#THERE IS NO OTHER PLAN BUT TO DO OR TO DIE

[multifandomgirl08]

A Year to Celebrate [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Format: Social Media

A/N: This is the last Social Media AU I have planned for now when it comes to Mini Verstappen. More may eventually get posted.

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

maxverstappen1

Liked by ynverstappen, victoriaverstappen, and 294,186 others

tagged: ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 Happy Birthday, my love. Another year older, and you grow more beautiful by the day.

View all 835 comments

fan17 Why do I feel like Nico had a hand in designing Y/N's cake?

fan42 Max, please stop simping on main... we get it!

fan87 Does she age at all? Seriously, I don't think she's aged a day since we've been getting pictures of her.

maxverstappen1

Liked by ynverstappen, danielricciardo and 756,457 others

tagged: ynverstappen

maxverstappen1 Happy Anniversary, mijn leeuwin. Married for three years and together for 7. We have shared and been through so much in that time. You becoming a mom to our boys, always being able to support each other in whatever we accomplish, and loving me through everything that comes our way.

ynverstappen Love you, mijn leeuw ☺️❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

fan42 New fan here. They've only been together how long??

fan78 Wow, time really does fly by. I still remember when Max first started posting pictures of Y/N to his instagram stories.

fan17 Look at Y/N practicing her dutch!

Feb 2, 2028

ynverstappen

Liked by danielricciardo, victoriaverstappen, and 578,231 others

ynverstappen Going through this beautiful journey one last time

kimi.antonelli When you are no long Mum's youngest child... 😭

View all 452 comments

fan52 Her nails are pink. Does that mean that they're having a girl?

fan28 I would die if they are finally having a girl.

fan37 Is that Max ducking out of the first picture?

fan93 Dude, we know it’s you who got her pregnant. There’s no need to hide.

fan75 Are we just going to pretend not to see what Kimi posted as a comment? When did Max and Y/N adopt him?

July 3, 2028

maxverstappen1

Liked by sophiekumpen, charles_leclerc, sebastianvettel, and 625,095 others

maxverstappen1 I've grown up with so many amazing women in my life. From my mom, my sister, to my wife, and now my daughter. My life wouldn't be the same without these women in it.

danielricciardo Whoever owes me money, pay up! I told you all!!!

pierregasly No! You were supposed to have another boy. alex_albon Pretty sure that's not how conception works pierregasly. You can't just choose whether you have a boy or a girl. landonorris Can I mail you your winnings?? Or do you take Cash App?

View all 1,382 comments

fan38 Max is FINALLY A GIRL DAD!!!!

fan57 Confirmation that all of Max's kids have Nic/k names?

fan92 As much as I’m here for Max finally being a girl dad… Y/N finally no longer being the only woman in the house. Now that’s something I can get behind.

fan76 Sophie must be so happy to finally have a granddaughter.

fan20 I hope we get some pics of Max having a tea party with his daughter when she's older. I demand to see photos of Max staring the camera down in a tiara.

fan45 Is Max trying to beat Checo in having children as well?

Nov 20, 2028

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @thedecalcomania-blog, @xoscar03, @em-gvf01, @haikyuen, @shelbyteller , @geniusalpaca, @princessria127, @mysticalnightenthusiast, @green-thots, @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp, @ellelabelle, @lilypat, @dreamercrowd

[thebubblesareevil]

Everyone forgot Danny

It started out slow, he would be in class and people wouldn’t notice him until he spoke up. His parents would ask what they wanted for dinner and would look confused when he answered.

Slowly but surely people forgot who Danny was entirely.

His records vanished along with his memory.

At first Danny was angry, then he thought it was funny, and then his parents started to lose interest in ghost hunting and then he got worried and went to see clockwork.

The ghosts remembered him, but the people of amity park could not remember Danny.

It was a defense mechanism, clockwork explained, areas with high concentrations of ectoplasm would infect anything living and cause it to not notice or even forget ectoplasmic entities.

This was to prevent anything from actively attacking the realms or looking into things too deeply and learning things their mind could not comprehend.

It happened to protect both the living and the dead.

There was no going back. If the ectoplasm were to be forcefully removed the citizens would all die within the year, their bodies unable to support them anymore.

So now Danny was faced with a choice.

Leave amity and find a place for himself in the world

Or

Stay in the infinite realms and take his rightful place on the throne.

Danny wasn’t ready to give up living, so he packed up everything he could, sealing away the rest his parents weapons in the ghost zone and locking up the lab.

He had some ghosts install a second basement so if anyone looked at the building plans nothing would be amiss, but no living creature would go through that portal again.

Danny travel from city to city, coast to coast. Until one day he was sitting on a dock and all hell broke loose.

A massive red tornado landed right in the middle of happy harbor.

Danny jumped into action, doing everything he could to get any and all civilians away from the tornado.

Insanely, there appeared to be a group of teenaged heroes around his age and younger.

Watching the team struggle, but eventually succeed was nostalgic. He knew they would learn, and who would it hurt if he stuck around for a bit to see where things lead?

So with the money he stole from vlad, he got himself an apartment and enrolled in school. He go a little help from technus to fake his records, but no mortal would be able to tell they were fake.

Up until school started, the teens would hang out around the beach. Danny watched from a distance and tried to figure out each of their powers.

He was pretty sure the red head was a speedster; clockwork loved to complain about them.

The big guy was definitely a superhuman. Strength at the minimum.

The red headed girl…was definitely not human. He didn’t even need to see her shift; no human teen would say “hello Megan” when referring to herself that often.

Blondie and Mr sunglasses definitely were skill based heroes

The only one he wasn’t sure about was tall dark and handsome. He showed some combat skills when he messed around with his friends. Maybe something water based? When he got in the water he stayed longer than most, but that was only when there was no other people near the group. So maybe he transformed in water? Danny wasn’t sure.

