#Diverted Disorder

[gbhbl]

Single Slam: Tribulation, Shiva May Care, To the Grave, Broken Jaw, Acres, Under Blackened Skies, ALT BLK ERA, paradise fell, Diverted Disorder, Forever Ends Here, Arx Atrata, newshapes, Within the Ruins, Kath and the Kicks, Gravenoire, Mimi Barks, Leprous, and Hacktivist!

Today’s single slam features Tribulation, Shiva May Care, To the Grave, Broken Jaw, Acres, Under Blackened Skies, ALT BLK ERA, paradise fell, Diverted Disorder, Forever Ends Here, Arx Atrata, newshapes, Within the Ruins, Kath and the Kicks, Gravenoire, Mimi Barks, Leprous, and Hacktivist.

Today’s single slam features Tribulation, Shiva May Care, To the Grave, Broken Jaw, Acres, Under Blackened Skies, ALT BLK ERA, paradise fell, Diverted Disorder, Forever Ends Here, Arx Atrata, newshapes, Within the Ruins, Kath and the Kicks, Gravenoire, Mimi Barks, Leprous, and Hacktivist. You can read our thoughts about the latest singles from these bands and listen to all the songs via our…

[metalshockfinland]

DIVERTED DISORDER Unleash Commanding New Single 'Serpent Queen'

South Africa’s emerging metal powerhouse, Diverted Disorder, is thrilled to announce the release of their latest single, Serpent Queen. This explosive track is a precursor to their highly anticipated second album set to drop in the near future. Buy and stream Serpent Queen at https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/diverteddisorder/serpent-queen Formed officially in November 2022, Diverted Disorder…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Imagine if Jin Zixuan DID yeet his brother from another mother (🥲) down the stairs.

Meng Yao: I'm your brother. Happy birthday! 🥰

Jin Zixuan: There can only be one. YEET

I am truly sad he didn't; think of the 'No Doubles' memes that we could have had...

[musical-chick-13]

Idk, I just...really hate having a brain/body that won't work. The Condition™ is so bad that I literally cannot focus on ANYTHING, even things that mean a lot to me. I can't string sentences together, doing any kind of standing physical activity for longer than 15 minutes will wipe me out for the rest of the day, and I am SO. TIRED. Sleep doesn't help. Caffeine doesn't help. Meds don't help. All of my labs keep coming back in range, and I just don't understand what's happening. What do I need to do.

[valtsv]

i don't think we consider enough the insane abandonment issues being undead would cause. because being undead is such a terminally isolating state - death itself has rejected you. decay will not touch you, no matter how completely you surrender as it eats away at everything you've ever known and loved. time will pass around you, unseeing, diverting its path like water flowing around a rock jutting from the riverbed. everyone and everything will leave you behind, if you don't leave them first. really it'd be more surprising if you didn't develop a personality disorder about it.

[whisperiin]

You want to write for Xiangli Yao 🤝 I have a request

"Being on someone's mind so much that they shove their face into their pillow and scream"

YESSSSSSS!!!!! YEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!! happy xiangli yao day i hope you all got your free boyfriend and also his weapon!!!! i was planning on starting and posting this sooner but i was busy staring at his pv and also at him ingame... but it's here !! and it's still the 7th in my timezone so i'm not late...

sorry for yappery. anyways. i feel like the intention was for reader to be like this but i like the idea of flustered xly so i.... did that.... either way, i hope you enjoy!

consuming their thoughts ft. xiangli yao

content warnings: none

When XIANGLI YAO falls asleep, he dreams of cool autumn nights at the tree overlooking Taoyuan Vale, of the stars humanity has been forced to abandon, and his arm outstretched towards both. Perhaps it’s greedy, to wish for so much — but the wind is so calm and the moon is so bright at this time of night, even with the fireworks being set off nearby… how could he possibly bring himself to choose either?

Tonight, Yao falls asleep and dreams of you.

It’s an odd feeling, one he’s unfamiliar with — a warmth in his cheeks and an uncharacteristic disorder in his thoughts. They divert and diverge until observation, hypothesis, and conclusion all lead back to you, to the golden ratio curvature of your smile. In his dreams, he reaches out his arm to pluck a stray petal from your shoulder, hooks his little finger with yours as you walk through the festival. In his dreams, he never has to look away from the sight of you bathed in moonlight, never has to question how easily his mouth shapes the words 'text me when you get home' and 'I’ll be waiting for you at the usual place' and 'I love you.'

Xiangli Yao rises with the dawn, a murmur of your name still sitting on his lips.

He buries his still-warm cheeks deeper into his pillow. A bashful smile tugs at his lips, and as he looks down at his hand, he swears he can still feel the warmth of yours against it.

Ah, he chastises himself, he shouldn’t linger here for too long — you were waiting for him, after all, and with how thoroughly you’ve trapped him in your orbit, the fact that he’ll always find a way back to you has always been a foregone conclusion.

[alotofpockets]

We've got you | Arsenal WFC

Pairing: Arsenal x Teen!Reader

Request: Arsenal teen reader fic where they have an eating disorder and the team helps them through it.

Warnings: Eating disorders, passing out, talk of negative body image.

A/n: Thank you @catasha for proof-reading and your feedback & thank you @lessi-lover and @greynatomy as well for your help 💗

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 2k

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As the youngest player on the team a lot of your teammates kept a close eye on you. They made sure you did your homework, helped you pack your bag, and in general were there for you for whatever you needed. There was one thing they hadn’t noticed though, and it was that you had started eating less and less. You were actively trying to hide it from them, so you didn't blame them for not noticing.

You had been diagnosed with an eating disorder when you were fourteen years old, and though you had been doing better the past year, your old habits started to reappear. Of course, something like that doesn’t really go away, but the voices in your head telling you that you shouldn’t eat have been quiet.

None of your teammates knew about your diagnosis, as you hadn;t struggled with it during your time with Arsenal. Well, not until now. In your plan to hide it from your teammates, you hadn’t counted on someone knowing the symptoms of an eating disorder, but one of them did. Alessia Russo, one of the more recent signings was keeping an eye on your food intake, unbeknownst to you. She had noticed you barely touching your breakfast. At first she didn’t think anything of it, but when she saw you only eating a few bites of your lunch, until you excused yourself, her mind started to wonder. She recognized patterns she had been stuck on in her highschool years, and hoped that she was wrong, but she couldn’t just let the thoughts go.

After training that afternoon, Alessia walked with you back to your bags, having placed hers conveniently next to yours at the start. The two of you are talking, when she grabs a protein bar from her bag. “Man, I’m full. Can I interest you in the other half? I would hate for it to go to waste.” You hesitated, but took the bar from her, not fully confident in denying food one on one. Alessia continued talking, but you didn’t hear a word she was saying as you were trying to convince the voices in your head you should eat the bar she offered. You don’t deserve to eat. You’ve gained weight, eating the bar will make it go up more. You tried to fight it. I already took the bar, I have to at least take a bite to show my appreciation. After fighting with the voices in your head for what felt like half an hour, you managed to move the bar up to your mouth with a shaky hand. Luckily Alessia was busy untying her boots, and didn’t see your hands shaking. One small bite is all you were able to eat before the voices in your head started to get loud again. You smiled to Alessia, “Thank you for this.” and head back to the locker rooms. Once you were out of sight from the rest of the team, you threw the bar in a nearby trash can. 

You were currently training in Portugal, so you didn’t have much time where you weren’t surrounded by your teammates. Each meal time was taken together, so you diverted to making it seem like you were eating by tactically moving around the food on your plate, putting a bite on your fork and moving it around while you were conversing with the people surrounding you. Trying to keep their focus on your words, rather than the lack of food actually entering your mouth.

Alessia stuck around until most of the room had cleared out, leaving just the two of you in the room. She moved over to your table, “Hey y/n, how are you doing?” You look up from your plate, “Oh hi Lessi, I’m doing alright. How are you?” She smiled at you softly, “I’m doing alright as well. I wanted to check in with you, to see if everything was okay, since I noticed you hadn’t really touched your food.” Your cheeks turned red, had she noticed? You quickly shake off the thought and shrug your shoulders, “Oh, yes, I’m okay. Just not very hungry, that’s all.” Alessia didn’t want to push you, knowing that that could make it worse, so she settled on talking about football instead, to bond with you, and not let you be on your own. 

The next day you were running around during practice, you loved drills where you got to show your speed. The team was split into two lines, as you would be competing against each other. One person from each team would go at the same time, sprinting to the finish line, the one that reached it first would earn the cone for their team. The team that got to ten cones first would win the exercise. 

Your team was currently at nine cones, while the other team was at eight. It was you running against Lotte, and if you were the fastest, you would get the victory for your team. “You’re going down, grandma.” The team knew you as a joker, so Lotte was used to your antics. “Yeah yeah, you just focus on not tripping over your own feet, kiddo.” You roll your eyes at her, “That was one time!”  

The two of you get ready on the line and wait for the countdown and the whistle to blow. You were running neck and neck, until about three quarters of the way, it was then that you got a step ahead of Lotte, but your lead didn’t last long, as suddenly you found yourself getting weak and dizzy. You divert from the straight line that you were running, and slow down your run. Lotte immediately noticed that something was wrong, and stopped her run to help you. “Hey kid, what’s wrong?’ She grabs your shoulders to keep you in place. “Dizzy.” Is all you get out before you collapse in her arms. 

You passed out for a moment, but luckily the medics were quick by your side. “What happened?” You ask when you see all your teammates standing around you with worried looks on their faces. “You passed out, kid. Do you know what happened?” Leah had your head laying in her lap. “Don’t know.” You say groggily, still not feeling well. “Let’s get you to one of the physio rooms to get you checked out.” One of the medics reached down their hands to help you up. 

Everyone was in the hallway, waiting to hear what was going on, a few of them pacing the hallway, and others sitting along the wall. “She was joking around just moments before, how could this happen out of nowhere?” Leah voiced the thought that most of the girls shared. “I might have an idea.” Alessia said softly. 

The medics walk out of the physio room once they are done examining you, “She seems alright now. We don’t know what happened yet, so we will have to keep a close eye on her. We advised her to stay in the room for at least another hour, just until she feels a bit stronger again. You can see her though.” 

After what Alessia had just shared with the group, just Alessia, Leah, and Kim go into the room first. “Hey kiddo, how are you doing?” Leah sits down on the bed with you, and wraps her arm around you. “I still feel a bit weak, but otherwise okay. You all look very serious though, what’s going on?” Leah looks up to Kim with tears welling in her eyes, not being able to do the talking without breaking. You were like a little sister to her, and it hurt seeing you like this. “It came under our attention that you haven’t really been eating, and we wanted to check in with you. You really scared us out there kid, you need to take care of your body. Can you please tell us how long this has been going on?” They knew now, so hiding was no longer an option. “I was diagnosed with an eating disorder when I was fourteen.” You could feel Leah tense beside you, as she came to the realisation just how serious this was. “I never mentioned it because it’s not been a problem since I’ve joined the team. It started playing up again a few weeks ago, I can handle it.” You were downplaying your wording, trying not to scare your teammates. Leah shook her head, “You’re not handling it though, you literally passed out!” You were shocked with the emotion behind her voice. “Leah, I’m fine.” Leah felt herself getting angry, “No, y/n, you’re not.” She said before she left the room, not wanting to get angry with you while she knew you were struggling.

It stays quiet for a moment, before Alessia speaks up. “I struggled with my weight and my body a lot growing up. I wanted to be skinny, but it ended up making me too weak to play. I learned that for football being strong was more important than my body fitting this image in my mind that society had created.” Kim continued where Alessia left off, “It’s important to give your body the right nutritions, it is for all of us, but especially for a growing body like yours. Skipping meals can harm your body, more than it will do good. We understand that this is a lot, but we really do not want anything like today to happen to you again.” Tears started to form in your eyes. Kim stands up and goes in to hug you, “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ve got you.” 

Once you calmed down a bit, Kim continued the conversation. They wanted to do everything in their power to help you, because they understood how mentally challenging an eating disorder could be. “We’re going to set up a meeting with the dietitian and nutrition team tomorrow, and get you on a plan that will help you eat in a healthy way, that is based on your body specifically. Alessia is going with you, because her experience will help make sure your best interest is at heart. We are going to be there with you every step of the way. You’re a part of a team, and that means we don’t let anyone go through something alone, okay?” You nodded, “Okay.”

In the hallway Leah is crying into Lia’s arms, after she asked the rest of the team to give you some space today. “She’s acting like nothing is wrong, Wally.” The older girl rubs her hands over her best friend’s back in soothing motions. “I understand, but she needs you Lee. I know you’re angry with her for not telling anyone she’s been struggling, and with yourself for not noticing she was, but let’s focus on the fact that it’s out in the open now, and you can help her.” 

Lia’s words were convincing, so much so that Leah headed back into the room, and asked for a moment alone with you. “Hey kiddo, I’m sorry I ran out. I couldn’t handle my emotions in a way that would be fair to you, so I needed a moment.” You smile at her softly, “It’s fine Lee. I understand, it was big news, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.” Leah steps forward and hugs you to her chest. “Let’s get you home, okay?” You had been living with Leah since you moved to London, probably the reason that you were closest with her. “Okay.”

