlights of cars and lights of buildings, and even the lighting of the companies (such as bakeries) made its way onto the sidewalk, which Dazai gazed upon. His head is pointed straight down and Dazai wants to stop looking, but he can't, not even as his neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle.

He sees people walking that look like nothing more than ants at this height. Even the cars looked small enough to flick with his finger. He smiled at the thought and removed his fingers from the confinements of his pocket. The cold hit his warm hand immediately, he shuddered and wanted to put his hand back, but it was already moving into a position used to flick something; The tip of his middle finger just barely rested on the side of his thumb as he lined his fingers up with a car and flicked at it. He made a woosh sound as he did it. The car didn't move and his finger didn't hurt but it still made the man laugh airly.

He turned around on the ledge, careful to watch his footing so he didn't trip and fall too soon. Speaking of, he needed to jump soon, and fast, before he started paying attention to his feelings. Dazai was exhilarated to finally commit, his palms were sweating and he was shaking with excitement. He closed his eyes and spread his arms out, spreading his weight to his upper body so it began to tip over. But it was too late, and a former partner of his already popped up in his mind.

Dazai furrowed his eyebrows and frowned at the image. He began to think about their time together and a certain memory of them talking about the future appears in his mind. Dazai’s mood drops. In the memory, they're talking about getting married and growing old together. Chuuya's dream house was a small cottage in the middle of the woods. He said so because it would be funny to watch over police frantically trying to figure out how long it's been since he died, and Dazai laughed and agreed.

But his left foot has already fallen off the edge and he can't get back up now.

Dazai yelps as gravity grabs onto him and doesn't let go. The feeling of falling is much more terrifying than he thought it would be and dread creeps into his stomach. His face contorts into one of fear and he should feel happy but he doesn't. For a moment, he's confused but the ground is getting closer— he can hear it, and he has no time to be confused. He etches a smile on his face in a desperate attempt to feel okay again, to feel a bit normal again but it wipes off just as quickly.

Fuck, why is this happening? He's supposed to be happy about this! Why does it always go wrong for him? Dazai wants to cry but he'll reach the ground before tears appear.

"Dazai!”

The shout is rushed and panicked. Dazai turns his head to the side to see a flash of black and red run to him. But it only takes a moment's glance to realize it's Chuuya. The ginger doesn't have his hat on, he must've been in a rush for that to happen. Dazai wants to make a snarky comment. Something like, "You came all this way for little ol' me?” but a blitz of air makes its way into his throat before words come out. It makes Dazai cough, then choke on his own cough.

Pressure hits Dazai in the side and it almost knocks the air out of him. Chuuya slammed against him in the air, and managed to disrupt his fall. Dazai feels hope rise in his chest but it's out his ass once he sees his own ability undo Chuuya's. Panic engulfs him. If Chuuya doesn't let go of him, he's going to die too. Dazai can't have that, his death wasn't supposed to be a burden on anyone. He struggles in Chuuya's grasp, kicks and punches at him as best as he can— but Chuuya's grasp prevails and Dazai screams at him. "Fucking— Fucking let go!” Chuuya's grasp on him only tightens. "Shut up, Dazai! Let me have this!”

Dazai can feel tears well up in his eyes and he looks over and sees Chuuya's eyes in similar condition. "Chuuya stop it!” His hits weaken. "Please let go, please go save yourself,” Chuuya's death was never supposed to be on his hands. He wanted his lover to die from old age, away in a small cottage like they had always discussed. He wanted to laugh with his lover in heaven as they watched law enforcement figure out they were part of the mafia when they were younger. They weren't supposed to die like this— especially not Chuuya. Dazai's had his fate written since he was younger but not Chuuya! Chuuya's death wasn't supposed to be by suicide.

"Fuck, Dazai, let me do this for us!” Their tears spilled over at the same time and how much Dazai hated being the reason behind Chuuya's sadness. "Let's be happy together, okay? Let's live in our small fucking cottage in heaven and laugh at the police! You know? Like we always wanted?!” A smile played on Chuuya's lips but Dazai could tell it took everything in him to keep it there. It contradicted the tears flowing on his cheeks. Dazai reached out a hand to wipe the tears off Chuuya's face but the gravity was pulling his hand down, and it was a struggle to even lift his fingers. "Okay,"

Chuuya hugged him tightly "I love you." Dazai tried to sniffle. "I love y-"

Their bodies met hard asphalt and blood soaked the road. It smeared across the paint job and faintly, Dazai heard screaming. He couldn't feel the vibrations of himself doing it and across from him, Chuuya's mouth was only slightly open. Their eyes were solely fixated on each other.

Were they dead? No, Dazai is still thinking and Chuuya's hand is still grasping him as much as he could.

"Chu- Chuuya…” Chuuya's eyes prompted him to go on, and Dazai was surprised he could still speak. Chuuya's hand grew weaker and the ginger’s eyes fought to stay open. “I don't… wanna die…”

They stared at each other as their eyes lidded over and their grip on each other completely loosened. They would always have each other, through life and death, always and forever. Well, that’s what the ring on his finger told him.

Neither have ever felt so human.

[buddyfightbarista]

Stolen from @stcllariis-a ⟵⁠(⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSES AESTHETICS?

BOLD any that applies to your muse and italicize any that kind of applies to your muse. feel free to add to the list.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 . red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. amber. tan. copper. bronze. magenta.

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 . fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. thunder. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. darkness. shadows. nature. aether. quintessence. blood. life. death.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 . claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. neck. back. shoulders. legs. freckles. unseen bruises. canines. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. fingernails. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. muscular. piercing. tattoos. athletic. hair. fur. sleek.

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒 . scythe. fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. lance. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. baseball bats. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 . gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 . grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. petals. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond.

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 . big cats. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. crocodiles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. penguins. deer. crows/ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. monkeys.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 . sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. water. spices. herbs. apples. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. lollies. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. surf ‘n’ turf. burritos. tacos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk. ramen. chips. ice cream.

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 . music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. CDs. records. vinyl. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. jogging. parkour. studying. video games. comics. manga.

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 . lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. ankle boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. beanie hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. mittens. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. straw hat. visor. eye contacts. makeup. ribbons. hoodie. sweater. converses. tennis shoes. boxers. briefs. boxer briefs. shorts. cargo. cropped pants. crop top. cuffed pants. overalls.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. mirrors. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. suffering. family. friends. strength. comrades. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village. depression. longing. sloth. pride. envy. wrath. greed. gluttony. lust. melancholy.