After school started, things were nice. He did well in his classes and his hero watching hobby was getting interesting. From what he could tell, superboy and the shifter were absolutely dancing around each other, it was actually kinda adorable.

He wasn’t sure what was going on with superboy, but he was definitely doing better getting acclimated to normal people; Danny suspected he was raised in a lab.

So time passed and things were nice. He was working hard and getting good grades, he had…friends. Totally, just because they only ever talked in class didn’t mean he had no friends.

Everything was good.

And then all the adults vanished. Danny didn’t know what was going on but he knew he had to help. So Danny got to work organizing the teens of happy harbor into some semblance of organization.

He rallied anyone with a license to collect kids around town after he Hotwired some buses. When the heroes arrive he tells them they have things handled there and to help other cities.

Eventually though (and I’m absolutely fucking with canon at this point) Billy batson shows up and is trying to make his way to mount Justice to get to the team only to run into a fucking eldrich horror.

Billy screams as soon as he sees Danny and Danny grabs him and throws him in an alley to confront him.

Danny then yells at the kid that if he wanted something then he didn’t need to yell and to please stop glowing.

Once they come to an understanding, Danny agrees to get Billy to mount Justice. He hot wires a motorcycle and Billy helps him break into the base.

It takes a bunch of convincing, but Danny reluctantly agrees to go in with him, but only because he wants to see their awesome gadgets and nothing else.

When confronted by the team of teens Billy struggles to prove who he is until wolf comes up and licks him.

Superboy (and Danny bursts out laughing when he learns that’s his actual hero name) and miss Martian both confront Billy about bringing Danny.

Billy refuses to explain on account of them really not having time right now. Danny meanwhile is looking over some of the reading they left up and suggests Billy try to transform.

After they get into contact and things are revealed to be caused by a group of sorcerers led by klarion.

After everything settles down, Batman confronts Danny who isn’t the least bit intimidated, instead saying he had a test coming up and needed to study.

Billy on the other hand decides he should convince Batman that Danny could be a valuable asset and proceeds to blackmail Danny into joining the team.

He ends up basically just helping out and dropping valuable but incredibly obscure bits of knowledge.

While Danny is really enjoying his time with the team, things come crashing down when vlad starts blackmailing him.

Obviously Danny doesn’t give into the blackmail because he thinks vlad is a fucking fruit loop but he constantly reminds Danny that he has way more ectoplasm the vlad does and it was only a matter of time before the heroes get infected and start forgetting him.

So Danny starts acting distant, hanging out less and less.

His friends are getting worried.

Kaldur tries to confront him but it only leads to Danny storming off and not returning to the base for a week.

No one knows how to help him, until Robin hacks into sports masters laptop and finds a file on Danny and what exactly they could use to emotionally cripple him if he ever joined the fight.

It also had data that none of them could understand but they were certain Danny could.

Kaldur is volunteered as tribute as the one to talk to Danny and fic him the file. When he reads it he breaks down in kaldurs arms because it showed that he didn’t release enough ecto to infect them.

They wouldn’t forget him.

So the next time the team leaves for a mission and they have intel that vlad would be there, he sneaks aboard the ship.

They’re nearly there when he finally reveals himself but no matter what any of them say he refuses to stay on the ship.

He only agrees to keep his distance so long as plasmius never shows his face.

Unfortunately for the villains, he does, and Danny shows all the villains present exactly why vlad was getting the big bucks for keeping Danny off the playing field.

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Caleb x afab!reader Tags: Possessive love,  graphic smut, very ‘touch her and die’ vibes, breeding kink, Caleb is jealous of Xavier, light impact play, overstimulation, creampie (be safe ya’ll). MINORS DNI. WC: 2.5k

Description: You were a little late returning home from the Hunter’s Association. A/N: For @laddelulu30 who put breeding on my mind xD Also dedicated to @unintentionalseductress because well, Caleb :3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You said you’d be out late. He already expected that. Yet something about the whole situation still made him uneasy. 

“There’s a pair of agents that just got back from their interrogation. We’re debriefing and then planning our schedules for the next few days. I promise, if it’s later than midnight, I’ll call you to pick me up.” You reassured him over video call. 

Caleb couldn’t protest, not when your eyes are staring back at him with sincerity he’s known for the better part of your lives — it was the same look you fixed him when you wanted an extra five minutes of his time to play whatever game you’d come up with that day. 

“Alright, alright, fine. Just promise to text me.” Caleb relented, the muscles in his jaw tightening despite the smile he tried to fix on his lips. 

“I will.” 

That was over two hours ago.  Thanks to the lifestyle app that you had suggested you download onto your phones, you were able to see each other’s general location on the map, and the speeds at which your phone was traveling at. Of course this only worked if you had your phone on you and the location was only accurate up to a 3-miles radius…and that wasn’t acceptable for him. No, he needed to know where you are at all times, down to the last step.

There’s a secret app on Caleb’s work cell, one he clicked open to reveal your precise location (the Hunter’s Association building, third floor, in one of the meeting rooms that’s in the south-eastern wing). This app was connected to the tracker embedded in the ruby gemstone of the dainty gold anklet he’d gifted you. You didn’t know about the tracker’s existence of course, and if you did… well that stirred a different feeling in Caleb that he was all too happy to entertain, if his focus wasn’t already fixated on your location. 

When the hour struck 10 and you still hadn’t called, he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon pip-squeak…pick up the phone.” He muttered as the video call attempted to connect. 

“Caleb? Why are you calling me silly?” Your laughter made the imaginary claws around his heart retract by a few centimeters. Despite trying to maintain some semblance of restraint, the reproachful tone in his voice reverberated through his sentence. 

“You said you’d call if you were staying later than midnight.” 

“And it isn’t midnight.” 

Caleb snorted. “Just like you to rely a little too much on technicalities.” 

Your laughter made his fingers pause mid-strum against the arm of your sofa. “It isn’t technicalities, it’s the truth. Clock has yet to strike midnight, Mr Caleb.” Your teasing tone doesn't go unnoticed. 