The next morning Leah drove you to London Colney for your appointment with the dietitian and nutrition team. Alessia was already waiting when you arrived, she greeted you with a hug. “It’s good to see you, kiddo. Are you ready?” You returned the hug. “As I’ll ever be.” 

It was very helpful having the both of them there. Leah for reassuring you, and Alessia to make sure you answered all their questions properly. After an hour of talking with the team, they had set up the basics of the plan for you. In the next couple of days they would get back to you with a more elaborate plan, including meal options and recipes. 

You know that your journey with food and your body weren’t going to be easy, but you knew that you weren’t going to be alone. The team had always been like family to you, and yesterday showed you again that they would love you unconditionally, and that they would be there for you, no matter what. 

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[h3arts4harry]

- favourite girl -

-

warnings: ANGST(resolved), sls, TW, self harm, anorexia, hospitals, sewerslide attempt -lmk if i forgot anything

-

y/n is 17 and has really bad mental health issues, she started struggling with self harm and eventually disordered eating at 14 years old. it only got worse when her safety net, her brothers, left to move to LA.

-y/n pov-1:53am-

"just one more" i whisper, swiftly moving the blade across my wrist for the 6th time. "fuck.." i mumble as i stand off the floor. i look at myself in the mirror, staring at the girl infront of me. i cant help but feel sick with hate from what i see. my cheeks are swollen and red from crying, mascara smudged down them from the countless tears that have fallen. my eyes all ugly and puffy. i look down away from my face, down to my body. my monstrous body. how could i look so horrible all the time? how is it possible for someone to be so fucking hideous? my hand moves slowly over my stomach, i hate this. i hate what i see. i hate how i feel. i hate all of this. why do i have to feel like this? i divert my eyes away from one horror to another, the blood from the cuts, a beautiful crimson, dripping down my arm, creating a puddle on the floor. for a moment i just watch as it falls, rippling as it crashes to the floor. then it hits me, i cant leave a mess, they cant find out, im struggling again. "fuck fuck fuck" my heart pounds out of my chest as i fall to my knees, wiping the floor with toilet roll, flushing away the tissue. i carefully place band aids over the straight red lines, then wrapping my arm with a white bandage. i look at myself in the mirror once more wiping my cheeks with a deep sigh. i quickly hide the blade back into the back of my phone case before rolling my long sleeve shirt down, heading back to my bedroom.

-the next morning-11:47am-

i roll over with a groan as a bright light fills the room. "morning sweetie, theres a surprise downstairs for you, get dressed and come down" mum says as she opens my curtains then walking back out the door. i huff as i blindly move my hand searching for my phone, grabbing it and turning it on. the time reads 11:40am. i really have to fight myself to not fall back to sleep. i sit up wiping the sleep out of my face, groggily standing up and walking over to my chest of drawers grabbing out a red hoodie and baggy jeans throwing them on, messily tying up my hair in a loose bun, before walking downstairs.

i turn the corner into the kitchen, "so whats this surprise you said about" i ask with a yawn. my eyes snap open when i hear 3 familiar giggles. chris, nick, and matt were stood there with the biggest smiles that could always brighten my day no matter what. i immediately ran to them jumping into their arms, not have seen them for over 3 months. "hey kid" matt greets rubbing the top of my head, "h-how-when?" i struggle to speak through the shock, "we flew in last night, we knew your lazy ass wouldn't be up by earliest 11 so we got here a couple hours ago" nick says, pulling my into the hug tighter. "i-you- you said you couldn't fly back for another 2 months?" i step back, our hands still holding each others. "we managed to get everything done early and surprise our favourite girl" chris explains, his smile not once moving from his face. i step forward back into the hug again "i cant believe youre actually here, i- i missed you guys so much" i sniffle, a tear or two falling down my cheek. "are you okay kid?" "i-yea" i pull them in tighter "just really fucking missed you guys" "hey! language smalls" chris laughs poking at my ticklish sides, making me double over and step away giggling.

-12:29pm-

the four of us decided to go out for a drive, not having much to do in the house. "yo anyone else really feeling a mcdonalds right now?" chris asks turning to have the three of us in his view, matt and nick agree and matt pulls through the drive through. "hi can we get a double cheeseburger meal with a pepsi, and then- what did you want again nick?" chris looks to the older boy, "same as u works" "and another of the same please, and then- matt?" "ill get a chicken nugget meal with a pepsi please" matt says into the speaker box, "y/n what about you?" chris asks, "i-uh, im not that hungry, can i get just a water?" i fidget with my fingers, "are you sure? you haven't eaten yet today?" "im sure, im just feeling a bit sick" "mhm okay, and can i get a large water with ice please? yea that's all thank you" and with that chris sits down properly in his seat.

"so what you been up to angel?" nick asks from next to me, eating from his fries. "nothing much honestly" i shrug, turning from the window to face him. "really? its been almost 4 months and nothing interesting happened? sorry kid but i dont believe that for a second" matt says, looking at us in the back through his mirror. "i dont know what to tell you guys, i really haven't done anything" i look back out the window, biting my bottom lip. "hows school going? mum said youre grades are dropping again" nick tilts his head, attempting to get a glance of my face, i sigh and slump back against the seat. "smalls? whats going on with you?" chris turns fully, slightly leaning against the dashboard. "nothing going on im fine" i snap, bringing my legs up onto the seat and hiding my head behind them, along with the hood of my hoodie. the boys dont push further and just drive home.

pulling into the driveway, i quickly jump out and start heading straight for my room. "hey kid wait-" matt yells, running in behind me. "leave me alone" i huff as i keep walking, "smalls hold up" chris says, lightly grabbing my wrist. i wince in pain as i snatch my arm back, tears forming in my waterline "y/n?" nick whispers softly, "dont tell me you-" he cuts himself off, silently pleading that chris just grabbed me too tight. only nick knows about my struggles with self harm. i had promised nick that if i ever felt like i had to do it again that i would instead go to him. obviously i didn't. i dont respond, i just look down with guilt. "baby no-" he breaths out pulling me into a tight hug. "im sorry, im so sorry nick i swear i- im so sorry" i apologise between cries. chris and matt look at each other confused then back at us two. "nick? y/n? whats going on?" nick moves back a little, "can i?" i shrug with a small nod, i cant believe this is actually happening. my gaze doesn't move from the floor as nick explains everything. how he found me on the bathroom floor back when i was 15 with a razor blade over my bloody left wrist, and how he helped me clean everything up, and how i swore id go to him, and how i clearly didn't stick to said promise. "oh smalls, cmere" chris's voice sinks as he rushes to bring me into a hug, matt following behind and nick not long after joining.

we all stood there for what felt like hours, them just holding me. "how can we help you kid?" matt asks, "i-i dont know- i mean- i dont even know how to help myself, h-how am i meant to know how you can?" i manage to say between sobs. "shh its okay smalls, we'll figure it out together"

-timeskip-11:48pm-

"laura no- what do you mean we need to come back? we just got here" i wake up hearing nick on the phone, to laura from what it sounds like, i creep out of my room, to the top of the stairs that lead down to the living area where the boys supposedly are. "nick what? put it on speaker" chris says. "theres been a couple meetings that you guys need to be at come up" i can just make out through nicks speaker. "what? no we cant, cant you rearrange them for when we're back?" matt grumpily says down the phone, "im sorry matt, i already tried since i knew you guys were going back to boston, theres nothing i can do, you guys need to be back by tomorrow night" "this is so fucked up, what is this even for? we're needed here and not to be rude but this is way more important than any meeting" chris snaps, not at laura directly but at the situation hes found themselves in. "its a meeting with the big companies about brand deals, like i said i really tried to organise it for a month from now but they wouldn't do it, these guys really want to partner with you guys, theyre offering a lot of money" "fuck, can we call you back laura?" nick mutters, "yea sure, call me back asap so i can book your flights okay?" "yea okay bye laura" and he hangs up. "what the fuck are we gonna do?" matt asks, "im not sure, we cant leave y/n but mum and dad will not let us bring her with us either cause of school" nick thinks out loud, "what if we just dont go?" chris shrugs, "we cant not go chris, dont be fucking stupid" nick claps back in a duh tone. "for fucks sake, how many meetings did she say it was?" "theres three, one on Tuesday, one on Thursday and another on Monday" "what if we go and then fly back like straight after? would that work?" matt suggests "i mean it wouldn't not work" nick shrugs "but we cant leave y/n right now dude, shes struggling and what will happen if we just leave again?" chris pipes up again, to which matt huffs falling back into the sofa. "i dont know what to do you guys" nick sighs almost in defeat, "me neither", "fuck."

i let out a shaky breath before getting up and head straight back to my room, getting back into bed. 'are they gonna leave me again?' 'what if theyre gone for months again' my mind starts to race. i snatch my headphones off my bedside table and place them over my ears, playing my playlist, turning the volume all the way up, attempting to silence the thoughts.

-9:34am-

"hey y/n? kid wake up" i rub my eyes open to see my brothers, matt sat on the edge of my bed with chris and nick stood behind him. "whats going on?" i ask slightly dazed, "we gotta fly back to la but only for 9 days and we're gonna be right back okay?" matt says softly. my face drops, i thought i just dreamt last night. "youre leaving me again?" i mutter, "no- well- kinda? but we're going to come right back we swear" chris rambles. "whatever" i mumble, pulling the covers over my head and turning away from the three. "y/n please, we dont want to go but we have no choice, laura called last night and we tried to get her to rearrange it but she couldn't, please understand that" nick pleaded, i didn't reply, i just stayed still and ignored them. i cant believe theyre leaving me again. "im sorry smalls, please dont stay mad at us, we'll be back before you know it" chris says rubbing my shoulder, they all mutter small goodbyes and leave. after i hear the door shut, i let out a small sob i had been holding in.

-7 days later-

the last couple days have been really difficult, and i mean really fucking difficult. i havent left my room unless it was to go to the toilet, which ive only done like twice. i haven't showered. i haven't eaten, or drunk anything. mum and dad are really worried, they keep leaving plates of food and water outside my door but i physically cant get up to go get it, and even if i did its not like im going to eat it anyway. i hate that im such a burden for them, i hate that im worrying them so much. all i knew was i needed them, i needed my brothers. i tried messaging them in our group chat for help 3 days ago but there isn't much they can do being 5 and a half hours away. i huff, slamming my phone down onto my bed. i cant do this any longer. i push myself out of bed, trudging towards the bathroom, locking the door behind me. i tiredly look in the mirror, a worn out, struggling girl looks back to me, begging me not to do what im about to, but i ignore her silent pleads. i turn to the shelves, reaching for my basket on the second bottom shelf, grabbing a box of meds, then lifting a bottle to reveal a new razorblade underneath. i pick up the blade and put the bottle back into the basket. i fill a small cup we have for rinsing up with water before sliding my back down the cabinet, leaning against it. am i actually gonna do this? what am i saying i cant continue suffering like this anymore. but am i gonna leave without saying goodbye? that's a good point, ill write out a text, something simple so they dont suspect anything. a simple "i love you all and appreciate everything you guys do for me<3" yea thatll work, and i hit send. i turn off my phone, placing it on the cabinet, above my head. taking a breath i take a sip of water and swallow a handful of pills, then another, emptying 2 boxes. shit i really just did that. i look down at the silver blade in my hand, so much power is in such a tiny little thing. i slowly move it over my unwrapped wrist, the recent gashes already starting to heal. i push down hard against my wrist and pull, blood pushes out of the slit like its been waiting to escape. again, i push the blade down and pull. again. again. again. again. again. again. the crimson blood pooling around me. again. again. again. i start to feel faint. shit. am i really doing this? i dont want to die? i just want the pain and suffering to stop. shit shit shit. i try get up but my vision starts to blur, no no no, not yet i cant die just yet-

-the same time but sturniolo triplets pov/ no pov?-

ding ding ding all three of their phones went off. chris checks his phone and sees the notification from y/n, to their group chat, even though hes in the middle of a meeting he opens it anyway;

"i love you all and appreciate everything you guys do for me<3"

for a minute, he smiles at the kind words. but it doesn't last last before his smile turns into a frown, "guys, look" he says shoving his phone into his elder brothers faces, "chris what? we're in the middle of something here, sorry about this" nick apologies, as if chris is a toddler interrupting his parents at work, but his face quickly drops as he reads the message, snatching chris's phone from him, to make sure hes reading it clearly. "im so sorry about this but a big family emergency has just come up and we need to go, ill get laura to contact you, and again im so sorry but we have to go" nick rambles as he packs his stuff up and leaves, matt and chris right behind him.

"nick what is going on? you cant just leave like that, that was the most important meeting out of the three!" laura almost yells down the phone, "sorry laura but i think y/n is in trouble so that meeting can kiss my ass because y/n is way more important, i gotta go" "nick-" and he hangs up. the three boys grab their bags that they still hadn't unpacked from before as they planned to fly straight back after the last meeting, and drove straight to the airport. they rushed in and got straight on the plane.