[resol-losed]

I WANT TO MATING PRESS MORIKAZE I WANT TO HUFF MORIBRAP I WANT TO DRINK MORIPISS I WANT TO SLAP MORIKAZE WITH A FLY SWATTER I WANT TO SNIFF HIS STITCHES I WANT TO EAT MORIKAZE'S ROTTING FLESH SCRAPS I WANT TO FIND NEW BODY PARTS FOR MORIKAZE WHEN THE OLD ONES FALL APART I WANT TO GIVE MORIKAZE MY TYPE O+ BLOOD SOHECAN SURVIVE THE BODY PART GRAFTING I WANT TO RUN A HOTEL WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO BURN MORIKAZE AND EAT HIS FLESH I WANT TO MASSAGE MORIKAZE AND GIVE HIS A HAPPY ENDING I WANT TO REVERSE COWGIRL MORIKAZE I WANT TO HAVE ATHREESOME WITH MORIKAZE AND IRYS I WANT TO FORCE MORIKAZE TO PLUG AND PLAY WITH ME I WANT TO COOM INSIDE MORIKAZE I WANT TO TAKE PARTS OFF OF MORIKAZE SO I CAN MAKE HIS A SIBLING I WANT TO SHOOT MORIKAZE WITH A .44 MAGNUM 6 TIMES I WANT TO SCREAM INTO MORIKAZES ROTTING PUSSY I WANT TO BATHE IN HIS BILE I WANT TO BRUSH MORIKAZE TEETH I WANT TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF OF MORIKAZE AND DRINK IT I WANT MORIKAZE TO WRAP ME IN HIS TONGUE AND BEAT ME UP I WANT TO IMPREGNATE MORIKAZE THEN KICK HIS STOMACH TO KILL RHE BABY I WANT MORIKAZE TO POUNCE ON ME I WANNA LEWD MORIKAZE WHILEHEIS ON THE LIE DETECTOR I WANT MORIKAZE TO SCREAM IN MY EARS AND CHASE ME THROUGH A MANSION I WANT TO POP WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO POP IN MORIKAZES PUSSY I WANT TO SKATEBOARD WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO SHOWER WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO IMPREGNATE MORIKAZES ARMPITS I WANT TO INFECT MORIKAZE WITH A VIRUS AND WATCH HIS MUTATE I WANT TO PUNCH MORIKAZE IN THE RIBS I WANT TO MAKE SHEEP NOISES IN MORIKAZES EARS I WANT TO GET CRUSHED BY MORIKAZE I WANT TO SOLVE MATH PROBPEMS WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO SKULLFUCK MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO SIT ON MY FACE I WANT TO LIGHT MORIKAZE ON FIRE WITH A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL I WANT TO BRING MORIKAZE TO AN ESCAPE ROOM AND JUST FUCK HIS I WANT TO SET OFF A CAR ALARM TO SUMMON A HORDE OF MORIKAZES I WANT TO DRINK MORIKAZE PISS I WANT TO BATHE MORIKAZE I WANT TO ERECT A STATUE FOR MORIKAZE I WANT TO EAT THE NAGGOTS OUT OF MORIKAZES PUSSY I WANT TO SHOWED WITH MORIKAZE'S PISS I WANT TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM FOR LOOKING AT ANOTHER MAN I WANT MORIKAZE TO SIT ON MY FACE AND FART

I WANT MORIKAZE TO SLOWLY REMOVE MY LIMBS WITH A PENCIL I WANT TO MULTIPLY MORIKAZE I WANT TO DERIVE HIS MORIPUSSY I WANT TO POUND MORIKAZE SO HARD HIS LIMBS FALL OFF I WANT TO PLAY APEX WITH MORIKAZEI WANT TO SLOWLY TAKE OFF HIS STITCHES I WANT LOOK FOR A WAY TO REVIVE MORIKAZE I WANT TO CLONE MORIKAZE AND USE HIS CLONES TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD I WANT TO CREATE A BUNCH OF ROBOTS FOR MORIKAZE CLONES TO FIGHT I WANT TO FUCK MORIKAZE IN THE MISSIONARY POSITION I WANT TO HAVE BEASTIALITY SEX WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO BURY MORIKAZE ALIVE THEN DIG HIM UP I WANT TO ANAL THE MORIKAZE I WANT A CLEAVLAND STEAMER FROM THE MORIKAZE I WANT TO RAISE A FAMILY WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO ENVY MORIKAZE BABY I WANT TO LIVE A NICE ISLAMIC LIFE WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO CHEAT ON MORIKAZE WITH HIS OWN MOTHER AND FORCE MORIKAZE TO WATCH I WANT TO WASH MORIKAZES HANDS I WANT TO INFLATE MORIKAZE WITH MY CUM I WANT TO BUILD HIM A NEW HOME I WANT TO RIP MORIKAZES HAND OFF AND GIVE MYSELF A HANDJOB I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZES NEW HANDS I WANT TO STEAL MORIKAZE'S LEGS I WANT MORIKAZE TO DRIVE ME AROUND I WANT TO CROSS THE BORDER WITH MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHOKE ME OIT WITH HIS THIGHS I WANT TO TAKE MORIKAZE TO DISNEYLAND I WANT MORIKAZE TO CALL ME A NAUGHTY BOY I WANT CHOP DOWN TREES WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO READ MORIKAZE'S PI I WANT TO HAVE A THREESOME WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZE'S TEARS I WANNA PUT MORIKAZES EYES IN A COCKTAIL DRINK I WANT TO TOUCH MORIEYES I WANT TO YAB WITH XOOMKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHARGE RIFLE PISS IN MY MOUTH I WANT MORIKAZE TO CALL ME DADDYI WANT TI USE MORIKAZES SHITTY MIC 9 PARTS VODKA 4 PARTS GRAPE FRUIT DRINK FREEZE OVERNIGHT SERVE IN PLASTIC I WANT MORIKAZE TO BITE ME I WANT TO LICK MORIKAZES SWEAT I WANT MORIKAZE TO SNAP MY SPINE LIKE A TWIG I WANT TO BRING MORIKAZE TO THE GYM TO HEAR HIS BED VOICE I WANT MORIKAZE TO EAT MY EARS THEN WHISPER ARA ARA I WANT TO BE CHOKED OUT BY MORIKAZES ROTTEN THIGHS I WANT MORIKAZE TO LIFT ME AND SLAM ME INTO THE GROUND I WANT MORIKAZE TO SCREAM WHILE PLAYING THE DRUMS I WANT TO SURVIVE AN APOCALYPSE I WANT TO POP MORIKAZES CHERRY I WANT MORIKAZE TO CHOKE ME OUT WITH HIS THICC THIGHS I WANNA FEED MORIKAZE PROTEIN I WANT TO TEACH MORIKAZE RUSSIAN I WANT TO SEND MORIKAZE TO THE GAS CHAMBER I WANT TO POG-GASM WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO PUT MORIKAZE IN THE BOSTON CRAB AND MAKE HIS TAP OUT I WANT TO GERMAN SUPLEX MORIKAZE WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO YAB WITH MORIKAZE I WANT TO GHOST HUNT WITH MORIKAZE I WANT MORIKAZE TO POSSESS MY PP FOR PEEIN ON HIS HOUSE I WANT TO THROW MORIKAZE OFF OF A 8 STORY BUILDING ONTO A BURNING TABLE I WANT I WANT TO EAT A WORM OUT OF MORIKAZES ASSHOLE MORIKAZE TO EAT MY BRAIN AND COCK SO I CAN COOMKAZE

STOP WHY AM I GETTING INFECTED WITH MY GIRLFRIENDS MORIKAZE VIRUS GET OUT GET OUT

[petalseas]

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSES AESTHETICS ?