He chuckled, “It’ll be past midnight by the time you get here. Let me pick you up from work.” 

“Caleb, I’m not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I’ve made the walk home a dozen times before with no problem-”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? The pure coincidence that you haven’t been attacked by some stalker?”

Oh, it was certainly rich of him to say this. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know how he was practically on edge right now, the sound of your laughter, the gentle curve of your lips…. 

“Stop that.” He commanded before he could stop himself, startling not just you but himself. It wasn’t like him to lose his control like this. 

“What?” You questioned with furrowed brows. 

“Biting your lip. Stop biting your lip, I want to do that.” Caleb said, his voice dropping into that gruff tone that made your thighs clench. Torn between surprise and a sudden rush of arousal, you licked your upper lip, brain trying to grasp at the thoughts that rushed through your mind from his authoritarian tone. “I…I wasn’t aware I was doing it. Sorry.” 

Caleb shook his head, locks of his hair curtaining his purple gaze. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be careful coming home.” He told you in a gentler tone. The soft smile didn’t reach his eyes and you wondered what could’ve possibly changed… Caleb was no stranger to you working late, especially when it came to a case that had spanned months of tracking and intel gathering. 

“I will be.” You answered. You will be. Caleb thought to himself, watching the little red dot move along the map of his work phone, muscles on the back of his neck slowly relaxing when the very same dot started to move towards the building’s exit. He felt better knowing your exact location at all times.

Your fingerprint unlocked the door to your apartment and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent of good food wafting from your barely used kitchen – outside of baking, the kitchen was only functioning when Zayne happened to drop by. Though the doctor much preferred to spend time at his apartment or experiencing the service of an actual chef in a restaurant. Caleb however, had long since made himself at home in your kitchen. There was something oddly intimate about how he knew where you kept all your cups and plates, which drawer stored the utensils versus the designated junk drawer – drawerS, if we were being truthful. 

“Perfect timing, the rice just finished cooking..” He gestured towards the tasty food and dinner setting that waited for them at the table. You closed the door behind you, hanging your coat with an air of playful suspicion. “What did you do Caleb?” You asked. 

His easy chuckle softened your heart, while he led you to the table, the warm touch of his fingers easily breaking down said suspicions. This is Caleb. Your Caleb. “I’m not trying to butter you up pip-squeak. I promise. Juuuust making sure you’re eating, even if it isn’t really on time.” He pulled back a chair for her to sit down, before taking his own seat. You picked up on his pointed tone. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t like I intended to stay that late, I swear.” You said watching as he picked up your plate and started to arrange the home-cooked meal on it. His gaze met yours over the food, his scrutiny a little gentler than before. “Who else was there?” He asked.

You cocked your head, accepting the plate he offered. “The usual crowd, you’ve met Tara before. Then Simone was there to give a debriefing…”

“And what about that guy?” 

You suddenly had flashbacks of being a preteen and Caleb’s presence scaring away any and all potential crushes. Picking at your food, you raised an innocent eyebrow. “You mean Xavier?” His silence spoke more than his words ever could. 

“He hasn’t been around. Out on another mission by himself. And even if he wasn’t, do you honestly believe you have anything to be worried about?” You challenged him with a smile – one that immediately made his pants feel a little too tight. Caleb glowered back at you, “It’s not you I don’t trust, pip-squeak. Let’s make that clear. It’s other people I have little faith in.” He watched as you stood up from your seat, walking over to him. There was a glimmer in your eyes, something that hinted at mischief. Given your history, he was all too familiar with that look of yours. You had something up your sleeve. 

“You know, you’ve got to start working on your expressions if you’re ever going to go undercover, y/n.” He teased, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders. He kept his focus on you as you walked around his chair and with a gentle nudge of your hip, had him push it backwards to provide you with just enough room to sit on his lap. 

You weren’t as amused by his jab, pouting up at him in a way that made his heart rate pick up. “I got a high score in ‘stealth and disguise’ thank you very much.” You retorted, arms going around his neck. Your fingers begin to play with the sterling silver chain of his dog tag, savoring the warmth of it between your fingertips. “Are you going to be a meanie all night just because you made dinner?”

His chuckle is followed by his arms cradling you, “Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since you pointed it out-...” His grip on you tightened before he stood up and carried you from the dining table. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If he were being honest, he’d lost count of the number of orgasms he gave you. All he knew was that he’d never get tired of the way you look beneath him, the way the silver apple charm and dog tag clinked against his chest with each thrust he makes, and he’d especially never get tired of the way you moaned his name like you were begging for repentance from a god.  “Where do you think you’re going pip-squeak? Don’t tell me you’re done taking cock? You were so desperate for it earlier.” His voice took on a darker edge, his evol thickening in the air, the fine hairs on your body standing on end at the gravity change in your environment. Your hips that had unconsciously tried to pull away are forced back onto his, forcing him in an angle that made you feel so full. “Caleb…” You whined, walls tight as you accommodated his hard, almost manic thrusts – like he just wanted to see how much he could pull out of you, how big of a puddle he could make on the hardwood floor of your living room. 

“Love hearing you say my name like that.” He muttered, rolling his hips in figure 8’s just to further blur the lines between insanity and pleasure. “What do you think about recording it one day for me, hmm? Give me the pleasure of listening to you moaning over and over again when you send me texts.” Caleb’s smirk is replaced with a sudden darkening of his lavender eyes. “Then again, that would mean risking other people hearing your beautiful, needy voice. And I like knowing that this is all for me.” His hand slid into your hair, grasping a handful in a rough ponytail and tugging you back to focus on him. You wanted to say something but half your face is still pushed into the couch cushions, his hand keeping you in place. 

SMACK.