-5 hours later-

knock knock knock "cmon y/n open the door!" jimmy yells knock knock "sweetie you've been in there for hours, are you alright?" Marylou softly but loudly speaks "cmon lovey open the door for us".

"dad mind out the way" chris says and he runs up the stairs, "oh fuck chris you almost gave me a heart attack" jimmy huffs, moving out of the way, along with Marylou standing next to him. once chris gets outside the door he starts to kick it in, matt and nick are not long behind chris and start helping to kick the door in. it only took around 4/5 kicks with their combined strength for the door to slam open, but the scene revealed on the other side was the worst thing they could've ever imagined. they all froze at the sight. the shriek from Marylou seemed to bring them all back as it rung through all of their ears, "boys call 911 now! and get away from the bathroom!" jimmy yells as he takes marylou downstairs and away, sure his mind was running but he knew he had to get his wife and eldest kids away before he could actually do anything.

its like time has paused, yet moving so fast simultaneously. the blue lights can be seen flashing outside the sturniolo residence, matt almost flies down the stairs and lets them in and guides them to where y/n is laying, with chris next to her, holding a washcloth tight over her wrist, trying to stop blood flowing out. "chris move, the paramedics are here" matt shouts as he follows behind them. what feels like at the speed of light, they take y/n into the ambulance before asking "theres only space for one extra person, or we could take her on her own?" "ill go" "ill go" chris and nick say in sync before death glaring each other. "we dont have time for this, im going, you two talk to mum and dad then meet us there okay?" matt says calmy, although much like his dad, hes freaking out like crazy inside.

"is she going to be okay?" matt asks as the ambulance is racing to the hospital, "please tell me something? anything? i need to know shes going to be okay?" he frantically rambles, "i cant be 100% on whats going to happen but no matter she'll live" the paramedic stood over y/n confirms, "so shes going to be okay?" matt says hopeful, "i didn't say that" and with that whispered statement his heart sinks.

-2 hours later-

the ambulance arrived at the hospital and they rushed y/n in. a doctor met matt in the waiting area to question him and ask what happened. nick, chris, jimmy and Marylou arrived around half hour after matt did. matt then had to fill them in on what he knows, which really isn't much. and from then they have just been waiting for a doctor to come over and say shes okay and breathing, and that they can go see her. jimmy and Marylou had nodded of as its almost 3am but the boys were very much still wide awake, not fully used to the timezone change yet.

"um for y/n sturniolo?" a doctor shouts, the triplets jump up and rush over, "and you guys are?" the doctor questions, "her older brothers" "is she okay?" "whats going on?" they all blurt out over each other, "ah, shes doing okay, but she is asleep still. she has a drip that helps try save her liver and we've stitched up her wrists. she'll physically be okay if all goes well but you might want to get her some mental help, i brang out some leaflets that have different ways to help, here" he says passing over a few leaflets to the boys, "thanks" nick hums putting them in his back pocket. "can we see her?" chris asks "give me like 20 minutes to check everything and ill be right out to getcha" the doctor nods with a polite smile.

-20 minutes later-

"hi boys, so everything is okay, you can now go sit in her room but she is still infact asleep so try be quiet, she needs the rest. shes in room 197, second floor" the doctor finally reveals, "thank you so much" all three boys say in sync before rushing off to the stairs.

"there look 197" nick points the a sign hanging above a door. they slowly walk in and see y/n laying there asleep, connecting to a drip like the doctor had said. "she looks so uncomfortable" nick mumbles walking closer to her. "did they say anything about how long it would take for her to wake up?" nick asks his younger brothers, to which they both shrug, and so they decide to sit and wait for her to wake up.

-hours later-y/n pov-

i slowly wake up and my head feels like its throbbing and my heart feels so heavy, like it weighs a thousand pounds. i lift my arms to rub my eyes but i have a strong pain shoots through both, i squint my eyes open to see bright white lights shining down on me. i look down to my arms and see my left wrist covered in bandages, and my right arm is connected to a drip? where the hell am i? i look around a bit more, with my eyes fully open now and i see the boys asleep, they should be in la still? what the fuck happened? -oh. that explains why i feel so numb.

i feel sick to my stomach, i cant believe how selfish i was. to do that. and to let them find me. my whole body feels like its closing in on itself, my heart pounding out of my chest, my lungs being tightly squeezed to the point i can barely breathe. im such a horrible person, why on earth would i put my favourite people through this? i tightly shut my eyes and let out multiple shaky breaths. my head running wild.

"y/n?" i snap out of my trance, to see matt stood over me, drowning in anxiety. i bite my bottom lip and look down, away from his worried eyes. "kid look at me. please?" i reluctantly look back up to the older boy, terrified of what hes going to say. a moment of painful, awkward, silence passes, just looking at one another, no verbal words being exchanged but everything needed was said. he pulls a small, comforting smile onto his face and leans forward pulling me into one of his hugs, attempting to squeeze out all of my suffering.

"omg y/n youre awake!" is almost yelled from behind matt, he pulls back to reveal a happy but anxious chris. "hey smalls, how are you?" i lightly shrug. nick then walks into the wrong with 4 bottles of water, "i bought y/n some water to for when she wakes- omg y/n!" he drops all 4 bottles and runs over to me wrapping me in his tight embrace.

-timeskip- a month later-

its been hard this past week. i got released from hospital like 3 days after i was admitted. ive had therapy sessions three times a week with Dr Louise, shes nice i guess, it might just be me but it feels like she doesn't understand what im going through or what ive been through. like i get shes there to work and get paid but it feels like that's the only reason shes there, like she doesn't care, but hey, i have my brothers. the boys haven't left boston yet, they told me theyd stay for 2 more months minimum before they had to go back for a couple weeks for work then theyd be back again. i know its gonna take some more time but i really feel like im eventually gonna get better. and its all thanks to matt, nick, and chris.

"hey angel, we spoke to laura and we managed to clear our schedules for the next 2 months so we can stay here with you" nick sits down next to me on the couch, chris and matt mimicking his actions sitting the other side of me. "we told her that our favourite girl is more important than any work stuff and we would risk it all just to make sure our favourite girl is okay" chris smiles, wrapping his arm around my shoulders pulling me into a side hug "we would drop everything in a second to fly back here for you kid." "im sorry, about everything. i love you guys" i say with a small smile. "dont apologise smalls, we love you more than youll ever know, like i say, your our favourite girl"

-

NOTE: sorry im not being too active on here, college is kicking my ass and im js not in the best mental state rn so ive js been a bit distracted? ig idk. i saw that 750 people are now following me and im like speechless, i appreciate and love all of you so fckn much istg🫶

as always feedback is appreciated <333

THANK YOU FOR READING

LOVE YOU HOES

taglist:

@m0r94n @chrisgetsmewetterxo @raysmayhem-72 @junnniiieee07 @sturnzsblog @sturniolo-slvt @mattspolitank @cerismo @chrispotatos @ncm9696 @pvssychicken

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

hiiii! Can I request all mercs w/ somebody who doesn’t talk due to self consciousness, but to an extreme? Like smbody who only says a few words a month and talks rly quiet.

if you need to choose specific mercs, either medic, sniper, or Engi <3

/p

(Some) TF2 Mercs and a semi silent S/O

Warning: Medic. Just Medic in general honestly.

—————————-

Engineer:

- To be honest, he has no idea how to cope with this at first and he’s rather thrilled to meet somebody like this. Engineer talks people’s ears off when they’re willing to listen and you’re no exception. Your silence makes his flood gates of pointless information open up and one could easily mistake him for Scout in this moment.

- Uhhh… Why aren’t you responding to his theory on black holes? Eh, who cares. He stops talking after a while and you watch him scribble calculations on a small sticky note mindlessly. He doesn’t seem too offended by it. He’s more than happy to sit in somebody’s presence quietly all night.

- Engineer starts to notice after a while that you just.. RARELY talk at all. Not that it bugs him much, but he starts to suspect some sort of trauma disorder.. Or something along those lines. His mind is going crazy with possibilities as to why but ultimately never asks out of worry he’ll erode something you left behind in the past.

- Prolonged and completely dead silent eye contact is rather easy for you with him. Even if this doesn’t naturally come easily. You can’t make out any eyes behind those dark goggles of his. Oddly comforting.

- You swore you caught a smug smile creep up on his face a bit when you finally do say something. As if he was thinking ‘AHA! I knew my charisma would pay off eventually.’ This gotcha moment for him makes his ego massively inflate. This is Engineer. What do you expect? He knows he’s smart, and always plays his cards right. Manipulative bastard.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Notices you’re starting to hang out with him more in a window he likes to camp at. He properly identified you as a fellow introvert from the start. Your mutism is noted, your presence is noted.. and rudely fucking ignored.

- Sniper doesn’t typically find anybody too interesting. Yes, even those who are quiet. He’s not a people person by any means, and only feels intrigue rarely. I guess you were that rare person evidently. He never even looks your way even ONCE as you sit there with him, but today was different. You saw his attention divert momentarily.

- “At least Y/N doesn’t fuckin’ talk my ears off like a bloody nonce trying to proclaim his innocence to a brick wall. You wanna know who drives me the LEAST insane in this bin? People like them. People who don’t talk their arses off and instead focus on a clean shot. Focus on the bloody job.”

- Next, you find an extra cup of coffee on the table in the nest that morning. It’s clearly not meant for him and you’re the only person who sits with him. He doesn’t even look at you as you pick it up.

- Begins to become slightly irritated when you break routine and don’t show up. Starts grumpily asking around for you and you notice this quite quickly. Dude has completely let his emotions clear to you and he’s oblivious to it. The reason you were absent that day is because you needed extra bed rest. (Existence is tiring.)

- You wake up to find him sitting at the edge of your bed reading a fucking newspaper. Yes, i’m not even joking. He’s so angry at you for not showing up that he decided to show up for you.

————————————————————————-

Medic:

- Medic doesn’t.. Process empathy/compassion like most people do. I’ve alluded to this before. He is very, very bad with emotions. For some reason your silence bugs him in a certain way. It worries him slightly, and he REALLY doesn’t like it. Especially since he can’t exactly ask the cause of it. He wouldn’t get a clear response back. Or just get shrugged off and assured it was nothing.

- You sit at the opposite side of his desk and hang out with him every night. Your sleep schedule had been recently fucked. Medic doesn’t even try to tell you to go to bed or school you on a night’s rest like he would everyone else. Instead when he’s not writing, he taps his pencil on the desk and stares at you… menacingly. Is he judging you?! He narrows his eyes. He’s definitely judging you. He has to be. Right?

- Indirect and awkward staring contest for a fucking hour. You begin to grow nervous because it’s like he’s trying to fucking beam thoughts directly into your head telepathically. It looks like he’s trying to use the fucking force to choke you. What the hell is going on through his head? Was he thinking about gutting you like he’s expressed for pretty much everyone else?!

- Stops staring to get up and use his coffee machine. Comes back and continues staring. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON??!?!

[musashi]

like the thing is, if you acknowledge that miles edgeworth has PTSD, you have to acknowledge that adrian andrews has DPD. the clinical terms are never spoken allowed but they are highlighted in terms that make it clear that is what is happening.

miles never says he has PTSD but he does say "my brain blocks out this memory's clarity as a coping mechanism." he does say he has chronic nightmares of the event in question. he blacks out, he loses function, characters call his triggers "fears" but we have enough information to understand it's far more deep-seated than that.

and the same is true for adrian. the game repeatedly tells us that her personality is disordered. in the re-release, with terminology corrected, the word "dependence" is constantly spoken not as a trait but as an ailment she lives with, something she does not by choice but because she literally cannot stop without intervention. like miles, she is canonically neurodivergent, with a suicide attempt in her past and canonical therapy that she attended after.

while none of these characters ever look to the camera and say "here is my diagnosis" the way the characters talk about their very specific neuroses make it clear that they're meant to divert from the typical way a brain should act and function. like it's not just me being like "teehee mental illness headcanon" it is very clear that, even if takumi and his writers did not know if DPD was a real thing (hell, the DSM might not have even had that specific diagnosis at the time) they knew that adrian had it just by existing in the world around people who probably did.

and yet no one ever talks about it. like

[gbhbl]

Interview: Diverted Disorder (Written)

Music with a hint of alternative, rock and blues blended with thrash, core and death metal. It's Diverted Disorder and their latest album 'Technical Difficulties' is out now.

Music with a hint of alternative, rock and blues blended with thrash, core and death metal. It’s Diverted Disorder and their latest album ‘Technical Difficulties’ is out now. 1. Hello! Thank you for taking the time to chat to us. First things first, tell us a little bit about yourself and how you got started. After a substantial hiatus from the music scene, Frontman Hardman rediscovered his…

[justice4gyeongsu]

━━━ 'CHAPTER FIVE' [WHEN DAWN BREAKS]

SYNOPSIS ➢ theres always a price to pay for survival.