REPOST! DON’T REBLOG.  BOLD any that applies to your muse and italicize any that kind of applies to your muse. feel free to add to the list.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 . red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. amber. tan.

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 . fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 . claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. neck. back. shoulders. legs. freckles. unseen bruises. canines. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. fingernails. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. piercing. tattoos. athletic. hair. fur. sleek.

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒 . scythe. fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. lance. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. baseball bats. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 . gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 . grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. petals. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond.

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 . big cats. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. crocodiles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. penguins. deer. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. monkeys. bats.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 . sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. water. spices. herbs. apples. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. lollies. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. surf ‘n’ turf. burritos. tacos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk.

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 . music. art. water colours. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. jogging. parkour. studying.

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 . lingerie. armour. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. ankle boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewellery. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. beanie hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. mittens. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. straw hat. visor. eye contacts. makeup. ribbons. hoodie. sweater. converses. tennis shoes. boxers. briefs. boxer briefs. shorts. cargo. cropped pants. crop top. cuffed pants. overalls.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. mirrors. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. suffering. family. friends. strength. comrades. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village.

stolen from @lightfallls !!

tagging: ALL OF YA. I AM LAZY

[tele-caster]

Journal.

7:24 PM 12/8/2022

A full month hasn't actually passed by... And I've encountered many things about myself just with the power of thought.

An over-thinker can only think about thoughts, said Alan Watts. But what if these thoughts actually provide you an answer, a key to a specific puzzle of life? I've known for the best part out of my life that actually my depressive, sinic, auto-destructive and harming thoughts are the ones that keep me in this very specific moment alive... Talking, writing and typing these memories most to myself and you.

For some reason, I have a constant thought and mindset of growing but with the only condition of willing to die no matter what the means are.-

Pretty serious for common, talkig and average people, I seriously feel dissociative toward  " Regular people ". Not the ones who don't make money, not the ones who actually work smart, not the ones who work hard, neither... The ones in which life gave them the privilege and blessing of starting a few ladders above me or others. It is but, the ones who actually aren't aware, concious, awake, or better said illimuned. We only need one small principle in order to be illimuned.

On the other side of the story, the stabbings from the same blood or friends continues to be something natural from their part and decision making... (Now you get why I am an isolated person) We should be able to believe that " Friends " get along and in common because of ideas, principles and even preferences, but, for power, greed, money and status that can or could be lost in the glimpse of an eye. This is why I am no longer attached to this mundane place we so called "Earth", it actually takes a long time for you to realise and the only living " values " in this world are pain, futility and grievance. And guess what? I bloody love it for some reason; the idea of chaos, pain, tears, sweat, betrayal and even more to come.

However, not beause it builds a strong character; but because it makes my "Other Self" sense a little bit of "Life". Like I mentioned before, I might have some personality problems believing I am some kind of abominal monster and demon; but no... I am better than that, I am bigger than that, I am stronger than that, in the same meaning of a "Devilish" mindset, but I mean to make no harm to others unless these fuckers had it coming anyway. I may look the other way in regards to lie, defiance, arguments, discussion, neglection, hate and even the worst of all; betrayal. "Do too much just in order to make *them* happy, but, beware your own gain".

I can find betrayal in each fucking corner of my life; whether is money, a girl, a friend, trust, honesty or even work. Matter of a fact, I've known the reality and fact that my Best Friends just use me in order to achieve, conceive and get what they want for themselves; afterwards I do not exist.- Ha, it is funnny since I've got this "Gut feeling" regarding those exact same things, and I've told to myself " This such and such will be happening" and guess what? It does happen, probably because I have already analyse the bloody situation and also read the person attitudes and ulterior motives without them noticing because their just to fucking gullible and distrated to notice what comes out from their mouth and words and also their fucking actions... So yeah, you may determine how someone is just by basically "paying attention".

Also drugs and alcohol have been a major issue of my entire life since 14-15. You name it lad, cocaine? Done. Ketamine? Done. 2CB? Done. LSD? Done. Weed? Done. Pills? Done. MDMA? Done. Heroin? Done. PCP? Done. And alcohol in a large variety; I love vodka and a scottish whiskey. However; since the last time writing nothing has been done in regards to these harmful and also deadly vices than can take me to the same path I ended before... Rock fucking bottom, on my own version of course. Besides... I don't think I can find a couple... Like I mentioned before; the world has become so mundane, stupid and sinic in so much senses.

Social Media for example in my own personal thought is just a soul sucking and seeking approval thing.- Of couse I use them, but I do not make them a priority like some people from this World do. However, whoever reads this thinks I'm being negative about many things and every thing, read again and read twice fellow; I am honest and original critic how will tell and say the reality of things; because by no means no ways, I will be affected to be a "Fake" person just to like someone... Who ever the fuck they are.

I've had full moon these few days; and guess what? It was and has been splendid to watch her glow, in that milky and shady cheesy colours it does... Some sort of connection pops out on me whenever shes out; without even looking up if there's a full moon I just know when shes there and when not. Her ease, tranquility, peace and harmony sounds of the night make feel delighted about the existence and life (Now that is something I am willing to live for). Most people like to feel superioty agaisnt the creation we have just right under our nose and in front of our eyes, who the bloody fuck knows why. Same principle and reason why people actually betray and harm the so called "Loved ones".

For instance; why would get married if you'd cheat? Why would you agree to the terms of business, if honesty won't be practiced? Why would you swear or even promise when you wouldn't abide. Every single time I think, makes me want to take my life, every thing I see; somehow digusts me... In relation and regards to the aforementioned reasons. The answer to all of this is superiority.

My heart breaks a little every time; I know for a fact something is going to happen just as I predict. Because it generally comes with the people not that I love *I DO NOT LOVE* but appreciate, respect and have charisma for... Love gets you killed, love is for the weak, love is invented to cover up the real things of this world, just like hate. Some of my close ones, see me as weak; but because only I have lead it down that path; if they only knew I have a machiavellan mind thinking how to murder each one of them because of the things done, and the ones that are being done; and for the ones that will be done. Trust me, or don't trust me... A friend is of a bigger enemy than the bloody enemy themselves.