Fuck. Your mind was blanking out, the world narrowing down to the strain of your legs while Caleb continued rutting into you like a man possessed. The sharp sting of his palm against your ass cheek only sent more heat to your groin. More… “Aww you’re so cute like this pip-squeak. Look how wet you’re getting when I treat you like the good little slut I knew you always were. I wonder how many times your colleagues fantasize about you, wonder if they know just how depraved and dirty you really like it… All hidden behind this sweet face.” He released your hair, fingers sliding around to squeeze your round cheeks, forcing your lips to purse while his eyes drank in your features. 

Without so much as a warning, Caleb is suddenly pulling out of you – the disappointing emptiness only lasting for a fraction of a second before he flipped you over and with the help of his evol, pinned you down into a mean mating press – his favorite position with you. Caleb loved to watch the way your pupils dilate into lust-blown hearts when his cock stretches you, loved even more when your legs hook over his shoulders so he could leave gentle kisses along your calf, which honestly used to be his favorite part about fucking you like this. That quickly changed when he gifted that anklet to you – yes, the one with the tracker embedded in the matching apple charm – he’d also had the foresight to include another addition to the anklet: his initials. He’d only ever admit this to himself; something about the way he watched the letter ‘C’ bounce against your ankle in the same fast-paced rhythm he’d started, made his cock twitch. It was another way to mark you, filling him with prideful arrogance when he knew he’s the only privileged bastard to have their initials around your ankle. The same ankle he could hold onto when you have your legs on his shoulders. Well that was the situation until you said the very words that made the last thread of his restraint snap. 

“Breed me Caleb.” You pant, his pendant and chain pooling on your sternum. 

His hips stuttered, hand slamming down beside your head on the cushion while he steadied himself. “What did you say?” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t catch it the first time. The burning desire within Caleb had everything to do with needing to hear it again. 

The sting of your fingernails leaving angry red marks on his back made his irregular breathing heavier, especially when you’re staring straight into his eyes with that expression that practically begged him. “Breed me, please.”

“With fucking pleasure, pip-squeak.” Instincts took over when Caleb leaned down to nip on your luscious lower lip, making good on his promise from before.  Once upon a time, you’d have sworn the noises escaping your lips were fake – no way those videos across the Internet could be onto something – Caleb, however, knew everything about your body, knew precisely how to break you down just to take his sweet time putting you together again. “Caleb-...”

“Louder. I want the whole building to hear who you belong to.” His voice is husky, fingers tight enough to leave bruises against the back of your thighs. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock between your heated, velvety walls-

“Caleb!” 

He was thrusting into you with blind need, the scent of your lovemaking thick in the air punctuated by the sodden thwack thwack thwack of your bodies.

Your vision is filled with a white sunburst, your body giving into your pleasure while you keened for him. The noises you made, the expression on your face, that vulnerability of how your chest seemed to flutter while you caught your breath…his. He was going to make you his. To breed you is to claim you in the most basest sense possible, no one would mistake who could’ve possibly made you swollen…the cadence of your voice begging him to breed you rang in his mind again further weakening the battle of wills he’d been having with himself – the need to drag this on as long as possible, or to fill you up to the brim with ropes and ropes of his-

“Fuuuuck…” You purred, overwhelmed from the feel of his warm cum spilling and smearing against your inner thighs.

“Y/n…” The crack in his voice instinctually made you grind against him, forcing another needy moan from Caleb. You both remained that way for a few beats, catching your breath while the white ring around the base of his cock slowly dripped along his balls. He pressed his cheek against your ankle, lips brushing against the curve of the ‘C’ from your anklet. His. You. Are. His.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[pwnyta]

....CONTINUING MY EVO AU (0 0)...

I was thinking about what power Maria would have (if any at all but decided YES she should)

Her EVO power is to swap powers with others. Her ability was the basis of GUNs bio augmentation project. Because she is so important to their studies with a connection to another EVO (Gerald) partner in their project she kinda gets her way a lot... which results in her befriending Shadow (and also getting him new clothes which is what he wears in the other pics).

(Minor side note I forgot to mention that EVOs can have weird hair/eye colors OR normal ones but NonEVOs have normal hair/eye colors. For instance- Ivo actually has a weird unnatural red-orange for his hair that he dyes black earlier on cuz hes a little self-conscious about it. Marias hair is also a unnatural bright yellow. Stone has a normal hair/eye situation (as does Maddie... Whos EVO power is healing touch OBVIOUSLY. Tom is NonEVO.))

AND GERALD... Honestly GUN would probably rather have killed him than keep him around but he is the main and majority of the brain behind their project so what can they do?

His EVO power is nullification allowing him to completely turn off others abilities and he keeps it on constantly. Much to Stone and the Badniks dismay. Not that anyone else would know if they were distressed. Stone still talks to them verbally even if they cant really communicate back.

By 'useful somewhere else' he means six feet under. Stones power is too dangerous for his plans (Also its probably a power he'd have liked to use in augmentation but everyone is gonna die anyways so who cares now).

[respectthepetty]

I had no idea from Secret Relationships' trailer that this messy Korean BL would be getting a Colors Awards nomination, but this show deserves it because even the name tags were color coded!

But more importantly, this show knew what it was doing with the colors every single episode because although Pink Person Jaemin comes across as an angel who has been heaven sent to save Daon all the time and help out his family too,

He actually hid his darkness very well!

Because he is batshit crazy!

However, this Pink Person is truly in love with Daon, a Yellow Yal, and we see that through the colors and lighting.

Daon has always been a source of happiness and warmth from the men who after him even in the most desperate of times.

But Jaemin, with all his darkness, latched on to Daon believing that only he deserved Daon's warmth and happiness. He loved Daon for who he was, but that meant that he wanted nobody else to experience that with Daon.

So Jaemin's ring for Daon is just slightly better than Su Hyeon's because it's gold and in an orange case which are reminders of what Daon represents to him, yet the ring is too small.