PAIRING ➢ lee suhyeok x male!reader

AU ➢ enemies-to-lovers au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; angst, homophobia, an adult calling a minor an inappropriate word, authority figure abuse, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

NEXT | PREVIOUS

chaos erupted in the wooden classroom as everyone scrambled to find a cell phone - a lifeline to the police and, more urgently, their parents. meanwhile, you sat on the floor at the back of the class, exhausted and in agony. but then you remembered the small first aid kit tucked away in your bag, a habit that might just pay off. you shed your green school vest and began to unbutton your dirty, ripped white shirt, revealing the aftermath of your tumble down the stairs. with shaking hands, you opened the ointment bottle from your medkit and gently slid your shirt off your shoulder, wincing in anticipation of the treatment to come. across the echoey classroom, gyeongsu's voice rang out, "hey, joonyeong! i think you're right. they can't open doors!" he yelled to his classmate, who was grimly holding the doors shut against the infected horde. joonyeong's reply was laced with caution, "yeah well... let's keep 'em closed just in case."

meanwhile, the desperate search for a cell phone continued. daesu stood a few feet away from you, his eyes fixed on your pained expression as you applied medicine to the jagged gash on your shoulder and neck. his brow furrowed in concern, "a-are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with worry. you let out a weary sigh before responding, "yeah..."

daesu's nod was hesitant, his eyes darting back to yours with a mix of concern and skepticism. "do you, uh, need help? i could put it on for you," he offered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. you looked up at him, confusion etched on your face - was he genuinely willing to assist? "um, yeah- no... think i got it," you stammered, awkwardly thanking him.

daesu nodded again, his gaze dropping to his shoes, clearly eager to escape the uncomfortable exchange. you seized the opportunity to divert your attention, catching onjo's eye across the room. she flashed a gentle smile before returning to her search through scattered desks and backpacks. in that moment, you realized the depth of her kindness - a quality you'd overlooked until now. a pang of regret hit you; if only you'd mustered the courage to connect with her before all this chaos erupted. isak's triumphant shout cut through the disorder: "here! i found one!" the room's attention converged on her, where she stood beaming, a cell phone held aloft like a treasure. the device, pilfered from a forgotten backpack, sparked a flurry of hope. as isak attempted to unlock the phone, you seized the moment to rise from the floor, joining the crowd gathered around her.

"is it charged?" daesu asked, peering over cheongsan's shoulder. gyeongsu's retort came swiftly from his post at the door, "of course it's charged, you idiot, who the hell comes to school with a dead phone?" daesu's face fell, but he countered with a pout, "it could happen..." isak's sudden curse cut through the exchange: "shit. it's locked." the room's collective excitement deflated, replaced by a crushing wave of disappointment. while you walked to gaze out the classroom window, your injured arm hung limp against your torso. your mind began to wander, wondering if other students were trapped, just like you. the sight outside was eerie - zombies swarmed the school grounds, their convulsions visible even from a distance. in the soccer field below, you spotted familiar faces among the horde. one in particular caught your attention: a 1st year boy, his high school journey brutally cut short. his ripped jacket and bite-ridden skin were a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen him. you couldn't help but wonder... what were his parents doing at this moment, oblivious to the tragedy that had unfolded?

with a nervous gulp, you turned to see cheongsan holding up the treasure, tantalizingly close to the girl outside - now a snarling zombie, her jaws snapping wildly against the glass window. "what are you doing?" you asked, alarm creeping into your voice. isak and onjo turned to you, and isak explained, "he's trying face recognition." you shook your head, hesitation etched on your face, "that's... it's not gonna work. she's moving too much, and she looks completely different from just an hour ago." with a dismissive gesture, you tossed your vest onto the desk and leaned back, retreating into your own thoughts. cheongsan exchanged a skeptical glance with his friends, who shrugged in response, unsure of their next move.

onjo stepped forward, her impatience palpable. "y/n-ah is right. just call 112, you don't need to unlock it for emergency calls." cheongsan's fingers flew across the keypad as he dialed the number, the room falling silent in anticipation. you nervously ruffled your hair, which had fallen into your eyes, as a mix of unease and worry swirled inside you. your mind began to wander to your dad - was he okay? it was ironic, really, that you were worried about him now, when he'd probably never even noticed if you skipped school.

the seconds ticked by at a glacial pace as we waited for someone, anyone, to pick up. cheongsan's eyes were fixed on the phone, his grip on it tightening with each passing moment. onjo shifted her weight, her eyes darting between the phone and the window, where the zombie girl still snapped and clawed at the glass. you couldn't help but think of all the worst-case scenarios, your mind racing with the possibilities. and then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything was silent. the phone's ringing had stopped, replaced by an eerie stillness. "hello?" a voice crackled through the speaker.

cheongsan's voice was shaking slightly as he spoke, "h-hello? yes, we need help. our school... it's been overrun by zombies." the voice on the other end was calm and detached, "what's your location?" onjo leaned in, her eyes locked on the phone, "we're at hyosan high school. please, you have to hurry." the voice replied, "yeah sure sure.. help is on the way. just don't get bit.." you felt a surge of hope at the words, but it was short-lived. the sudden sound of the call ending had erupted in the silence.

wujin's voice rose in frustration as he exclaimed, "they hung up? what the fuck..?" daesu tried to calm him down, offering a reassuring presence. you couldn't help but groan at cheongsan's blunder, "why would you tell them there were zombies? you should've said something more urgent." your annoyance was palpable, and cheongsan shot back, feeling defensive, "then what would you have said, huh?" the room fell silent, all eyes turning to you, waiting for a response.

you ventured a suggestion, "i don't know, like, there's a serial killer or something.." your words trailed off as you nodded, but the silence that followed was deafening. you glanced away, feeling a twinge of awkwardness at the lack of response. "..or not," you added, your voice barely above a whisper.

jimin's calm and collected voice cut through the tension, "it doesn't matter. the teachers and principal are probably having people come get us." her words were like a balm, soothing the frazzled nerves of the group. the reminder of the adults' presence was a welcome one - they would come, they would rescue us, and we would be reunited with our families. the thought brought a sense of comfort, a reassurance that we weren't alone in this desperate situation.

nayeon's frustration boiled over, her voice rising to a shout. "ugh, just call them again!" but joonyeong’s response was laced with urgency, "hey, keep it down, you're gonna attract more of them." his arms ached from holding the door shut, his muscles cramping from the strain. just then, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air, echoing down the hallway. everyone's heads snapped towards the sound, their curiosity and fear piqued. the zombies outside, once shuffling aimlessly, now lurched towards the commotion, their footsteps shuffling rapidly down the corridor. as the hallway cleared, gyeongsu cautiously opened the door, peeking outside before suhyeok yanked him back to safety. amidst the chaos, onjo seized the phone, her fingers flying across the keypad as she dialed a mysterious number. the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on her, wondering what she was planning.

onjo sidled up beside you, her shoulder grazing yours as she leaned against the desk. you sensed a piercing gaze and glanced back to find cheongsan's eyes flashing with hostility. swiftly, you averted your gaze, focusing on the window's distant view.

meanwhile, onjo's voice was calm and composed as she spoke into the phone. "hello, sir. do you know captain nam soju from rescue team one?" her words trailed off, leaving you wondering who she was talking to. your eyebrows knitted together in surprise - how did onjo know someone of such high rank? the question lingered, unanswered, as you waited for her next words.

onjo's gaze shifted towards you, her expression a mask of neutrality as she listened intently to the voice on the other end. the silence stretched, and the eye contact became too much to bear. you cleared your throat, breaking the spell, and redirected your attention to your shoes - suddenly, they seemed fascinating. however, onjo's next words shattered the calm, her tone grave and urgent. "there's a fire." the room's atmosphere shifted, everyone's ears perking up at the alarm. "it's in classroom 2-5 of hyson high school. hurry, it's massive." with that, she ended the call, the sudden silence punctuated only by the weight of her words. the

“theyre coming?” you ask softly, eyes filled with hope. onjo nodded her head with a sigh of relief. “thats great! we’ll be back home in no time.” hyoryeong said with a small nervous chuckle. “right?” she asked with insecurity. not being confident in her exclamation.

onjo's nod was reassuring, but her expression remained cautious. "yes, they're on their way. but we need to be careful, we don't know what's happening outside." she glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the barricaded doors. hyoryeong’s eyes darted to you, then back to onjo, her voice barely above a whisper. "what if...what if they don't make it in time?"

the room fell silent, the weight of hyoryeong's words settling over the group like a shroud. you exchanged a nervous glance with onjo, the hope in your chest beginning to flicker with doubt. onjo's expression turned grim, her jaw clenched in determination. "they'll make it," she said, her voice firm. "we just need to hold out a little longer." but her words were cut short by a loud scream once again from outside the room. the group's heads snapped towards the sound, hearts racing. the wooden walls creaked, groaning under the pressure. "what was that?" gyeongsu whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

you spoke up, your voice firm, "that's the second time we've heard that scream." but no one responded, and you felt exasperated. you stood up and moved away from the desk, "hey, someone could be out there." but your words were met with disbelieving stares. daesu asked incredulously, "what, you wanna go out there?"

you hesitated, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks, "i'm just saying...i would want someone to come looking for me if i was missing." your words tumbled out, laced with a shy vulnerability.

nayeon flopped down in a chair, her back to you, and huffed, "if you wanna go out there, be my guest, but i'm staying here." her dismissive tone made you scoff. you rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, "god forbid you actually contribute." but nayeon seemed oblivious, already pleading with jimin to call the police again, her voice laced with desperation. meanwhile, you focused on the mundane task of tying your shoes, careful not to strain your shoulder. once finished, you stood up, buttoning your torn white shirt with a sense of determination. your eyes locked onto gyeongsu, and you began to head towards him, ready to take action.

every gaze in the room locked onto you, confusion etched on every face. gyeongsu's voice rose above the rest, "wait, are you really gonna go out there?" he asked, incredulous. wujin chimed in, his tone laced with doubt, "you're injured, how do you even expect to help?" his words hung in the air, a challenge.

you turned to him, your voice low and sharp, "now you're concerned about me?" the quiet snap was a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside. you shook your head, disbelief written across your face. the same childhood friend who had ignored you yesterday now pretended to care? it was almost laughable.

your words sparked a reaction, daesu taking a step forward, his face tense with a mix of confusion and annoyance. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his hand on wujin's shoulder, as if holding him back from lashing out. you let out a sigh, the sound barely audible, and turned away from the confrontation, your eyes drifting towards gyeongsu and the door. "forget it," you muttered, your voice laced with a hint of frustration, as you began to head towards the exit.

but your progress was halted by a hand on your shoulder, suhyeok's grip gentle yet firm. he looked down at you with an expression of genuine worry, his brow furrowed in concern. "i'll go with you," he said, his voice resolute, his determination clear in his tone.

suhyeok's declaration sparked a wave of panic within the group, like a stone tossed into a tranquil pond. you couldn't help but think: of course, everyone's worried now that the golden boy is going with me - the outcast. "suhyeok, you can't!" onjo exclaimed, her voice laced with urgency, "we don't know if that person is even still alive or not." she added, her words dripping with concern.

you shrugged suhyeok's hand off your shoulder, the touch feeling suffocating, and took a step back, creating some distance. he noticed your uncomfortable withdrawal, his eyes narrowing slightly. "i don't need you to come with me..." you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as you looked away, avoiding eye contact.

isak's words hung in the air, laced with a quiet intensity. "yeah, if y/n-ah wants to go, then let him. that's his choice, not yours." her eyes betrayed a deep-seated fear, not of the present moment, but of the unknown consequences that might unfold.

suhyeok turned towards you, but you avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor. his attention shifted to the table, where your green vest lay discarded. he swiftly walked over and picked it up, and with a swift motion, ripped it halfway down the middle. "hey, what are you-" you started to ask, confusion etched on your face, but suhyeok's finger pressed against his lips, signaling silence. you watched, perplexed, as he tied the two pieces together in a knot, his hands moving with a quiet purpose.

with a few quick movements, suhyeok transformed the torn vest into a makeshift sling, his hands moving with a quiet confidence. "here, put your head through here and you can let your arm hang here," he instructed, his voice low and gentle. before you knew it, he had crafted a perfect solution to ease the tension on your upper shoulder and neck.

meanwhile, daesu and wujin exchanged a weighted glance, their faces a picture of suspicion and uncertainty. you shot suhyeok a sideways glare, your eyes narrowing slightly. "i'm not thanking you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, as you looked up at him with a mix of annoyance and gratitude. suhyeok's expression remained neutral, his eyes locked onto yours. "i know," he said simply, as he fell into step beside you, following you out towards gyeongsu.

as you walked, the silence between you and suhyeok was palpable, punctuated only by the soft rustling of your clothes and the distant sounds of the group getting up behind you. you couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort at his presence, his actions both helpful and infuriating at the same time.

gyeongsu waited by the door, his eyes scanning your face before shifting to suhyeok. "ready?" he asked, his voice low and even. you nodded curtly, avoiding eye contact with suhyeok. "we’ll just go check and come back." with a quiet nod, gyeongsu pushed open the door, revealing a brightly lit corridor beyond. the air was thick with an eerie silence, and you could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down upon you.

as you stepped into the corridor, the door creaked shut behind you, enveloping you in an unsettling quiet. the air was heavy with the scent of dust and decay, and the flickering fluorescent lights above cast your eerie shadows on the walls.