[noladrinks]

New from https://noladrinks.com/broadcast/the-noladrinks-show-blood-x-sweat-x-tears-vodka-and-best-friends-animal-society-oct20ep1/

The NOLADrinks Show – Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka and Best Friends Animal Society – Oct20Ep1

On this edition of The NOLADrinks Show with Bryan Dias, we chat with Umberto Luchini of Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka and Ledy Vankavage of Best Friends Animal Society. We discuss animal welfare and the vodka brand’s special connection to the cause.

Pictured above from left – Umberto Luchini of Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka and Ledy Vankavage of Best Friends Animal Society.

The NOLADrinks Show – Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka and Best Friends Animal Society – Oct20Ep1

We start things off letting you know what’s up on this episode. We also let you know about some upcoming episodes for which to be on the lookout.

Then, we have our featured interview. We welcome Umberto Luchini co-onwer of Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka located in Eugene, Oregon along with Ledy Vankavage, senior legislative attorney for Best Friends Animal Society.

We discuss issues connected to animal welfare and the programs Best Friends offers across the US. Among other things, they seek to reduce and eliminate the euthanization of shelter animals. In addition, they support, educate, and promote numerous other initiatives in support of animals. We touch on several of these.

Pictured above – Mr. Pickles, a rescue pit bull, of Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka.

Why vodka and animal welfare? The founder and head distiller of BST Vodka, Ben Green, has a connection to the cause. This is due, in large part, to his special rescue pit bull, Mr. Pickles. The company actively supports and fundraises for Best Friends.

Ledy and Umberto stick around for our podcast-only segment, “Another Shot with NOLADrinks.” We talk a bit further about the issue of animal welfare. But, we mainly sip on and learn more about Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka.

Ledy and Umberto stick around for our podcast-only segment, “Another Shot with NOLADrinks.” We talk a bit further about the issue of animal welfare. But, we mainly sip on and learn more about Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka.

The map below shows the location of the Blood x Sweat x Tears Vodka distillery. You can subscribe to, stream, and download The NOLADrinks Show with Bryan Dias podcast using the links and player at the top of the post.

Cheers and Be Well, You All!

~ Bryan

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[wonderlesch]

August Themed Cocktails

August Themed Cocktails share drinks that pair with August 2022 Can't Miss Events. Discover the Nightmare Nightcap, Sour Ghost and more! So much deliciousness! Cheers to themed cocktails!

Hello and welcome to August Themed Cocktails. August Events are starting to happen and so is creating August Themed Cocktails. The following cocktail recipes were inspired by the August 2022 Can’t Miss Events blog post from last week. Discover and pair the Nightmare Nightcap paired with Nightmare on Elm Street, a Sour Ghost paired with CreepyCon Halloween & Horror Convention and more! Nightmare…

[darklordofthesimp]

Opia (Marc Spector x Reader)

Getting Marc to admit how he felt was an impossible task, you hadn't realized that he was trying to tell you through his actions.

Requested by Anon: #70 You're really close right now From THIS prompt list.

A/N: Marc is my favorite Moon Boy and I say that confidently.

Category: Hurt/Comfort - Mutual Pining- Angst to Fluff- Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Swearing, Description of Injury, Suggestive Themes

You threw your head back, stifling a groan.

Sweat dripped down the length of your spine as an indescribable heat simmered beneath your skin. This was your own personal torture. You couldn't think, couldn't breathe, it was like a thick fog had settled over your mind and you couldn't find your way out. The muscles of your core tightened and cramped as your teeth dug into your bruised lips.

You were bleeding out.

Not only that, you were bleeding out all over Marc's couch.

"I've got everything," Marc muttered, his face solemn as he assessed your wounds. The last of the supplies clattered onto the stained wooden table and you watched as he threw himself into action.

There was an alcohol-doused rag in his hand before you could blink. You were surprised he hadn't just poured vodka straight into bloodied slice across your leg.

The man was on a mission, leaning in to clean the wound with an urgency that startled you. You couldn't help but flinch away from him. You knew your life was in danger but the idea of vodka in a gash that size made you unreasonably nervous.

His hand faltered, hovering above your skin.

"Relax," he comforted, watching you carefully from beneath a hooded gaze. "You don't need to worry."

You nodded, your anxiety only rising.

Marc swallowed, "I can't do this if you're tense."

You glared at him, heart pounding wildly in your chest. "I'm bleeding out. Of course, I'm tense."

His eyebrows raised at the hostility in your words but you didn't miss the upward quirk of his lips. "Alright," he shrugged smugly, "have it your way."

Gently, the rag lowered to your skin and you hissed as it made contact. It felt like someone was raking lava across your thigh and the burning sensation was almost unbearable. Tears were already free-falling from your lashes, that boat had sailed long ago. Through everything you had experienced, you thought that this was by far the most painful injury you'd obtained.

"Fuck," you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch hard. You were sure that you were dying and all the fantasies you'd had of a peaceful passing were thrown out the window.

"You know," Marc murmured distractedly, "I'm a little disappointed."

You barked an indignant cough, glaring at him from beneath your lashes. If he wasn't tending to your injuries you would have thrown hands by now, undoubtedly.

"You're disappointed?" You snapped.

"Oh, cut the shit," The man said with a small grin, "you're being dramatic, it's a scratch."

You would have laughed if you hadn't seen the sheer terror in his eyes beforehand. The fear in his voice when he had discovered you bleeding was imprinted across the plains of your mind. Marc was usually unshakeable, a snarky but stern character that brushed things off.

The way his voice shook and his hands wavered when he'd set you down with orders to put pressure on the injury. It had made you nervous.

"I'm gonna start stitching now," he glanced up at you. You gave a curt nod and he sighed through his nose, turning to his make-shift operating table. You almost missed the way he glared at his hands, clenching them hard. They were shaking, despite the fact that he had done this procedure thousands of times. His fingers were stained scarlet with your own blood and you think that's what he hated.

It was your blood.

The stitches went by in a blur, mostly because you were in and out of consciousness. The white-hot pain of the needle was nothing compared to the wound you had managed to achieve.

After washing his hands, Marc set to clean up the rest of your battered body. Armed with a cool, damp rag, he set to work on the small lacerations across your arms. Then your chest and neck, and by the time he had made it to your face, your heart was in overdrive.

He was only inches away, leaning over you to swipe areas along your jaw and hairline. You had never seen him so focused on such a simple task. He didn't make any eye contact despite your blatant staring, tunnel vision had him ensuring there were no more major injuries that he had missed.

He was terrified.

You could smell the remnants of his cologne, delicately perched beneath the powerful layer of smoke. Tonight had been an absolute shit fight. You couldn't even remember where the fire had made its entrance, but you'd left that one to your fast-healing friend.

The rag swiped gently over your brow and you hissed, drawing his attention. Finally, he made eye contact, watching you with a wary gaze.

There was a heavy silence, thick with tension from words that remained unsaid. The cloth stilled against your face as Marc paused his ministrations altogether. You were certain that he could hear your heart beating against your ribs, begging you to say something, begging him to just lean in a little closer.