And it's ironic that the neighbor who interrupts his little hostile honeymoon states that she lives right next door with the house that has a green roof because the color green constantly thwarts Jaemin's plan to keep Daon all to himself.

The Green Guy could've had Daon if he has just been honest with himself from the beginning.

But honesty is reserved for the Blue Boys.

So while Su Hyeon hides some blue under his darkness,

Seong Hyeon's blue is always on full display.

Even in the worst of times, he will be loyal to Daon.

Su Hyeon and Jaemin, standing there in their full white and black, are complete opposites when it comes to Daon. Jaemin would kill him and Su Hyeon would kill for him, but only Seong Hyeon would die for Daon. Jaemin and Su Hyeon want Daon's happiness for themselves, but only Seong Hyeon would sacrifice himself for Daon's happiness.

Seong Hyeon even apologizes for not coming sooner to rescue Daon, but the after-credit scene gives more weight to this statement. Seong Hyeon, since he met Daon first, could have rescued Daon from both of these men long before they started stealing his warmth and happiness, so as much as people dislike Seong Hyeon, the colors show that he is the only one to give Daon back his yellow color, even as Seong Hyeon possibly lays there dying.

Seong Hyeon's request is absurd, but it prioritizes Daon's future over Seong Hyeon's, which is something neither Jaemin nor Su Hyeon ever did.

That ridiculous dying wish for Daon to give the presentation showed that regardless if Seong Hyeon was going to be next to him or not, he wanted Daon to be happy, while Jaemin and Su Hyeon would have rather Daon be miserable with them than happy without them.

Once again, Pink Person Jaemin and Green Guy Su Hyeon do love Daon, but neither of them loved him enough to rescue him. Instead, they added to his misery. They didn't want him to shine.

But this Blue Boy does.

So the genius decision to transition the lighting between Seong Hyeon's blue to Daon's warm yellow as Seong Hyeon encouraged Daon to take the job overseas because he could wait forever as long as Daon was happy is the prime example of why this show's visual narrative deserves an award!

Seong Hyeon loves Daon.

So although I worried about him wearing green since that is Su Hyeon's color,

I remembered that green is a blend of blue and yellow.

And Seong Hyeon wants to share a life with Daon. He doesn't want to suppress him like others because Daon's happiness is Seong Hyeon's happiness.

This Blue Boy wants his Yellow Yal to remain bright and happy, so he gives him a ring that actually fits and balance, which is something neither previous man offered.

So in the end when they kiss as snow falls after a year apart, it replaces the snowy Christmas at the cabin where Jaemin vowed to be Daon's last love because Jaemin was not even the first guy to love Daon.

That honor goes to the guy who always shows up just when Daon needs him the most.

Because only a Blue Boy would ever apologize for not showing up sooner even when he was already first.

[redfadedghost]

At one point soap just… loses his passion for the military. The gruelling missions, the chasing the bad guys, knowing that every mission may very well be his last. From the moment he joined he knew he wanted to fight for his country, and was willing to die for it, too. But one day, he just… didn’t want to die in a foreign country, with bullets in his body, his mam receiving a folded flag at her door and not her baby boy.

So he finished his contract, and much to the dismay of the entire task force, he didn’t reenlist. He packed his things and left credenhill with his life and a few brothers for the rest of it.

When soap had brought up his plan to leave the first time, ghost had laughed. He honest to god had thought that soap had been pulling his leg. Soap, the man who was as adamant at dying in the service as he was, was wanting to quit. Soap had laughed, too, and ghost forgot he had brought it up.

Until he did, again. A month later, soap was laying on his bed, unusually quiet. Ghost didn’t ask him, knew soap would start talking on his own. Which he did, unsure at first, but reiterated his desire to leave the military and settle back at home. Ghost didn’t laugh that time.

“You’re sure you want to be a civilian again?”

“I don’t know what I want. I just don’t want to die here anymore.”

He didn’t say anything else after that, just kept a close eye on soap, watching the other man for any sign of untruth. But there was nothing, just a serious look on soaps face and in his eyes, and ghost wasn’t sure what to do.

The third time soap brought it up, ghost snapped. He didn’t mean to, but the end of soaps term was only two months away and he was serious about it, serious about leaving, leaving the army, leaving the task force, leaving him.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?”

“Why? Because I don’t want to reenlist? Because I’m not okay with dying somewhere where they have to fly my body back days later when all of the enemies are dead?”

“Because you’re ready to just leave your life behind, without a second thought! To leave all of this behind, all of us!”

“I don’t want this life anymore! I’m done with this, you can’t change my mind.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to throw away everything you’ve worked hard for? It’s that easy for you? To leave the military, to leave me behind because you’re tired of playing soldier?”

“Aye, I’m done playing. I can’t do it anymore. And it’s not about you, Simon. It’s my decision, and that’s it.”

Ghost didn’t say anything after that. Just stared at soap before leaving.

Things were… tense after that. Their dynamic had shifted, more closed off and on edge, not getting on like they had before. Their relationship was strained the two months leading up to soap’s departure. Both price and Gaz had tried to get them to figure their shit out, but ghost couldn’t get himself to do it. He was hurt - he realized after some time - that soap was leaving him at the base, leaving him on the field, leaving him.

The dumbest part was, was that they weren’t even anything. Soap was just the one person ghost got on with the best, trusted the most, felt the most comfortable with. He spent all his time with soap, did everything with him, was always paired with him. Price had warned him about codependency, and ghost had brushed him off but it was too late.

But he was dependent on soap, of his company, his companionship. Could barely even sleep most nights unless soap was in the bed beside him, waking with arms wrapped around each other.

And it’s not like he didn’t want them to be… more… than just that. But ghost was a coward, through and through, and never bit the bullet, never even tried. Not like he wanted to risk the friendship they had, plus, he was sure soap didn’t feel the same anyways.