you led the way, your footsteps echoing off the walls, with suhyeok following closely behind. your eyes scanning the deserted hallway, your senses on high alert. the corridor twisted and turned, leading you deeper into the heart of the building. you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, that unblinking eyes were trained on you from the shadows. suddenly, you halted, your head cocked to one side to find suhyeoks hand on your back. "do you hear that?" suhyeok suddenly whispered, his voice barely audible.

your eyes narrowed, your gaze scanning the hallways. "hear what? and stop touching me." you hiss at him. suhyeoks eyes locked onto yours, his expression grim. "that." then, you heard it too - a low, mournful whimper, seeming to come from the direction in front of you. you cautiously peeked around the corner, your gaze drifting down the dimly lit hallway towards the staircase, the flickering fluorescent lights above grabbed your attention. but what you saw made your heart skip a beat - a girl's limp form hung suspended from the stairway's bars, her body eerily still, her eyes frozen in a permanent scream. you gasped, your instincts screaming at you to act, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

but before you could take a step forward, suhyeok's arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back into the shadows with a swift, firm motion. "what the fuck did i tell you-" you hissedat him. his voice low and urgent, his breath warm against your ear, before clamping a hand over your mouth, his fingers pressing against your lips. "at least look around before you get yourself killed."

his eyes narrowed, annoyance etched on his face, his brow furrowed in concern. you shot him a defiant glance, your eyes flashing with anger, your heart still racing from the shock. shoving him off of you, "you touch me again and i'll push you into those things," you threatened, your finger jabbing into his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

suhyeok's expression twisted into a disbelieving scoff, his eyes rolling heavenward. "yeah, i'd like to see that," he taunted, his voice dripping with skepticism, his gaze lingering on yours with a hint of challenge.

you swiftly silenced suhyeok with a hushed command, your eyes darting back to the staircase. that's when you saw it - a zombie looming mere inches from the girl's desperate grasp, its presence a constant threat. she struggled to pull herself up, her face reddened with exertion, sweat dripping down her forehead. but every time the zombie turned, she'd retreat, hiding in a futile bid for safety.

time was running out - she was mere seconds from slipping, her fingers trembling with fatigue. if she fell, it would be a four-story drop to certain death. you watched, transfixed, as she teetered on the brink of disaster.

as you scanned your surroundings, a forgotten pencil case caught your eye, lying just a few feet away. with a deep breath, you dropped to the ground, army crawling towards the pencil case with deliberate slowness. your gaze remained fixed on the zombie, while suhyeok's eyes locked onto your legs, poised to pull you to safety at a moment's notice.

with suhyeok watching your every move, you inched closer to the pencil case, your hand reaching out to claim it. finally, your fingers closed around it, and you crawled backward, creating a safe distance between yourself and the zombie. then, with a swift motion, you hurled the pencil case down a nearby hallway, the sound echoing off the walls as it flew through the air. the zombie's attention was caught, its body lurching away from the girl as it shambled down the hallway in pursuit of the noise. seizing the opportunity, you began to stand, but suhyeok was already ahead, swiftly closing the distance to the girl. helping her down and he grasped her hand, pulling her to safety as she thanked him over and over, her voice trembling with tears.

"you're my hero, truly. thank you so much," the girl gushed, her arms wrapping tightly around suhyeok's neck as she hugged him with gratitude. but you were already moving, your patience worn thin. "lets go," you whispered urgently, your voice low and insistent.

suhyeok pulled the girl along, her hand still clutched in his, as you all turned the corner and sped through the hallways with a crouched, hurried gait. the girl's sobs grew louder, her words tumbling out in a frantic, tear-choked explanation of what had happened to her friends. suhyeok tried to calm her down, his voice a soothing murmur, but she was beyond consolation, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she hyperventilated.

"you need to stop crying, or we are all gonna die," you warned, turning back to the girl with a stern expression, your finger pressed to your lips in a silencing gesture. but before you could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway behind you - loud, quick, and getting closer.

"run!" suhyeok yelled, darting to the front of the group as you all sprinted down the hall. your hearts racing, you turned a corner and finally saw the classroom door ahead. suhyeok pounded on it urgently with both fists, releasing the girl's hand as he did so. you caught up, breathless, and saw nayeon blocking gyeongsu's attempt to open the door, the two of them arguing in hushed tones. but before you could intervene, you turned to see a horde of zombies rounding the corner behind you - three to seven of them, their eyes fixed on you with a mindless hunger as they ran at full speed.

in a flash of quick thinking, you slid open the classroom window and urged suhyeok to climb through. he cast a desperate glance at the zombies closing in, their ragged breathing and shambling footsteps mere feet away, before hoisting himself up and through the opening. he reached back for your hand, but you gestured for him to take the girl's instead.

with a surge of adrenaline, you grabbed her knee and pushed her upwards, trying to boost her to safety. but she clung to your arm, her eyes fixed on the horrors behind, her cries growing more frantic. "go! go!" you shouted, pushing her upward with increasing urgency, as suhyeok tried to pull her arm up from the other side.

suhyeok's grip on her hand faltered, sending her tumbling over you as you desperately tried to break her fall. you groaned, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs, as the zombies closed in - now mere feet away. with a surge of adrenaline, you tried to haul her to her feet, but she was paralyzed with fear, her screams echoing through the hallway.

"come on! damnit!" you shouted, tugging at her arm with increasing urgency, but she was frozen in terror. and then, in a flash of horror, the closest zombie latched onto her leg, its jaws closing around her ankle like a vice. she shrieked in agony as the zombie's teeth sank deep, the others quickly following suit, their bites tearing into her flesh with savage ferocity.

you stood frozen, helpless, as the zombies feasted on her flesh, their gruesome banquet mere feet away. the girl's eyes locked onto yours, her face contorted in a silent plea, her tears streaming down her cheeks like rain. her hand reached out, a desperate bid for salvation, but it was too late. just as all hope seemed lost, a chorus of screams erupted from the windows, the voices of your friends shouting your name, their cries piercing the air like a siren's wail.

“y/n-ah, leave her!”

“shes gone, come on!”

“y/n-ah, move your ass!”

“get inside! now!”

a crushing wave of guilt and fear washed over you, paralyzing your nerves and muscles. your eyes widened in horror, frozen in place as the zombies devoured the girl below. but then, a pair of arms wrapped around you, lifting you up with a gentle yet urgent strength. you felt yourself being pulled up into the window, your limp body causing you and your rescuer to tumble backward onto the classroom floor.

as you sat up, dazed and disoriented, you found yourself cradled in someone's lap, their arms wrapped tightly around you. the warmth of their embrace was a stark contrast to the terror you'd just faced, and for a moment, you simply sat there, frozen in shock. the others shut the windows quickly and held onto the doors to keep them shut.

your head hung limp, your gaze fixed on your lap as you felt the strong, muscled arms wrapped around your body, holding you in a tight embrace. the pressure caused your shoulder to ache, but you didn't have the strength to move. slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes scanning the room as reality began to seep back in. that's when you saw them - your classmates gathered around you, their faces etched with concern. and then, you realized who was holding you - suhyeok. with a surge of adrenaline, you swiftly elbowed him in the ribs, breaking free from his grasp. you stood up, your legs trembling slightly as you found your balance.

he coughed, his eyes widening in surprise at your sudden movement. "what the..?" daesu muttered, confusion etched on his face as he looked from you to suhyeok, unsure of what had just happened.

"i told you. stop touching me," you said, your voice firm, as you clutched your shoulder, still feeling the ache from suhyeok's grip. your hair was disheveled, a testament to the intensity of the moment that had just passed. you glared down at suhyeok, who looked away, defeated, his eyes cast downward in submission.

but cheongsan wasn't having it. "yah, suhyeok-ah saved you," he spoke up, his voice tinged with annoyance. "you should be thanking him." his words hung in the air while others just stared.

slowly, you turned to face the group, your eyes meeting the gaze of your friends, who were all staring at you, their faces etched with concern. your chest still heaved rapidly, a reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

the room was thick with tension, the only sound the heavy breathing that still racked your body. you felt like you were under a microscope, every eye on you, waiting for your reaction. suhyeok's gaze remained downcast, his shoulders slumped in defeat. cheongsan's eyes flashed with irritation, the others looked on, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. the silence stretched out, becoming almost unbearable. you knew you needed to say something, to break the tension, but your mind was a blank. all you could think about was the feeling of suhyeok's arms around you, holding you captive, and the horror that had just unfolded below the window.

jimin's voice had a subtle rebuke. "he wouldn't have had to save him if you had let gyeongsu open the door," she said, her gaze fixed on nayeon as she strode away, her eyes scanning the other windows with a mix of fear and determination. nayeon spun back, her face twisted in a scowl. "you wanted to leave them out there!" jimin accused, her voice low and venomous.

nayeon's defenses were clearly breached, her words tumbling out in a rush. "so what? they decided to go out there, we never told them to! they could've been bit, fuck, they could still be!" her finger jabbed toward you and suhyeok, the pressure of the moment clearly getting to her.

suhyeok slowly rose to his feet behind you, still wincing in pain as he released his grip on his ribs. "you can check us, we didn't get bit," he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on nayeon. onjo quickly came to his defense, her voice firm. "suhyeok-ah said they aren't bitten, he wouldn't lie," she said, her gaze fixed on nayeon, trying to reassure her.

but before the tension could ease, cheongsan strode forward, his eyes scanning you from head to toe before narrowing in suspicion. "oh sure, check me but not him, right?" you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm, as you stood face to face with him. cheongsan took a step closer, his jaw clenched. "and? you have a problem with it?" he asked, his tone confrontational.

just as the confrontation was reaching a boiling point, suhyeok stepped in, his hand extending from behind you to gently but firmly push cheongsan back. "guys, not now," he said, his voice a calm anchor in the storm, trying to steer the group away from further conflict. gyeongsu, leaning against the door frame, chimed in with a soothing tone, "yeah, come on guys, we gotta be careful. now's not the time to argue." but his words were quickly met with a sharp tone from nayeon. "oh, now you wanna add on?" she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. "you're such a liability, and you don't even know it." the air seemed to vibrate with tension as her words hung in the air, a challenge to gyeongsu's very presence.

gyeongsu's face reddened with anger as he took a step forward, his voice rising. "what? what did you just say?" but before he could get any closer to nayeon, his friends grabbed his arms, holding him back. "everyone needs to just shut up and sit down-" someone started to say, but the words were cut off by a sudden commotion.

"watch out!" you yelled, as the classroom door burst open and a frantic figure scrambled inside. everyone recoiled in fear, unsure of who this new arrival might be, but as the person turned to face the group, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the room. it was coach kang, his face flushed and sweaty, his chest heaving with exertion.

the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on the coach as he struggled to catch his breath. finally, he spoke, his voice gruff with concern. "are you guys okay?"

the question hung in the air, open to interpretation. but before anyone else could respond, gyeongsu nodded curtly, speaking for the group.

gyeongsu's eyes narrowed slightly as he approached coach kang, his voice laced with skepticism. "what about you, you weren't bitten?" coach kang's head shook slowly, his chest still heaving with exhaustion. "no, of course not. i-im alright. yeah, i'm alright," he stammered, his nod a bit too emphatic. something about his demeanor didn't quite add up, and your eyebrows furrowed in concern. you turned to your right, searching for a shared spark of suspicion, and found it in namra's watchful gaze. as your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between you, a sense that something was off.

namra rose slowly from her seat, her movements fluid and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. unspoken questions, the group's attention drawn to the subtle exchange between you and namra.

"okay, well let's block the doors first," coach kang instructed, his voice snapping the group back into action. the room's dynamic shifted in an instant, as if a switch had been flipped, and everyone reverted to their student roles, mannerisms and all. with newfound urgency, the group sprang into motion, rushing to construct a makeshift barricade. desks scraped against the floor, chairs clattered on top, and the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. you strained to move a desk with one hand, your legs pushing against the floor to drag it into place.

"hurry up, what's taking you so-" coach kang's voice trailed off, his words freezing in his throat as his gaze landed on you. his eyes widened, his face a picture of shock, as if he'd seen something that made his blood run cold. "what happened to you?" coach kang asked, his voice laced with a wariness that bordered on suspicion.

you let out a frustrated huff before explaining, "i fell down the stairs and hurt my shoulder. i wasn't bit if that's what you're thinking..." but your words trailed off as your gaze drifted down to the coach's arm. a jagged red gash caught your eye, surrounded by teeth marks and bloody flesh. the sight made your heart skip a beat. coach kang seemed to sense your stunned silence, and cleared his throat awkwardly, busying himself with moving chairs and avoiding eye contact. it was clear he was no longer interested in listening to your explanation.

you turned to onjo and jimin, their eyes already locked on the coach's arm, a silent understanding passing between them. "do you guys see that...?" you whispered, your voice a mere breath, as if speaking the truth might shatter the fragile calm.

onjo and jimin nodded in slow, synchronized motion, their faces reflecting a dawning realization. onjo's voice rang out, a loud whisper that cut through the tension. "coach kang, you have a bite on your arm!" the coach's face drained of color, his skin turning a ghostly pale. "w-what? no, no," he stuttered, his hand jerking up to yank his sleeve down, hiding the offending arm. "no, i wasn't bitten, it's alright," he protested, his words tumbling out in a frantic bid to reassure, but his eyes betrayed a growing panic.

the coach's denial was met with incredulity. "you have a bite mark, how is that not a bite-" but before you could finish, he cut you off with a sharp rebuke.