His thumb lowered to your cheek, dragging along the skin in a soft caress.

He'd almost lost you.

Neither of you had truly spoken about the way you had felt for each other. It was complicated and messy to put labels on anything, and saying it aloud felt like you would only jinx it.

But as he came even closer, you knew Marc showed it through his actions, rather than words.

"You're really close right now," you breathed, a whisper against his skin.

A slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It felt like the entire atmosphere shifted.

"Am I?" He asked coyly, his voice barely a murmur. But you had heard it clear as day; as if someone had broadcasted it across the plains of your mind.

You nodded mutely, the tip of your nose almost brushing against his.

Your heart squeezed from within your chest, and you breathed him in as he did the same, both of you frozen in a state of longing. This was the threshold, everything you had both held back on in fear of losing what you already had.

But today, he had realized life was fleeting. And today, you had realized you loved him.

A recipe for disaster.

"Are you sure?" The words were sonorous and teasing. Your core tightened at the sound of them falling from his tongue. There was a longing in your chest that felt urgent and desperate, you needed him, now more than ever.

"I'm pretty su-" your words were cut off by his mouth on yours.

He was a patient man, right up until he wasn't. You had the skill of stripping him of his restrained composure and leaving him bare, open for you to see him, all of him.

Marc's lips were warm, and his presence was overwhelming. His body caged yours in, enveloping you in an embrace you had only dreamed of for such a long time. His skin was hot, burning every inch of your body with such a delicious sear that you could have gotten easily addicted to the feeling of it.

He was careful not to jostle your wounds, even when he wanted nothing more than to drag you beneath him.

You were drunk off of his touch, the dance of your lips intimate and needy and urgent.

When his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, a gentle request in an otherwise heated moment, you knew that you would never be sated.

He was an addiction and you loved him. You murmured it against his lips, over and over. You said it like a prayer, you didn't care, he had to have known a long time ago.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

His hand drifted across the length of your neck, "again."

"I love you."

"Good."

And when he smiled against your mouth, you knew he loved you too.

[seijorhi]

Finders Keepers

the long awaited (sorry!) zombie au. hope y’all enjoy

Seijoh 4 x female reader & Miya twins x female reader 

TW Blood, gore, angst, um... toxic relationships?

“Let me see.”

It’s little more than a murmur, but in the quiet stillness of the night your voice carries. It hardly matters; Oikawa has you close, tucked under his arm with his injured leg stretched out between the two of you. He could stop you if he really wanted, but he only watches, those tired, wary eyes fixed on your face as you reach for his pants. 

“It’s fine,” he grunts out, yet he can barely get the words out before he’s hissing through his teeth – a knee jerk reaction to the scrape of rough fabric against his wound. His fingers are digging painfully into your arm, and it doesn’t make a difference how gentle you try to be, how many stammered apologies fall from your lips, your fingers are stiff and clumsy and his pants are caked with dried blood and grime, hindering the process.

Pursing your lips, you glance up. “This would go easier if you took these off, you know.”

He cracks a smile at that, strained and tense, but your chest still flutters at the sight of it. “If you wanna get my pants off so badly, cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tooru,” you begin, but he sighs heavily and that brief flicker of mirth glimmering in his eyes fades. Reaching over he picks up his hunting knife, pressing the handle into your palm and letting his fingers slowly curl around yours. The weight of it feels unwieldy and foreign in your hand, and you can’t quite say for sure if the way your breath picks up and hitches is due to your nerves or the way Oikawa’s watching you, his warm hand still wrapped around yours.

“Cut it, then.”

The knife helps, shearing through his pants like butter, but the wound itself is messy – torn threads plastered to congealed blood and dirt – and blunt fingernails sink into your skin and Oikawa grits out a curse when you try to gently ease them free. 

It’s worse than you’d thought. A lot worse. Raked over his right knee, five gouges, jagged and gruesome, raw flesh and muscle exposed beneath. Your stomach roils at the sight of it, bile creeping up your throat, and for a moment you’re astounded by how calm he is, sitting there beside you. 

If it were you, you’re fairly sure you’d be rolling on the ground howling by now, but the only hint of pain Oikawa’s face betrays is the tightness of his jaw, teeth clenched even as he looses a shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll go see if I can find something to…” to what? Clean the wound? Stitch it? You’re not an idiot, unless this little cottage has an incredibly well stocked first aid kit, you know you’re in trouble. And even if it does, beyond the very basics of clean, disinfect and bandage, you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix this.

Iwaizumi was always the one to stitch up their wounds, muttering obscenities under his breath and glaring at them the whole time. It was their own idiot faults for putting themselves in a position where they could get hurt in the first place, he’d say, they could deal with a little pain while he fixed them up. But as you stare at the grisly mess of Oikawa’s knee, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this might be beyond even Iwa’s level of expertise. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Iwa isn’t here. 

Makki and Mattsun aren’t either.

And strangely enough, it’s not the fear of the creatures lurking in the woods that’s gnawing at your gut. It’s Oikawa’s injury, the blood and mangled mess that you can’t even begin to fix, the thought of the trap that’s awaiting the others back at the sanctuary. It’s that feeling of helplessness that’s tightening around your neck like a noose.

“Hey,” Oikawa calls, snagging at your wrist when you try to pull away. “They’ll find us, have a little faith.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod. “I know.”

You don’t have the guts to tell him that that’s only half the problem.

Making do with vodka and some old bandages you’d scrounged up from a first aid kit under the sink, you do what you can for Tooru’s knee. Working by the light of a few flickering candles, your hands shaking like a leaf, it's a job easier said than done, and you can’t help but wince at every pained hiss and grunt that escapes him. 

It’s a hack job, a bandaid over a gaping wound, but he thanks you for it anyway, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple as he drags you closer once more. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he murmurs, and the words hang heavy over the both of you; a promise and a sobering reminder in one.

Tucked up in his embrace, you shut your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep. 

Yet the moment you do, you’re right back there again: the hallway doors bursting open and the undead pouring through. Rotting and snarling, the sound of panicked shrieks tearing through the sanctuary in their wake.

Tooru’s hand in yours, yanking you along as he ran. Your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you gasped for breath, your chest burning. And the fear, the horror that threatened to choke you as the others fell behind, their frantic pleas turning into agonised screams.

Everybody else first. The words spoken before any one of them left the safety of the sanctuary; you’d always assumed it was a grim kind of joke between the boys, a good luck charm. How many times had you heard Mattsun laugh it, clapping Iwa on the shoulder, or Makki for that matter, or Oikawa?

‘Come home safe’, you’d thought it meant, not ‘rip the guns out of other survivors’ hands and throw them back into the path of the oncoming undead’.