It was hard, when soap’s departure date arrived. They’d barely talked outside of missions or trainings in the two months. They were a shell of who they used to be, the relationship they had. Price and Gaz had saw him off, pats on the shoulder and tight hugs, maybe a few tears. Ghost watched from a distance, not trusting himself to not make a scene.

The months following were even harder. Ghost had to relearn to navigate being alone. Something he never thought he had to worry about. He never thought he’d be dependant on another person, but soap had dug his way under his skin, etched permanent marks in his being, changing his perspective on life.

He lasted three months.

Ghost never thought he’d leave the military unless it was in a body bag. He never thought soap would’ve, either.

But there he was, standing on soap’s doorstep, duffel bag full of the few things he owned hanging off his shoulder. A knock on the door and a prayer that soap would let him in was all he had left.

The door opened, revealing a half awake soap, wide eyed and definitely not expecting to see him at the door. His brows furrowed as he looked ghost up and down, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ghost dropped his duffel at the sight of him.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Be apart from you.”

Soap lets him in, sits him on couch, makes him a tea then joins him in the living room.

“So that’s why you were so pissed I was leaving.”

“Hmm.”

“Price know you’re here?”

“Should, he signed my discharge forms.” And ghost doesn’t miss the way soaps caught off guard with that.

“…discharge forms? You mean leave forms, right?”

“Meant what I said.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

It takes a moment for soap to respond, with a shake of his head and a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re a bleedin’ idiot, Simon.”

Soap kisses him anyways, and ghost thinks that maybe, just maybe, leaving the military was worth it in the end, if this is the life he gets to live instead.

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ I'm Sorry

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: A hunt went wrong because you made a mistake and someone accidentally got hurt. You're 14-15.

Warnings:Yelling, mentions of blood, angsty

"Stay in the car, Y/N," Dean instructed when you opened the door to get out of the car.

"What? Why? I can help," you didn't understand why Dean and Sam kept distancing you from this hunt. At the bunker, they said they had a case but didn't show you the article or even tell you where it was at. You had to practically beg your brothers to let you go too. Being at the bunker alone was boring and the place was too big to not be lonely in there.

"No, not this one. Just stay. We'll be back." Dean walked off with a gun in his hand towards Sam, who was at the entrance of the old barn. You couldn't even get another word in before they disappeared from your line of sight.

For the next 10 minutes, you wouldn't sit still. Something was bothering you about this hunt. Maybe it was because your brothers wouldn't tell you what's going on. You expected as much from Dean but Sam not telling you anything? That set off the alarm inside your head.

You were stretched out in the front seat of the impala when gun shots echoed through your ears. You immediately sat up, looking over at the door of the barn. You counted the seconds that went by and when you hit the 120 mark, you got out of the car.

You sped walk over to the trunk of the impala and grabbed anything that would fit in your pockets or waist band. You had no idea what was in there. No plan. But they haven't come out yet so you had no choice. You put a silver knife in your hoodie pocket, a gun in your waist band and you held a demon knife out. After closing the trunk as silently as you can, you entered the barn.

Your nose scrunched up with how awful it smelled in here. This barn had to have been here since the early 1900s cause yikes. You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of voices ahead. You hid behind some stacks of hay to ease drop.

"I swear there were three of you pieces of shit." A guy's voice said in disgust. You peaked your head just a little bit to see his his back but when he turned his head slightly you took in his features. Black eyes, skinny but tall build. Demon. He had blood going down the side of his face and some cuts on his arms.

"Wasn't she younger? I know someone in hell who would love her." Another demon had an ugly laugh when he came from behind two pillars. The pillars that had Sam and Dean tied on the floor defenseless. You ducked back down, not wanting to push your luck, and started thinking of how you were going to do this.

"Shut up!" Deans voice was clearly angry at the demons for talking like that about you. His eyebrows were tightened together and he was pulling at the tough knots the demons put together.

Sam stared at them not saying a word but his mind was running with thoughts. He tried concentrating on the knots behind this wooden pillar but he was hoping that these assholes wouldn't go looking for you outside.

"Shut up? You have a lot of nerve talking to us like that considering you're the one tied up." The one with the ugly laugh smirked.

"When you say it like that it makes me think you're flirting with me." You rolled your eyes at what your brothers remark. Even when there's a chance he might die this kid won't stop with the sarcasm.

The shorter demon swiftly landed a punch on Deans cheek. Dean groaned and spit out some blood on the ground next to him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wood.

"Go check their precious car." The tall one ordered.

"Why-"

"Hurry up and go." He raised his voice which got the other demon out the door to the impala. This was your chance. Don't mess it up.

You got up on your feet and took a deep breath. The moon shined on you as you approached him from the back causing Sam to make eye contact with you. His lips formed a tight line almost like he was telling you not to do it.

The demon caught Sam's gaze and immediately turned around. Your eyes widened and instinctively you stabbed the demon in the stomach before he could put his hands on you. He let out a scream as light shined then slumped to the ground. You pulled the bloody knife back out and hurried over to Dean since he was closest.

Sam let out a sigh of relief across the room while Dean clenched his jaw. "I thought I told you to stay in the car." The stern low tone of his voice took you back in surprise but you shook it off.

"I'm saving your ass right now." You whispered, it was only a matter of time before the other one would come back. You crouched behind Dean and started untying the knots.

Dean scoffed at your words but let you untie him. After a minute you finally got it and were about to head over to Sam until you saw that the demon already had a gun aiming at him.

"Put the knife and gun down!" The demon yelled at both of you. You guys do what he says and crouch down to put the weapons on the floor. You both stand back up, Dean having his hands up but yours stay by your side. This demon didn't know you have a gun. The only problem was aiming and timing it right.

This is going to be very hard since the demon is now holding one arm around his neck while the other had the gun on his temple. Sam's hands were holding back the demons arm so he could still breathe.

"Okay they're down. Let him go," your breath steady as you study this guys movements. Patience is key in times like this.