"shut up, i said it isn't. don't talk back to me, you're a student," he spat, his words dripping with venom. his tone was a slap in the face, and you felt a surge of indignation at the dismissive language. isak stepped into the fray, her voice calm but firm. "it looks like you were really bitten," she observed, her eyes fixed on the coach's arm. the coach's face turned red with rage. "i wasn't! how many times must i tell you?" he thundered, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief and anger, as if the very suggestion was an affront to his authority.

"show it then!" you demanded, your voice firm and resolute. isak stepped forward while her tone was uncompromising. "then why the hell are you hiding it? show us." the coach's gaze faltered under the weight of their combined scrutiny. isak’s eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, her voice dripping with authority. "i think you should leave right now," she commanded, her words a clear dismissal.

as the standoff continued, you discreetly glanced to your side, your eyes landing on a desk with a sharp pen lying on it. with a slow, deliberate movement, you reached out and grasped the pen, hiding it behind your leg, your grip tightening around it. "come on! get out already!" isak yelled, her frustration boiling over, her words echoing through the tense silence.

the coach's face twisted in a sudden, vitriolic outburst. "you cocksucker!" he bellowed. you spun around, bewildered, and shot back, "are you insane? watch your mouth!" your gaze swept the room, locking eyes with your male peers. "you're gonna let him speak to her like that?" you asked, your tone laced with disgust and outrage.the coach's face reddened, his finger jabbing accusingly at you. "you stop talking! i could call you the same thing!" his lips curled into a sneer, a cold, calculated glint in his eye. "yeah...you think i don't know?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "you think they don't know?" he sneered, his gaze raking the room. but you stood your ground, your voice firm and resolute. "i don't give a fuck what they think, and you need to leave now, you fucking pervert." your words struck a nerve, and for a moment, the coach's mask slipped, revealing a flicker of unease beneath.

"how dare you speak to me like that? do you think i won't remember this when this is all finished? huh?" his thunderous voice sent shockwaves through the room, loud enough to draw a few zombies to the hallway outside. as he took a menacing step closer to isak, onjo swiftly intervened, positioning herself protectively in front of her friend. you instinctively moved to stand guard, the pen at the ready. "y/n-ah, stay back!" wujin warned, his voice firm and urgent. "he's infected," joonyeong added, her eyes fixed warily on the coach.

and then, a telltale sign of the infection's grip: a nosebleed. the coach's eyes widened as he felt the warm trickle down his face, his gaze dropping to the crimson droplets staining his clothes and splattering the floor.

the coach's gaze snapped back up, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of anger and desperation. his face twisted in a snarl, the nosebleed worsening as he took another step forward. you stood your ground, the pen poised like a tiny sword, ready to strike.

"stay back!" wujin and joonyeong chorused, their voices a united front against the coach's erratic behavior. onjo's eyes darted between the coach and you, her expression a mask of concern. the coach's body language screamed warning signs - the jerky movements, the wild eyes, the increasing aggression. you knew the infection was taking hold, and time was running out. with a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what might come next.

the coach's eyes seemed to glaze over, his pupils dilating as he took another step closer. his mouth opened, revealing bloody teeth, and a low, menacing growl rumbled from his throat. you gripped the pen tightly, bracing for impact.

"he's gone," joonyeong whispered, his voice barely audible over the coach's eerie growl. "we need to get out of here, now."

onjo nodded, her eyes fixed on the coach's deteriorating form. "y/n, come on," she urged, tugging on your arm. for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the person he once was, trapped beneath the surface of the infection. in a split second, the coach's face twisted into a grotesque snarl, and he sprang into action - but his target was mijin, trapped between the narrow lockers. panic erupted as he pounced, his body pinning hers to the ground.

chaos ensued as the group scrambled to escape the horror, but daesu stood tall, his adrenaline-fueled strength surging as he rushed to mijin's aid. with a fierce cry, he heaved the coach's zombie form off her, slamming him into the nearby wall with a bone-jarring crash. as the dust settled, all eyes turned to mijin, her face etched with pain and fear. and then, the unthinkable - a crimson bite mark marred her lips, a grim harbinger of the fate that awaited her.

mijin's eyes widened in terror as she stumbled backward, her hand instinctively rising to cover the wound. "no, no, no..." she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

daesu's face fell, his eyes filled with a mix of horror and helplessness. "mijin, oh god..." he trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion. the group stood frozen, paralyzed by the grim reality unfolding before them. the coach's zombie form, still reeling from daesu's tackle, began to stir once more, its eyes fixed on mijin with a mindless hunger.

"we have to get out of here, now," wujin urged, his voice firm but laced with desperation. "we can't let her...we can't let her become one of them." but it was too late. mijin's eyes began to glaze over, her body starting to succumb to the infection's deadly grip. a faint moan escaped her lips, and she took a stumbling step forward, her gaze fixed on the group with a growing hunger.

in a heart-stopping instant, coach kang's body contorted in a grotesque convulsion, his limbs twitching with an otherworldly energy. he sprang to his feet, his movements jerky and unnatural, and launched himself at suhyeok and wujin. the latter held up a chair as a makeshift shield, but suhyeok swiftly shoved him out of harm's way, dodging to the side as the zombie coach crashed into the podium behind them.

the zombie's head twitched, its eyes locking onto suhyeok with a mindless hunger. it lunged, arms outstretched, but suhyeok dodged the grasp by a hair's breadth. with a swift punch, he struck the zombie coach in the face, but it seemed to have no effect. the zombie latched onto suhyeok, its grip unyielding. your heart sank as you watched in horror, but instinct took over. you sprinted forward, grabbing a chair with one arm and slamming it into the zombie coach's back with a loud crash. the force of the blow sent shockwaves through the air, but the zombie's grip on suhyeok remained unbroken.

in a flash of adrenaline, suhyeok seized the opportunity to turn the tables, using the zombie momentum against him. with a swift motion, he hurled the man into the wall, the sound of crunching bone and scraping flesh echoing through the room.

cheongsan sprang into action, grabbing a nearby desk and slamming it into place, pinning the man to the wall with a fierce determination. gyeongsu rushed to his side, adding his strength to the effort, and together they strained to keep the desk in place, holding the snarling zombie at bay.

the air was electric with tension as the two boys wrestled with the desk, their muscles straining to keep the zombie trapped. the sound of scraping furniture and labored breathing filled the room, a testament to their desperate bid to contain the monstrous creature that had once been their coach. as you stood there, chest heaving, the chaos seemed to slow down, and your gaze drifted to the side. that's when you saw mijin, her eyes brimming with tears, her face a picture of despair. nayeon burst into the space between you, her movements frantic as she began to dismantle the barricade at the door.

"y/n-ah...please," she begged, her voice barely audible over her sobs. her eyes pleaded with you, and yours stung in response, welling up with tears. "i-its...it's gonna be okay," you whispered softly, trying to reassure her as she stumbled towards you, her hands shaking like leaves. you knew you had to calm her down, to make her believe everything would be alright. "mijin-ah, you have to stay where you are, okay?" you continued, trying to sound calm, but the words felt like a betrayal. "it's okay...it's just a scratch," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your lips. but you knew the power of the mind was a potent thing – maybe, just maybe, if mijin believed it, it could become true.

mijin's gaze fell to the floor, her eyes clouding with disbelief at your words. she took a step forward, her feet carrying her towards nayeon, who was still frantically trying to clear the barricade. but as mijin approached, nayeon's fear spiked, and she scrambled onto the desk, her eyes wide with terror. "get away from me!" nayeon shrieked, her legs kicking out wildly as she tried to push mijin away. one kick landed squarely on mijin's chest, sending her crashing to the floor.

"nayeon, stop!" you bellowed, your rage lifting at the scene unfolding before you. but it was too late. mijin's body began to contort, her neck cracking ominously as her limbs twitched with an unnatural, robotic jerkiness. then, a blood-curdling screech tore from her throat, and she sprang to her feet, her hands dangling limply at her sides.

daesu sprang into action, his arms encircling mijin's waist as she launched herself at him with a savage ferocity. but even his formidable strength was pushed to the limit as mijin's body contorted and twisted, her limbs flailing with a wild, unbridled energy. with a swift, urgent glance, daesu roared, "everyone, out, now!" and made a frantic dash for the door, mijin's crazed form clutched tightly in his grasp. her body arched and bucked, threatening to break free from his hold, but daesu's grip remained unyielding as he battled to contain the fury that had consumed her.

as the two zombies continued to writhe and snarl, suhyeok's voice cut through the chaos, "we gotta go." he sprinted to nayeon's side, and together they frantically cleared the doorway of debris, their movements fueled by desperation. "get out, get out!" suhyeok's guttural shout echoed through the room, his words punctuated by the sound of scraping furniture and shuffling footsteps.

you scanned the room, ensuring everyone had escaped before making a final dash for the door. "lets go guys!" you yelled, shoving the last straggler forward as you followed close behind. but as you emerged into the hallway, a sense of unease settled in - suhyeok was nowhere to be seen. you spun back to face the door, just as he stumbled out, his face etched with exhaustion, and slammed it shut behind him. with a shared sense of urgency, you followed the group down the familiar hallways, the same corridors where, just moments before, you had tried to save a young girl from the clutches of the undead. as you pounded the hallway floor in a frantic sprint, your momentum was abruptly halted by a collision with joonyeong's back. the sudden impact sent a ripple through the group, and before you could process what was happening, everyone began swiftly reversing direction, their feet shuffling in unison.

curiosity getting the better of you, you darted a glance to the side, and your heart sank. a horde of zombies was closing in, their vacant eyes fixed on the group with a chilling hunger. nayeon's terrified screams pierced the air, echoing off the walls as she crumpled to the floor, her legs seemingly unable to support her. the group's frantic energy was visible, and you knew you had to act fast to avoid being overwhelmed by the encroaching undead.

in a flash, suhyeok burst from the rear of the group, his movements a blur as he launched himself upward, landing a lightning-fast kick on the bloodied student's face. the sudden display of agility left you breathless - stunned didn't begin to describe it. with a fierce determination, suhyeok continued his assault, pinning zombies to the walls and sending them crashing to the ground. but despite his valiant efforts, one managed to slip past his defenses, charging towards the group with a menacing intent.

without hesitation, you darted forward, weaving through the crowd with a swift precision. as the zombie closed in, you struck, your kick finding its mark on the undead attacker's leg. the zombie's balance faltered, and it crashed to the floor, its momentum extinguished.

just as you thought you'd dodged the worst of it, a zombie lunged from the shadows, its grasp closing around your injured arm like a clutch. a searing pain shot through your limb as the zombie's grip tightened, and you couldn't help but yell out in anguish as it yanked your arm with a sudden, violent force. in a heart-stopping instant, the zombie's mouth was mere centimeters from your arm, its rancid breath washing over your skin as it prepared to deliver the final, gruesome bite. time seemed to slow as you faced the very real possibility of becoming the zombie's next victim.

“y/n-ah! no!”