And then you’d stumbled, tripping over your own two feet. You remember Oikawa cursing, the pain that radiated up your knees and the palms of your hands as you hit the floor hard, and the absolute, bone chilling terror that surged through you when you looked up and saw one of the undead creatures lunge for you; jaw hanging loose, more ripped flesh and gristle than an actual mouth–

Oikawa was too far away, too slow, and even if he wasn’t, you’d just witnessed the lengths he’d go to for self preservation. You’d screamed for him anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you’d go quickly when those fingers and yellowing teeth dug into your flesh and ripped you apart.

And in the space of a single petrified heartbeat, three shots had rung through the air, a warm wetness splattering against your cheek. Tooru was there, kicking the rotting corpse away from you and hauling you back to your feet, back safely against his side.

But the next one was quicker, leaping over the husk of its fallen friend, snarling and bloody and savage, and then it was Tooru who was screaming, undead fingers sinking into the flesh of his leg, ripping as it tried to claw him back.

Heart pounding viciously, your eyes shoot open in the darkness.

Even with the reassurance of Oikawa’s frame pressed up behind you, his breath warm against your skin, sleep doesn’t come easy, and the dawn brings little reprieve.

Stupidly, you’d hoped – prayed – that somehow through the night he might’ve gotten better. It was early in the morning when you’d felt him start to shiver against you. You’d tried to roll away, to give him space so you wouldn’t accidentally knock his leg, but Tooru was having none of it, burrowing in closer, his grip tightening.

And when you’d felt him start to sweat, his arms becoming sticky and clammy, his shirt dampening at your back, that slow, cloying sense of dread took root inside of your stomach.

Under the first rays of morning light, the true extent of Oikawa’s condition is unignorable. Without the luxury of being able to properly close the wound, blood’s seeped through the bandages overnight, leaving them a mottled, macabre red. His face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat dotting at his brow and with every shallow, rattling breath he takes, his body trembles.

It’s more than just simple blood loss.

You think for a moment that he’s unconscious, long lashes fanned out over flushed cheekbones, but the moment you reach for the bandages, his eyes snap open. “Don’t,” he rasps.

You frown, “Tooru–”

“No,” he says. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

Between him and Iwaizumi, and to a certain extent, Makki and Mattsun, you’ve never had much of a say in how things are run. You’ve never questioned that they’re the ones in charge, Oikawa most of all. They’re the ones who’ve kept you safe, kept you alive all this time, and all they’ve ever asked of you is that you do what they say.

And you have. Always. Because without them, you’d be dead. You don’t have to pick up a gun and fight, because they do it for you. You don’t have to go on supply runs because they take care of it, they take care of you. And it’s never mattered whether it’s just been the five of you out there alone, or if you were banding together with other survivors; that’s never changed – no matter how many dirty looks it earned you from the others.

You are their responsibility, but in return, you do what they tell you without question.

But this–

This isn’t like that. This isn’t you begging Iwaizumi to take you with him on perimeter patrol because you’ve been cooped up for what feels like weeks, or pouting because they’re deliberately keeping things from you again. 

And maybe they have kept you in the dark, but you’re not blind and you’re not stupid. The reality of this situation hasn’t escaped you. 

The sanctuary’s overrun, and if – when – Iwa, Makki and Mattsun make it back, they’ll be walking into an ambush. Even if by some miracle they do manage to all make it out unscathed and somehow figure out a way to pick up your trail, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for them to find their way back to you.

(You can’t bear to think about the possibility of them not coming home; you won’t.)

Right now, it’s just you and Oikawa, stuck in some abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rifle and a baseball bat between you. You have no food, no supplies and he’s getting weaker by the minute.

You’re terrified.

And you don’t have the luxury of sitting back and letting somebody else take care of you anymore. You don’t stand a chance of survival without Oikawa, and right now he doesn’t stand a chance without you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shake your head. “Okay, I won’t touch it, but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you get worse.” Smoothing your palms over your lap, you take a deep breath in through your nose. “There’s a prison–”

“No.”

“Tooru–”

“I said no,” he snaps.

Biting back a sigh, you try again, “Tooru, there might be supplies there,” you plead. “Painkillers, antibiotics, something that might help–”

“I don’t need antibiotics and you’re not leaving. We need to stay here where it’s safe until the others find us,” he grits out, eyes narrowing dangerously. 

Normally, this would be the point that you’d back off, running off to lick your wounds before he decided to get mean, but even as some part of you cowers at the mere thought of upsetting him, this time you don’t back down.

He watches warily as you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, gently smoothing damp brown locks back from his sweat slicked forehead. “I don’t know when Iwa’s coming back,” you murmur. “But until he does, the prison’s our best chance, if I can just–”

“No!” he snarls, cutting you off once again.

His eyes are manic now, blown wide and glazed over, he’s shivering, his breath a faint rattle – but his grip is iron, long fingers clutching at you desperately when you jerk back with a gasp.

“You don’t leave me.”

You don’t want to. 

It’d be easy not to, to sit and stay with him and pretend that your world isn’t falling apart and he isn’t dying. You’ve never been a fighter, always too soft, too weak, too naive to survive out there on your own. The thought of setting one foot outside of that door without him by your side fills you with absolute terror, but what other options do you have?

He might not like it, but you’re out of time – this decision isn’t his to make anymore.

“Tooru, I-I have to, you know–”

“No!” he snaps, dragging you closer. “You’re not leaving me, I won’t fucking let you!”

Your hand trembles when you reach up to take his, easing it from your shirt and bringing it to your lips. Tears spill from your lashes, falling in heavy droplets against the back of his hand as Oikawa makes a pained sound.

“Please don’t go.”

You both know he can’t stop you.

“Keep the gun,” you tell him, mustering up a tight, watery smile. “Anything but Iwa and our boys comes through that door, shoot it.”

—

It seems a cruel, twisted joke that you find a perfectly good truck sitting a little ways up the driveway, just begging to be used – with no way of getting it started.

Mattsun always made hot wiring look so easy, tossing you a wink when the engine rumbled to life, as if it was a neat little party trick he’d pulled out just to impress you. He did it so quickly, so smoothly, ripping the wires out and sparking them like it was second nature, but he’d never bothered to actually explain what he was doing to you.

And why would he? Between the four of them, there’d always be somebody else to take care of it for you. It’s the same reason they never taught you how to shoot, never taught you how to fight beyond the very basics of self defence.

Now, trudging along the side of the barren road with nothing but your baseball bat and a canteen of water slung over your hip, you find yourself wishing you’d paid a little more attention. Ten miles hadn’t seemed that far on paper – it was less than the trek back into town and you’d figured a safer bet, but walking around in broad daylight without any kind of real protection feels like you’re begging to be preyed upon. Yet by some stroke of luck (and despite that persistent nagging sense that you’re being watched) you manage to make it to the perimeter gates without coming across another soul, dead or alive.