"Why would I let him go? Just so he could kill me? I don't think so." His hands fidget with the gun slightly like he was amped up on energy drinks.

"Either way I'll kill you." Sam promised in a low voice. The demon scoffed and as he was about say something a truck's headlights shined through the boards on the windows. You could hear the horn of truck as it goes past. You could also see the demon look away and that's when you decided it's time.

You swiftly pulled the gun from your waistband and didn't hesitate shooting the demon before it was too late.

Only one problem.

You weren't as great as Sam or Dean when it comes to shooting pistols fast. It was rifles you were better at. Hence the bullet wound in the demons shoulder instead of face.

The demon stumbled back dropping his arm that was holding the gun and his other arm holding the wound. In a minute, he realized he got shot he pulled the trigger on Sam's guns. The bullet going in his torso right under the bottom ribs.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled for his brother as he ran to catch Sam before he hit the ground.

Your eyes widened at the shot of the other gun. As the demon was trying to run, you shot him. This time square in the head so the light can shine when he dies.

You didn't hesitate when you ran over to Sam who was in Deans arms. He was bleeding bad. His eyes were shut tight groaning from the pressure Dean was putting on the wound.

"Y/N. Go start the car." Dean's voice was rough, angry even and it was directed at you. You didn't argue and ran out the barn to Baby. You opened the drivers door and stuff was thrown around in the back from the demon checking the car.

Once you heard the purr of the engine, you quickly turned to the heat in the car. It was freezing out there and you thought Sam would be more comfortable in the warmth. You climbed out of the drivers seat and went to open the back when you saw Dean carrying Sam out.

You got in first so you wouldn't accidentally hurt Sam when you got in. Sam winced as Dean got him in the car, laying his head on your lap. You felt your stomach tighten up from the guilt.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," you bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the tears. Dean got in the drivers seat and didn't waste a minute to speed off to a hospital.

"Sweetheart, it's not your fault," Sam threw you a weak smile. You brushed your fingers through his hair and continued to put pressure where the blood was coming from. You swore you saw Deans grip on the wheel tighten at Sam's words.

┆彡

The motel room was suffocatingly silent. The only sound was the faint buzz of the flickering light overhead. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands trembling slightly, staring at the blood still clinging to your fingers. Sam’s blood.

Your boots were still caked in mud from the barn you had run across only hours ago. The adrenaline had long since drained from your body, leaving you exhausted and jittery. The only thing you could focus on was the image of Sam collapsing to the ground—the way his eyes had widened in shock, then dulled in pain.

The door slammed open, and Dean stormed inside. His face was pale, tight with fury. His eyes, normally sharp with protectiveness, were wild now, nearly unrecognizable. You could see the dark blood smearing his knuckles—his own or the demon’s, you weren’t sure—but the way he was clenching his fists told you he didn’t care.

“You,” he seethed, his voice low. He pointed at you with a trembling hand, his eyes blazing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. You could barely breathe.

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Dean’s voice was louder this time, echoing off the cheap wallpaper. He took a few steps closer and you could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him. “You almost got Sam killed!”

“I—I was just trying to help,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Help?” he barked, eyes narrowing. “You thought charging in there with no plan was helping?” He was shaking his head, pacing in front of you, too furious to be still. “You ignored my instructions. You didn’t wait in the car. You went in alone, and now Sam is in the hospital because of you!”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you blinked them away. Your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms. You thought you could take the shot. You thought you could save him. But you missed.

Dean’s voice cracked slightly when he spoke again, quieter this time but no less harsh. “You could’ve lost him.” His green eyes were hard, piercing you with every word. “Do you get that? Sam could be dead right now. Do you even realize what that would’ve done to me? To you?”

Your lip trembled, and your throat tightened painfully. “I—I’m sorry,” you croaked.

Dean’s eyes were glassy now, but the anger didn’t waver. He pointed a trembling finger at you. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not when you put his life on the line.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and cold. You flinched but nodded, too ashamed to meet his eyes. You deserved it. Every word. Every ounce of anger.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, chest heaving with heavy, uneven breaths. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t trust himself to speak. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

The room was dead silent again.

You stared at the cracked paint on the wall, the echo of his words still lingering in the space. You clenched your fists so tightly your knuckles went white, trying to steady your shaking hands.

The guilt settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You knew Dean was right. You should have waited a bit longer. You should have been smarter. But you weren’t. And now Sam was paying for it.

You sucked in a shaky breath and wiped the blood from your hands onto your jeans, but no matter how much you scrubbed, the guilt still clung to you. You weren’t sure it ever would come off.

[the-kr8tor]

OMG BESTIE YOU'RE BACK!!!! HOW ARE YOU? I MISSED YOU ON HERE!!! I'm doing okay! Thanks for asking ❤️

HAHHAHAHAHHA fun fact! This scene was supposed to be at a crowded concert and r finds out abt the pregnancy alone in a port a potty! I love writing yuri she's so real

Lmaoo imagine that they had to take a walk around the beach for some peace and quiet from r and hobie 🤣

It is 🥹🥹🥹 imagine R's reaction when she first saw it lol

Very true! He's not gonna book it away bc of that also proof that billie and mona are his actual babies

It's all those beers 🤣

Lol they have had enough of all their lovey dovey bs

AHHHHH thank you so much!! I had such a hard time writing those parts! Im so glad i wrote it okay and scary!

IWNSJWJSN YOU'RE TOO KIND! ❤️

Yeah :(( he plans ahead!

Yesss that was a reference to it!!

Truck-kun even got them :(

Yep! It's like the infection from 28 days later or world war z

Too much time away from each other 😭

They can't drown bc they're technically dead! They can most definitely die though. Right?! It's like being on the toilet and feeling a snake climb up from the pipes

PLEASE NO I ALSO OWE MYSELF A THERAPY SESSION 😂

Hobie as a sea creature 😂😂😂😂😂

They cannot be separated fr fr

HAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA i too giggled when i wrote that joke 😂 it's such a james thing to say

A katy special 🤣

Bro had to make sure he specified or else 😂

It's from the fall actually but good eye!!