[alyrasturnz]

is it too masochistic to ask for reader with an ed head canons with matt

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎REFLECTIONS OF A  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎  ‎ DISTORTED ‎MIRROR

❐ summary » when matt gently reminds you that your true value extends far beyond the visage you see in the mirror, encompassing more than the digits displayed on the scale or the food you consume. he reassures you that your essence is woven from the threads of your kindness, intelligence, and the unique qualities that make you who you are, far surpassing any superficial measures.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x insecure!reader

❐ warnings » mentions of eds (anorexia, bulimia, and binge)

❐ a/n && w/c » on a real note, my dms and asks are always open if you ever wanna talk

anorexia

bf!matt who discerns the nuanced shifts in your eating patterns, the meticulous manner in which you maneuver food across your plate, and the gentle, almost imperceptible justifications you offer to forgo meals.

bf!matt who tenderly urges you to nourish yourself, meticulously preparing your favorite dishes and accompanying you at the table, weaving tales to divert your mind and provide solace.

bf!matt who delves into understanding your triggers, meticulously steering clear of them, and cultivating an environment that radiates safety and unwavering support.

bf!matt who envelops you in a tender embrace on the arduous days, softly murmuring reassurances, and gently reminding you of your intrinsic worth that transcends your struggles.

bf!matt who exults in every minor triumph with you, whether it's the completion of a meal or the mere act of recognizing and validating your emotions.

bf!matt who immerses himself in the intricacies of eating disorders, striving to comprehend and support you with a profound empathy, devoid of any judgment.

bf!matt who refrains from exerting any pressure, yet steadfastly remains by your side, extending a constant hand of support and a heart brimming with love as you navigate your path towards healing.

bf!matt who vigilantly monitors your well-being with subtlety, ensuring you receive the necessary nutrients without causing you to feel inundated.

bf!matt who cultivates an atmosphere devoid of judgment, where you can freely express your feelings and struggles with complete openness.

bf!matt who gently reminds you that your worth is not measured by your appearance or dietary habits, but by the profound kindness and inner strength that reside within you.

bf!matt who remains unwaveringly by your side through every step of your journey, celebrating your progress and offering solace during setbacks, continually reminding you that you are never alone.

bulimia

bf!matt who keenly observes the frequent excursions to the bathroom post-meals and the subtle signs of distress etched upon your face.

bf!matt who tenderly proposes engaging activities, such as a leisurely walk or an engrossing movie, to divert your attention after meals, aiding you in remaining present and grounded.

bf!matt who diligently acquaints himself with the intricacies of bulimia, educating himself on the most compassionate and nonjudgmental ways to offer his unwavering support.

bf!matt who thoughtfully maintains a collection of your favorite snacks, gently encouraging you to embrace balanced eating habits without the burden of striving for perfection.

bf!matt who attentively listens without interruption when you confide in him about your struggles, creating a sanctuary for your emotions and thoughts.

bf!matt who exults in the days when you feel invincible and tenderly holds your hand on the days when you feel vulnerable, perpetually reminding you of your inherent resilience.

bf!matt who assists you in seeking professional support, fully comprehending that the path to recovery is a journey best navigated with expert guidance and compassionate care.

bf!matt who gently reassures you that your worth is not tethered to your eating habits, but rather to the remarkable and extraordinary person you are within.

bf!matt who steadfastly stands by your side through every challenge, offering unwavering support and boundless love as you navigate the intricate path to healing.

bf!matt who collaborates with you in preparing meals, transforming the act of eating from a daunting task into a shared and enriching experience.

bf!matt who assists you in setting small, attainable goals and rejoices with you over each accomplishment, no matter how seemingly insignificant they may appear.

bf!matt who, without fail, tenderly kisses your stomach, arms, thighs, and most importantly, your lips every day, endeavoring to instill a sense of self-worth and comfort within you.

binge eating disorder

  bf!matt who discerns the subtle signs of binge eating and purging, and rather than casting judgment, provides a soothing and comforting presence.

bf!matt who creates a safe and non-judgmental space for you to talk about your feelings and struggles with binge eating, reminding you that he’s there to listen and support you.

bf!matt who helps you develop healthy routines and habits, like regular meal times and balanced nutrition, to reduce the urge to binge eat.

bf!matt who joins you in mindful eating practices, making meals a time of connection and awareness rather than stress.

bf!matt who supports you in finding alternative coping mechanisms for stress and emotions, such as exercise, hobbies, or relaxation techniques.

bf!matt who educates himself about binge eating disorder to better understand your experiences and challenges, showing empathy and informed support.

bf!matt who celebrates your progress and small victories, reinforcing positive changes and helping you stay motivated on your journey to recovery.

bf!matt who helps you plan and prepare balanced meals, turning cooking and eating into a shared, enjoyable activity rather than a source of anxiety.

bf!matt who respects your boundaries and understands that recovery is a personal journey, offering support without pressure or judgment.

bf!matt who encourages you to practice self-compassion and forgiveness, reminding you that setbacks are part of the process and don’t define your worth.

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @sturniolo-0bsessed @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

[gothicflowers]

Call Of Duty x GN!Reader

How they would react to you telling them about your anxiety disorder.

Warnings: talks of Generalized Anxiety Disorder. This is inspired by my own struggles as a diagnosed individual with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Please do not self diagnose or glamorize mental disorders or illnesses.

Sitting down for lunch after this mornings long meeting felt like heaven. A much needed battery recharging time for you. Taking a moment to practice your positive affirmations and breathing like your therapist said you felt the anxiety simmer down. Only to be interrupted by a tray being placed on your small two person table.

“You’re kinda quiet and shy. It’s actually kinda nice being around someone that doesn’t feel the need to be the loudest voice in the room.” He nonchalantly hands you an electrolyte drink and takes a seat across from you before continuing his rambling. You look back down at your half eaten sandwich diverted your eyes from his. Eye contact is a struggle you’ve been working on. Still listening to his words you nod your head so he doesn’t think you’re ignoring him.

“I mean we all have to know how to be assertive in this line of work, but I can really appreciate your demeanor as a person. You have a calming energy about you.”

You laughed at his description of you and couldn’t help the words from spilling out. “Thanks, it’s actually just a disorder.” You let out a faint laugh. You always tried to find the humor in your situation.

He was too stunned to speak or finish putting his sandwich in his mouth. He put it back down on his plate before trying to find the right words. He was worried his words had came across as rude and disrespectful. All of which he was trying to avoid.

After realizing your blurted out confession you took a brief moment to compose yourself and your thoughts. Looking up at him you gave a faint smile trying to show you’re not upset. “I have what’s called Generalized Anxiety Disorder. People with the condition can struggle with different things.” Trying to describe your struggles isn’t something you’re great at but maybe he’ll understand? “Personally, I don’t do well in social situations, interactions or speaking up. It sometimes leads to anxiety, stress, overthinking and panic attacks if it’s real bad. I prefer to be hidden in the background away from everyone’s attention. I know my comfort zones and when to push myself. But it’s never affected by ability as a soldier.” You nod your head at your own explanation.

He smiles and nods. “I appreciate you telling me that so I understand you better. I do apologize if me saying your shy or quiet came across rude. I genuinely find you to be a great person to be around.”

“Actually you probably went about it in possibly the kindest way I’ve ever experienced. I’ve been told my quietness is rude or snobbish. Which is far from how I want to be perceived. So I actually appreciate someone taking a liking to it.”

It was nice being able to have a conversation about your disorder without feelings judging. Nor did he offer unsolicited advice. Instead he recognized that it was something you don’t openly share and appreciated your trust in him. And his opinion of you didn’t change. After feeling closed off from your team you felt a little more comfortable, with him at least.

Alex Keller, Rudy (Roldofo) Parra, Gaz (Kyle) Garrick, Roach, John Price, Nikolai, Logan Walker

[lillaydee]

The Arrangement Part 5

Frontier! Joel Miller / Reader

Your life crumbled to nothing during a migration to Jackson, forcing you to agree to an arrangement just to survive.

NOTE: Possible inaccuracies in baby developments, food intake and inheritance or ownership laws coming. I really know nothing, but I needed to put some stuff in for the sake of the story line, so please forgive me and take everything in the spirit of storytelling yeah?

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Frontier Joel, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Virgin Joel, Virgin Reader, Minor Character Death, Period-typical Misogyny, Marriage of Convenience

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 4

You finished your work on Will and Benny’s initials rather quickly, took you minutes. You rummaged through your mother’s scrap box next, finding bits and pieces of loose ribbons and lace, scraps of materials she had saved for quilts and such, a little project for the ladies in mind.

Within 45 minutes, you had finished making the pins for your hats for the wedding, white lace with blush ribbon flowers for the brides, and pink cotton with white ribbon flowers for you and Maria. You took them over to their camps, Maria going to the other two with you. The ladies were excited as you pinned the arrangements on their hats. The four of you then went back to your camp, the ladies bringing the dress they planned to wear along with the hats, and the four of you brainstormed how you could make them look extra nice for the wedding. Ellie was sitting on the rug in the circle the four of you created, playing with a wooden rattle, happily yammering on and on to a butterfly that had decided to keep her company.

You had the idea of wrapping some ribbons around the hats, rummaging in the box of scraps to look for suitable ones, the other three ladies craning their necks to see what treasures could be found in there, when suddenly, Ellie was no longer in the circle. She had taken off on all fours, chasing the butterfly. The four of you were stunned, cheering her on, when her attention got diverted by an oncoming Joel. He and the lads stopped in their tracks seeing the little girl crawling her way to her Papa, an excited smile on her face. Joel met her halfway, lifting her up into the air in celebration. Good job BabyGirl! He looked so happy your heart almost burst.

“She was so fast we almost didn’t notice she was gone! We’re going to need to figure out a way to keep her in one place, or she’ll end up in the stream,” you told Joel.

“I’ll think of something,” he said, his smile contagious. “You did so good! I’m proud of you! Now, you’re going to behave and not disappear on your Mama, right? You’re not gonna give her a hard time, right?” he asked her, the little girl squirming to get away, excited to know she had this new way of getting around. She answered by blowing a raspberry at him, earning her a boisterous laugh which she quickly joined in with, blowing another to make him laugh harder.

The rattling, rolling sounds of some wagons approaching distracted the laughing family, the lumber had arrived. Joel handed Ellie back to you, gave you a quick wink and went to meet it with the rest of the men. You returned to the ladies, who were standing in line hiding the wedding preparations behind them, sly smiles on their faces.

“Ooh, I think someone’s blushing!” Diana teased.

Your face got hotter, unable to keep the smile you had on off it.

You strapped Ellie back onto your chest and went back to the hats, trying hard to pretend you were not affected by the small gesture form your husband. Everyone was still teasing you with oohs and aahs and winky smiles, but Maria’s statement got your attention.

“I think your husband’s falling for you, Elena.”

“Oh, he definitely is. Did you see how mad he got this afternoon with the stew?”

“Oh, he is falling for you. And you know what? I think his feelings are mutual here, too!”

“Oh, stop it, let’s make this about the brides, alright? I’m already married.”

“Yeah… but we’ve all known our husband and future husbands a long time. You two are still new. Oh… this is exciting! It’s like watching a romantic film!”

You rolled your eyes at your new sisters, a shy smile gracing your lips, nonetheless.

**********

Dinner was a simple affair; Maria had given you some stew she made. Liv and Diana had brought a thick wooden box with them, filled it with ice and placed the meat all of you had purchased in to keep fresh. You needed to get your mother’s cooking box unpacked tomorrow, you needed to cook for your husband and baby. To say you were nervous was an understatement. Breakfast would not be too intimidating, but lunch and dinner? Oh, boy. Not to mention they will start building tomorrow. So he needed a hearty meal to keep his energy up. Your mother had a small box of recipes, so that will help, but really, you were pissing yourself at the thought that your husband was going to starve, or worse, get sick from your cooking. But that’s a problem for tomorrow. You have three sisters right there in the next camps – you could ask for their help, right?

The sun was still out. Ellie was down for the night, safely tucked in her basket in your wagon. She will soon outgrow it, but you could take that basket apart and join it with the other one for now. Something for you to do when Joel was out working. Joel was smoothing some wood he had collected along the forest by the fire, you sat across from him, a big old flannel blanket on your lap. It had a few rips in the middle; your mother had saved it due to its thickness. You wanted to repurpose it into a couple of carriers for Ellie. She was growing by the second, and a lot squirmier now, the shawl would not be able to hold her safely in a few weeks. You made the shoulder straps thick, sturdy, so it wouldn’t dig into your shoulders, the straps that would tie around your body too, the pouch doubled up on material to withstand her weight. This should be comfortable for both Ellie and whoever was carrying her.

You worked quickly, too used to helping your mother with her work back then. You held up your first attempt, checking the stitching and trying it on to see if it could be tightened or loosened as needed. You then held it in front of you and asked Joel to stand up, looking at him expectantly. He quickly did and stood there patiently as you placed the contraption on his shoulders, so broad and welcoming, before throwing the ties over his shoulders and tying them around his waist to see if it would fit him too.

“Now, you need to imagine a very heavy baby in here,” you said, taking some firewood and placing them in the pouch where Ellie would go. “Do the straps cut into your shoulder?”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, a small smile on his lips.

“What about the ones on your back and waist? Do they feel uncomfortable?” You walked around him, adjusting the straps on his body, not really noticing how his body stiffened at your touch.

He waited until you got around to face him again, clamped his lips together in a failed effort to hide his smile and shook his head again. You kept adjusting the carrier on his body, making sure that it wouldn’t come loose. You asked him to walk back and forth, telling him to imagine Ellie’s legs on his sides, her head sticking out the top, asking him if it was comfortable, if it felt stable. He nodded slowly, walking back to you. You adjusted the wood, adding one more for good measure, making sure the carrier could withstand the weight of a growing baby – you wanted to be able to use this for a while. He stood there patiently as you did, watching you as your face got all serious and scrunched up, thinking of ways to better your work.

He placed a hand on your waist. You looked up at him, his eyes boring into yours, telling you it’s perfect. You did great, Elena. You flustered at his praise; your entire body warmed up by that one light touch on your waist. You lowered your head quickly, feeling the warmth of what you knew was the beginning of a blush spreading across your chest, neck and face, taking the wood out of the pouch one by one before untying the contraption and taking it off his very warm and solid body.

“What are you working on?” you asked him, trying to distract yourself from ogling at your very attractive husband, sitting back down by the fire, picking up your needle to begin hemming the edges of the carrier.

Joel seemed a bit flustered himself, your question seemingly woke him from a daze.

“I’m making a play cot for Ellie. She’s moving now, so I thought having one of these is one less worry for you. See, these will go into a frame, and we can just plop her in it. Should be done in a couple more days.”

Something about this evening brought warmth to the both of you, and it was not the roaring fire. It was the fact that both of you were spending the evening together, making something for a baby who was not related by blood to either of you. But as far as the two of you were concerned, she was your baby. It felt… domestic. Right. Meant to be.