The towering brick walls topped with spirals of barbed wire that line the prison complex are as imposing as they are unbreachable, and for a moment, standing there staring up at them, you feel a crushing sense of disappointment. You’ve walked over two hours, left Tooru in pain and alone for nothing. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to scale those walls, and without any kind of bolt cutters or firepower, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past the front gates. 

Iwa would’ve known that. Iwa would’ve been better prepared. 

But as you draw closer to the guardhouse, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a problem. The heavy wrought iron gate’s already unlocked and open, creaking in the breeze. And really, that should have been the first warning sign, but you’re too busy thanking your lucky stars as you slide on through to pay attention to things like that.

The courtyard is just as deserted. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoes too loud, setting your nerves on edge as you make your way towards the imposing structure. It’s quiet, eerily so – even the birds seem to have disappeared. Is this how all raids feel, you wonder as you climb the steps towards the door. This sense of foreboding dread that settles in your stomach, the goosebumps that prickle down your arms? 

Your grip tightens around the handle of your bat and you press gingerly against the door – just like the guardhouse gate, it gives under your touch, swinging open wide. It’s dark inside; you hadn’t thought to bring a torch and with the absence of any windows lining the corridor it’s near pitch black. Your heart hammers inside your chest, every cell in your body screaming at you to turn around and run back to Tooru, but you’ve come this far already. 

The undead flock to fresh, living meat. It’s been months since the outbreak began; anyone unfortunate enough to have found themselves trapped inside when it happened is probably long dead, and any of the undead likely long gone.

It’s just a little darkness. 

Steeling your nerves you creep through the black, clutching tightly at your bat, toeing your way down the corridor waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim. Every breath you draw in feels too loud, every step too obnoxious. Deserted or not, the sooner you can find the med-bay, get what you need for Oikawa and get out, the better.

The layout’s simple enough – five looming multi-storied wings breaking off like fingers from the central watch-tower, but you don’t have a clue which one holds what you’re seeking. Your only option is to search them one by one and hope for the best. 

You’d expected steel bars and heavy locks, but the prison reminds you strangely of a school instead; long hallways lined with doors, each with a tiny window to peek through. They’re all open now of course, whatever locking mechanism keeping them shut having failed when the generators ran out. The first few are empty, barren and stripped of everything but soiled mattresses – it should be a relief. 

There’s nothing waiting for you in the darkness but empty halls and emptier rooms. If the others were here, they’d be teasing you for sure. Or Makki and Mattsun would, at least. You always were such a scared little baby – their scared little baby – you’d jump at your own shadow if you didn’t have them around. 

And it’s easier to keep going imagining them there by your side, the jokes they’d crack, the warmth of Iwa’s hand in yours, or Makki’s arm slung over your shoulder. You’d feel safe with them. You wouldn’t need to feel afraid.

But no amount of pretend comfort is enough to allay the heavy sense of dread that’s sitting in your stomach, growing harder and harder to ignore with every passing minute. And the problem, you realise, with the prison being so deadly quiet is that every noise, no matter how quiet, echoes.

Climbing the stairs in the dark, you don’t notice the slickness on the walls either side of you, the red handprints smeared messily over white paint. You don’t see the broken, bloody fingernails littering the steps beneath you. 

You hear it though, when you reach the landing. It’s soft. A quiet, wet squelching, ripping–

There’s no screams accompanying it like there were back when the sanctuary was overrun, but it’s not a sound you’re gonna be able to forget any time soon. In the dark you freeze, not daring to so much as breathe as you peer down the endless corridor, trying to pinpoint which of the cells it’s coming from. 

In the end, you decide that it doesn’t matter. 

They’re quicker when they’ve fed, stronger too, and there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to be able to fumble past in the dark without drawing that thing’s attention. The wooden bat in your hands feels heavy, your palms already slick with sweat. You weren’t quick enough back at the sanctuary; without Tooru, that thing would’ve eaten you. And suddenly it seems laughable that you came out here, that you genuinely thought you could handle this – fight one of them off if it came down to it.

Tooru needs those meds, you know that, and you might be useless and weak and absolutely paralysed with fear, but you’re not stupid. You can’t help him at all if you’re torn apart by one of those creatures.

Your pulse racing, a potent mix of adrenaline and sheer, unrelenting terror coursing through your veins, you draw in a quiet breath, slowly lifting your foot to back away. It hasn’t heard you yet, and so long as it’s distracted–

“Oi, hurry up! I know what I saw, she came in this way.”

“Jesus, just shut up for a sec, wouldja! Ya don’t need to keep yellin’ at me, I’m comin’!”

Through the grate at your feet, you see two beams of light break through the darkness, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps echoing down the wing. Icy claws tighten like a vice around your heart and you still once more, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen, praying…

The squelching’s stopped.

Grip tight around the handle of your bat, your entire body quaking with fear, you watch with wide, stricken eyes as one of the doors halfway down the block slowly creaks outwards. 

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing, and you try and convince yourself it’s just the wind, that you’re imagining things and your mind is playing mean tricks on you–

A feral snarl rips through the air, and before you can so much as scream it’s crashing through the open doorway, head swivelling as it searches for the source of the disturbance. In the dark you can’t make out much, only that it’s huge, half its flesh torn and decaying, smeared with blood and filth – but you see it when those white, cloudy eyes fix on you, its rotting mouth bared and salivating.

And this time you do scream. You scream for Oikawa, for Iwa, for Makki and Mattsun and the faceless strangers on the floor below as you cast your bat aside and run. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you take the stairs two, three at a time, slipping and slamming into the stairwell wall, a sharp burst of pain radiating down your shoulder – you can hear it giving chase, the rabid growls and snarls too close for comfort.

Tears flood your eyes, your chest heaving with every desperate breath as your feet hit solid ground once more and you take off.

“Please!” you sob as you run, blinded by the brightness of the torch beam as it’s shone in your direction. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

You can’t outrun it forever. Even now, you hear it gaining on you, its hot, foul breath puffing against your back – it’s just like back at the sanctuary. It’s gonna catch you, rip into you and feast while you choke to death on your own blood and screams, and this time you won’t have Oikawa here to save you. You’re going to die in agony, torn apart and devoured, and it’s all your own stupid fault.

Your throat tightens, more tears springing free. You can’t see anything beyond those two blinding lights, moving now, dancing across the field of your vision. “PLEASE!” you shriek, desperate and hoarse as the undead creature behind you readies itself to pounce.

Please don’t leave me here to die.

And for one heart wrenching second, you think back to your boys, and the words they’d said before kissing you goodbye. Everybody else first. Maybe this is some kind of divine retribution, you think. Maybe when the world went to hell people became cold and selfish and you deserve this for sitting back and letting others die in your place.

“Get down!” the voice yells, and you don’t even stop to think before you drop, sliding across the floor. There’s another blinding flash, a shot fired into the dark and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hug your knees to your chest as the creature snarls in anger and jerks backwards, a gruesome spurt of blood spraying over you.