The two of you worked quietly, comfortable in each other’s presence until the light was too low for you to see your stitches. You sat with him, anyway, taking your mother’s scrap box and sorting the jumbled mess of contents slowly for easier access. He lit a gaslight for the two of you when the sun had set fully, quietly going back to his work after.

When you finished reorganizing the scrap box, you put it back in your wagon and grabbed a book, the gaslight providing just enough light for you to read quietly while keeping your husband company. He brought it closer to you, didn’t want you to strain your eyes, he said. What book are you reading? You told him. He asked if you could read it out loud for him too? He had never gotten good enough at reading to read a whole book. But he had heard about that story and would really like to know what it’s about.

When you started reading the first line in the first chapter, his face lit up. He shuffled to sit closer to you, his hands continued working on the sticks he had found, stopping every now and again to listen better. Every time he did, his eyes took your entire face in, trying hard to commit every expression you made to memory, the way your lips moved, the way your eyebrows rose up and went back down at different parts, the way your head moved as you elaborated certain bits for effect. His smile never left his lips, even as he tried hard to concentrate on smoothing the sticks he was working on, not making much progress from this wonderful distraction he had found in the shape of his beautiful wife, reading out a story for him.

His wife. Even saying the words in his head, he could feel his heart expand ten times the size.

When the first chapter ended, you marked the page and closed the book. A flash of disappointment fell across his face, but you told him, more to come tomorrow. He smiled, slightly embarrassed by his impatience, but nodded in agreement. He laid out the sticks against his wagon to dry before quickly washing his hands in the bucket you kept full by the fire. After drying them, he held out a hand to you, asking to see your hand. You held out your injured hand, which he gently took, examining the red spot that seemed to look better than it did than before. He kissed it, right next to the injury, and suddenly you understood the term ‘kiss it better’ so much more than you ever did. He got the salve Liv had given him out of his pocket and gently applied some on your hand, asking you if he’s hurting you. You simply shook your head, trying hard to understand why you were feeling all hot and bothered whenever he spoke to you, or even looked your way.

He helped you stand up and walked you to your wagon, climbing in with you to kiss Ellie goodnight one more time, the little girl squirming a little before stilling again, content with her life.

“Well, goodnight, wife,” he said to you, giving you a kiss on your cheek, lingering a bit longer this time. You didn’t hesitate to give him one too, both of you reluctantly parting, shy smiles and looks exchanged.

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you got his kerchief out of your bosom and placed it next to your head, turning to sleep with your cheek directly on it. And in his own wagon, Joel did the same with the lace handkerchief you had gifted him.

**********

When you woke the next day, you got to work. This was real now. Up until yesterday, the camps ate all meals together, but now that you were more settled and the build was starting, you were all on your own. You were officially Joel’s wife, your marriage certificate submitted, his kerchief tucked in your bosom, the ring he got you on your finger. You got some water from the stream and got the fire going. You boiled some potatoes and water first, before going to the meat cooler to get some rashers, Liv, Maria and Diana already up and about their camps, doing the same things you were. Just as you finished making her breakfast, mashed potatoes mixed in with her formula today, Ellie woke up, graciously alerting you of her wake from slumber with a hungry cry.

Her cries woke Joel up, always on the alert for his BabyGirl’s distresses, but you told him to get ready for the day, it’s okay, you’ve got her. You quickly cleaned her up and placed her in her new carrier, strapping her to your chest as you began making Joel’s breakfast. Just as his coffee, rashers, eggs, potatoes and tomatoes were ready, he emerged from his wagon, all dressed up and ready to go. He took Ellie from you, asking you to have your breakfast before him, he will feed Ellie, he said. He wanted to spend time with her before his work day began, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. You cleaned Ellie’s messy potato-smeared face as Joel ate, Ellie busy telling her Papa about her dreams, endlessly babbling while grabbing at his shirt, Joel talking back to her as if having the most important discussion of the day. He wiped his plate, as well as the frying pan clean with a piece of bread, seemingly happy with his breakfast.

You asked him what the plan was for today, as far as breaking ground goes. Him and Tommy will be levelling the land, he said, and Will and Benny will begin the dig for the outhouse. You found yourself getting excited, the build was starting. You asked him more questions about the house. His eyes lit up as he told you his plans, sipping his coffee while at it, savoring this first morning when it was just the three of you, a new family, having breakfast, him telling his wife about the house he was building for his family.

He took another look at your hand, put more salve on it, and gave it another kiss.

When Will, Benny and Tommy came over, he picked up his gloves and hat, smothered Ellie in kisses, and gave you a long, lingering peck on the cheek, which you shyly returned. The other three men tipped their hats at you, a sly smile escaping their own lips, muttering something to Joel who quickly told them to shut up, looking at you with red cheeks. Joel and Will took a corner each of the very heavy tool box your father had left, Tommy and Benny with shovels in their hands, and the men walked to the site to begin their work, Ellie fussing in her carrier, wanting to go with him. You calmly told her it’s alright, we will see him soon. You promised.

You spent the morning cleaning up, washing the dishes, boiling pot after pot of water for drinking, doing the laundry with the ladies, Ellie merrily chirping along, the carrier passed on from lady to lady – all of whom couldn’t resist her chubby cheeks and happy babbles. Every hour, you went to the site, a jar of water in your hands, Ellie on your chest, making sure Joel had something to drink. On the second hour, you brought him some fruits to snack on, which you had to shyly feed to him, his hands filthy from the work. He never took his eyes off you as he chewed, a strange feeling in his chest and tummy. His face brightened every time you approached; dimmed a little every time you said goodbye. Every time you turned to let a fussy Ellie see her Papa again, he was still looking at you.

After your final trip of the morning to him, you placed a drowsy Ellie in her basket, and began to make your husband his lunch, taking a deep breath, your mother’s recipe for beef and vegetables stew laid out for you to follow. Stew seemed right, you thought. You had bread, and it would be easy for him to eat. Hearty. You had chopped everything ready and looked at the instructions.

Step 1: Make a roux.

Oh dear Lord. What on God’s green earth was a ‘roux’?

You scoured your mother’s recipe box for a ‘roux’ recipe. There was none.

You wanted to go ask the ladies, but you could see from afar they were busy. And Ellie was sleeping, the firepit was roaring. You couldn’t go to them. Horrific pictures of Ellie waking while you were gone and crawling into the firepit was invading your mind. And all your childcare experience had taught you to never, ever, wake a sleeping baby.

Surely a ‘roux’ was not that important?

You followed the recipe to a tee, apart from this mysterious ‘roux’, which was never mentioned again. When the stew mixture was done and boiling, the final step told you to season the stew. So you opened your mother’s cooking box, where jars and jars of spices and seasoning were stacked neatly, and realized, to your horror, that she didn’t label any of it.

Your mother had always been one of those people. You know the ones. The ladies who made cooking look like something they were born to do. She would simply sniff at a pot and just knew what it was lacking. No wonder she didn’t have to label anything. There was no danger that she would put something that wasn’t supposed to be in a pot by mistake. Her cooking was always spot on. Whenever you helped her cook, she would tell you to grab something and add it to the pot, and you would do as she asked, telling her to ‘say when’ as you slowly added whatever it was into the food, and she would cheekily say ‘when’. And of course, it would taste fantastic.

But you were not your mother. You realized that Joel was going to be home at any moment, and you had not seasoned the pot. Also, shouldn’t stews be thicker? Why was this watery? The color was light, too. You had this recipe before, your mother made them often. It was always brownish. This was… greyish?

You were sweating. From the pit, the weather, your panic, you had no idea. But this cannot possibly be good.

You could hear the men from the site, their voices getting nearer and nearer. You took jars of what you hoped was salt and pepper, and tossed some into the pot, stirring the bubbling contents, hoping to God you hadn’t just poisoned your husband.

Joel appeared, his face lighting into a bright smile at the sight of you and his sleeping daughter. He took the kerchief he had tied around his neck off, giving you a quick kiss, telling you something smelled good, and that he was just going to go wash up a little bit, peering into Ellie’s basket before going down to the stream. You scooped some of the very watery stew and tore off a big piece of bread for him, a jug of water at the ready for him to eat. He came back, his hair, face and neck wet from his wash, the kerchief now wet from a quick rinse and wrung dry. He laid it out next to the pit to dry.

“One bowl?” he asked you, “You’re not joining me for lunch?”

“I’ll eat later, Ellie’s sleeping. In case she wakes up.”

He nodded and took his seat on the log next to you.

God, he looked delectable. His curls evident when wet, water trailing down his face, onto his neck, before disappearing underneath his shirt. Oh, dirty thoughts were invading your mind, and… oh…

Oh dear. Oh Lord. He had picked up the bowl, blew on it and spooned a mouthful into his mouth. He chewed, asking you if Ellie was giving you a hard time today, taking another mouthful, before drinking some of the grey water, placing the bowl down, and tearing the bread you had laid out for him, dipping the piece into the bowl and eating it, looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

Oh, he didn’t react badly. Couldn’t be that bad, right?

So you answered him. And the afternoon passed by in the blink of an eye, conversations flowing easily, he even took a second helping, he must be very hungry. After eating, he laid down on the rug next to Ellie’s basket, taking a much needed nap. It wasn’t long before he began to snore softly, the passing breeze making it so easy for him to drift. You took his bowl and scooped some stew for yourself. You slurped some of the soup into your mouth, and immediately had to stand and run to the side to spit it out.

What in the devil’s name was that?

How could he eat that? Two full bowls of it! Oh… That was… so bad. So, so, so very bad. What seasoning did you put in there? You couldn’t even describe what it tasted like. Goo? Bland beef water? Piss?

You poured the contents of the bowl back into the pot. You couldn’t just throw the whole thing out. That was money spent, and you had made a pot full so you could have it for dinner too. Oh… that was a mistake, wasn’t it?

You actually felt like crying. He didn’t react badly, but the thought of him eating that when hungry and tired from hard, physical work all morning made you feel sad for him. And the idea that he would go back out and continue working for the rest of the day only to come home to that again broke your heart.

He woke not too long after, entertaining a freshly rested Ellie until it was time to go back to work. You gave him a jar of water to bring with him, promising him you will send him a fresh jar every hour if he promised to drink as much as he could. It was getting hotter and hotter, and you didn’t want him to get heatstroke. He looked touched by your worries, took the jar out of your hand and promised he would drink the water, kissing you on your cheek, whispering thank you for lunch, look forward to see you again, wife.

You sent him off with a smile and a wave from Ellie, the little girl fussing, wanting to follow her Papa. He actually looked a bit sad to leave, but needs be, he needed to get the work done.

You ran straight to Maria after, begging her to come back to your camp with you. You showed her the travesty that was your stew, and upon tasting it, the look on her face told you everything Joel didn’t tell you. She asked you what seasoning you put in there, and you sheepishly showed her the two jars you had used. She opened them both and sniffed, taking some out to taste before clamping her lips together at you, trying hard not to laugh.

You had put baking powder and crushed black sesame seeds into your stew instead of salt and pepper. You could only hang your head in shame at the revelation.

Why, oh why, Elena, didn’t you taste the stew? Or the contents of the jar, for that matter?

Well, your mother never did.

And you could do that too, one day, when you have cooked three meals a day for twenty years, she told you, still struggling not to laugh.

The two of you spent time opening every single jar, figuring out what the contents were, and labeling them properly. Then, she helped you salvage the very watery stew, adding salt and pepper, bit by bit, asking you to taste as you go along, until the taste was right.

And then you asked her what a ‘roux’ was. She looked at you as if you were speaking gibberish.

Okay, then.

**********

When he came home that evening, carrying one end of the chest with Will on the other side, he looked beat. Will left immediately after, reminding you two that tomorrow was the big day, and that you will all have breakfast in town after the wedding. After greeting you with a quick peck on the cheek, Joel told you he was going to wash, turning around and taking his shirt off right there in front of you before grabbing some clean clothes, a towel and his washcloth from his wagon, heading down to the stream, his trousers hanging low on his waist.

You found yourself unable to look away. You could see his muscles rippling as he moved down to the stream, his body slick from all the sweat he had worked up during his hard work day. He bent down to splash cold water on his torso and head, taking the washcloth to clean his body, lathering it in soap before rubbing it all over his neck, chest and arms. He turned, and you could see him run the washcloth all over his belly, his sides, and you found yourself helpless as your eyes went beyond his hands, trailing further and further down…

Ellie’s cooing snapped you out of your thoughts.

You turned around and shook your head, immediately preparing Ellie’s dinner. Your head did the unthinkable and chanced another turn for one last look of the evening, where he had his back to you, the weight of his wet trousers now pulling them down enough for you to see the crack just below his waistline.

You turned your head back so fast you got lightheaded. You had to stop what you were doing, taking deep, deep breaths to calm yourself.

You didn’t understand what was going on. Your heart was racing. Your body felt so hot, a red flush beginning to creep all over your face, ears and neck, a weird sensation pooling in your belly.

Oh dear Lord. You must be coming down with something. Were you ill?

What was happening?

Part 6