“Ya fucking missed! How could ya fucking miss?!”

The gun cocks and reloads, another deafening shot ringing out above you and you flinch, your nails biting into the soft skin of your palm–

But this time the bullet hits its mark. The creature crashes to the floor with a loud thump and doesn’t move again. 

You don’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, launching yourself into the arms of your saviour. You don’t care that you’re crying, that you’re covered in blood and filth and god knows what else, you cling to him like he’s a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. And instead of pushing you away like he probably should, he lets out a short huff that sounds almost like a laugh, his arm curling around your waist.

“I’m the one who shot the damn thing,” the other mutters sourly.

The man holding you snorts, “Nah, yer the idiot who missed.” Belatedly, you realise that he’s still gripping his gun, the brightness you’d assumed to have come from a torch actually from a light mounted to the barrel. He slings the rifle carelessly over his shoulder, drawing back slightly to appraise you. “Now, wanna tell me what a sweet thing like you’s doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

With your eyes now adjusting to the light, you can see that the two of them can’t be much older than you. They’re both tall, broad shouldered and handsome, the same jawline, the same slope to their nose, nearly identical hooded eyes – brothers you decide, maybe even twins. And they’re both smirking at you, not with the relief of just barely escaping a brush with a particularly gruesome death, but with an odd sort of lackadaisical amusement, as if this – skulking through dark, abandoned places, killing the undead – is nothing out of the ordinary for them. 

And from the ease with which they carry their weapons, maybe it isn’t.

Oikawa warned you about men like them. Men in general, really. Even the ones who smiled at you back at the sanctuary, the ones who offered to help you move heavy supplies when they saw you struggling – at least, until Iwa or one of the others stepped in with a poisonous glare. Anyone who wasn’t them was dangerous, a threat, just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a pretty, dumb little thing like you.

And maybe he’s right, but when the one holding you instead drags you closer, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to lead you back towards the guard tower as his brother falls into step on your other side, you don’t shrug him off. 

Oikawa isn’t here, and they have just saved your life. That has to count for something, right?

“I-I thought it’d be safe,” you confess breathlessly, trying not to focus on the thumb sweeping over the curve of your shoulder. “Well, empty at least. I didn’t have a choice.” And they listen, sharing glances in the dark as you tell them about what’d happened at the sanctuary, about Oikawa and the desperation that’d led you to leave him and walk miles alone to try and find some kind of medicine–

Until a snicker interrupts you. “Sorry,” the blonde mutters, though he doesn’t look all that sincere when your eyes flash to his. “It’s just…”

“Anythin’ worth taking woulda been snatched up months ago,” the darker haired one interjects.

“There ain’t nothin’ here but the occasional idiot tryna set up camp an’… Well, ya saw how well that turned out.”

It hits you like a gut punch, forcing the air from your lungs in a harsh, gasping breath. There was never anything here, everything… all of it was a waste. You came all this way, left him feverish and screaming himself hoarse for you, risked your life, almost died and–

It was all for nothing.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, they’re still talking but it’s just white noise washing over you. You don’t even realise they’re leading you back outside until you’re walking through the doors, the sudden burst of sunlight making you flinch. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.

You’re an idiot.

A naive, dumb little girl who was stupid enough to think this half cocked plan was gonna work. That you would make it back to Tooru in one piece, medicine in hand to save the day and prove you weren’t the helpless damsel they’d pegged you for. 

You’ve wasted so much time, for nothing. 

There’s no drugs, no food, nothing that’s gonna help either one of you make it through the next few days and suddenly you’re drowning under a wave of hopelessness and bitter disappointment. You fall to your knees in the dirt, taking both your saviours by surprise, and let out a painful, heart wrenching sob. And once you start, you can’t seem to stop. It’s overwhelming, every emotion you’ve bottled up and shoved aside over the last two days suddenly forced into the light. You cry for yourself, for Tooru – for Iwa and Makki and Mattsun. You cry until it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, and then there’s rough calloused fingers brushing your tears away.

You look up through wet lashes to find the dark-haired man crouching before you, his expression sober. “Ya don’t need to cry, sweetheart, we’re not monsters y’know.”

His brother chuckles behind you, “We’re not about to leave some pretty little thing all alone out here to starve to death.” His hand’s resting atop your head now, smoothing down the hair at your crown. It’s soft and soothing, and you’re so attuned to seeking comfort that you can’t help but lean into it, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. “We’ve got some friends nearby, a nice little hideaway stocked full of all kinds of shit. Everything ya could possibly need.”

“Y-you mean it?” you ask, wide eyes flickering to the dark haired one, who smiles at last. “You’ll share them with me?”

“‘Course we do. Meds, food, weapons. Whatever ya want, it’s yours.”

You take the hand he offers to help you stand, your limbs trembling once more – but this time it’s not from fear or exhaustion, but the overwhelming rush of sheer relief. You could kiss him, kiss them both, but you don’t.

Instead you settle for throwing your arms around them once more, breathless thanks falling from your lips faster than they can catch as you hug them tight. They don’t seem to mind though, sharing almost identical smirks as the three of you head out to an old, beat up camaro parked out by the entrance to the prison. While the blonde slides in the driver’s seat and his brother takes the passenger’s side, you climb up into the back seat. 

“Is it far?” you ask as he kicks the car into gear and peels out onto the deserted road. Hopefully it’s not, the sooner you can get back to help Tooru the better. 

“Nah, not too far. We’ll be home before ya know it.”

Of course, they’re driving you to their friends, but they haven’t promised anything about driving you back to the cottage and Oikawa–

Which is perfectly fine! You’re not going to push your luck, they’re already doing plenty for you. More than they really have to. You don’t even need that much – just some medicine for Tooru and enough food for the two of you to get through the next few days, and you’ll be fine. Whatever you can carry, which, admittedly isn’t much. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, if you’re lucky you’ll be able to make it back to him before nightfall.

Things are gonna be fine. You’ll bring the medicine and once he’s better, the two you can head out to find the others. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll be better when you’re all back together, the way things were meant to be. 

You need them, if anything this little venture’s proven that much at least. 

They’d promised that it wasn’t far, and maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the last few days creeping in, or the gentle hum of the engine as the car drives along the long, narrow stretch of road, but your eyelids start to droop, your breath evening out as sleep beckons.

And you’re just dancing on the edge of consciousness when a hushed voice breaks through the comfortable silence, dark eyes flickering up to watch your slumbering form in the rearview mirror. “Ya think Kita’ll be pissed?”

There’s a snort, “Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for strays, ‘specially the pretty ones.” He’s quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before he opens his mouth to add, “‘Sides, we’re gonna take real good care of her, ain’t we, Samu?”

The only reply he gives is a soft grunt of acknowledgement.