I don't blame her i would also think im losing it if at the exact moment i killed my best friend my partner appears

James had to die in Ned's place bc he said he will riot if he gets killed in another au 😆

Hehehe i just had to add the touch of extra angst 🤭

At least they're together! Sad but together 😆

AHHHHH I MISSED YOU AND YOUR THOUGHTS TOO!!! WELCOME BACK! No worries ipob is just here waiting for you!! This and vamp au are beginning to be my favourites to write rn

Thank you for reading!! Im so happy you loved it!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[brnbeexx]

hope you’re doing okay lovely

how would a confession with sophia go??

heyy, I trust ur well!!!!! also, great ask 🫶🏻

p.s: a thousand apologies if I understood the ask wrong ):

sophia x f!reader – HS!au, sophia is a jock.

From the moment you became self-aware, you’ve had a crush… No, a free-fall off a cliff for Sophia Laforteza.

Maybe it was the way she got A's on every test without breaking a sweat, like academic perfection was second nature to her. Or the way she commanded attention as a class leader, effortlessly taking charge and making people listen. Or maybe — definitely — it was the way she played hockey, gliding across the ice like she was born there, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, eyes sharp and focused as she weaved past defenders and sent the puck flying into the net.

But despite this long-standing admiration — okay, obsession — you had never exchanged a single word with her. Not one.

Another year passed, and Valentine’s Day was creeping closer, wrapping the school in a haze of pink and red. Couples were popping up left and right, holding hands in the hallways, sharing shy kisses behind lockers, and slipping little notes into each other’s textbooks. Even the air felt heavier, charged with anticipation and unspoken confessions.

The school’s ninth graders, desperate to raise money for their graduation trip, had set up a "Fancy Mail" service — a Valentine’s Day tradition where students could buy cards, write heartfelt messages (or cringy pickup lines), and have them delivered by the younger kids during homeroom. It was cute, in theory. In reality, it was a social nightmare waiting to happen.

You slumped against your desk, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. Manon, sitting beside you, barely looked up from doodling in her notebook.

“Let me guess,” she drawled. “Sophia Laforteza?”

You frowned. “Is it that obvious?”

Manon snorted. “Y/N, you’ve been making literal heart eyes at her since middle school. The fact that you haven’t passed out from pining yet is a miracle.” She tapped her pen against your arm. “So? What’s the plan?”

You blinked. “Plan?”

She just rolled her eyes. “Valentine’s Day. Fancy Mail. Confession. Duh.”

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

Meret tossed her notebook aside, turning to face you fully. “Listen. You’ve had a crush on Sophia for years and have done absolutely nothing about it. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I— No! I can’t just… confess!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “What am I even supposed to say? ‘Hey Sophia, I’ve been secretly in love with you since forever. Wanna grab coffee?’”

“Yes,” She deadpanned. “Exactly that.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I'd rather crawl into a hole and die.”

She poked your arm. “Oh, c’mon. This is your chance! Worst case, she ignores it. Best case…” Manon wiggled her eyebrows. “She confesses she’s been secretly in love with you this whole time and you two ride off into the sunset.”

You shot her a glare. “Real helpful, Manon. Thanks.”

But the idea gnawed at you. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was your chance. Sure, it was terrifying, but at least you’d finally get it off your chest. And who knows? Maybe Sophia would think it was sweet. Or at least not totally pathetic.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found yourself in front of the Fancy Mail booth. A group of ninth graders was huddled behind the table, looking utterly bored as they handed out cards. The girl closest to you, her braces glinting under the fluorescent lights, shoved a blank card and pen into your hands without even looking up.

You stood frozen, staring at the card like it was a bomb waiting to go off. Your palms felt clammy, the pen slipping slightly in your grip. What were you supposed to write?

“To Sophia…”

Your mind went blank. How did people write love letters without sounding like total weirdos?

You chewed on the end of the pen, thoughts racing. Should you keep it simple? Compliment her hockey skills? Her intelligence? Oh god, what if she laughed at you?

You glanced around the room, hoping for inspiration. Manon was watching from the corner, giving you an exaggerated thumbs-up. Useless. The other students were scribbling away at their cards, some giggling with their friends, others frowning in concentration.

You took a deep breath. Screw it.

The pen hovered over the card. Slowly, you began to write.

“I’ve admired you for a long time. Longer than I’d like to admit. You’re smart, talented, and probably the coolest person I’ve ever seen. I guess this is my way of saying… Happy Valentine’s Day. — Y/N.” You stared at the words. It was simple. Maybe too simple. Should you add something more? No — if you kept going, you’d end up writing a novel. Hands shaking, you folded the card and shoved it into the little pink box labeled "S".

It was done. No turning back now.

As you walked away, heart hammering in your chest, you tried not to think about tomorrow. About what would happen when the cards were delivered. About the possibility that Sophia might actually read your words.

You were so not surviving this.

The next morning felt like a fever dream.

You barely slept, tossing and turning until the sun crept through your blinds. Your mind replayed every possible outcome of the Fancy Mail fiasco. Maybe Sophia would laugh at the card. Or worse — maybe she wouldn’t even read it. What if it got lost? Or delivered to the wrong person? Or what if she read it out loud to her friends and they all had a good laugh at your expense?

By the time you stumbled into school, your stomach was in knots. The halls were busier than usual, students darting between classes, clutching heart-shaped balloons and candy grams. Everything was a blur of pink and red, the air buzzing with excitement.

You spotted Manon by your locker, casually munching on a chocolate bar. “Well?” she asked, mouth full. ”Did you survive the night, or did you spontaneously combust from anxiety?”

You groaned, leaning against the cold metal. “Barely.”

She grinned. “Today’s the day. Are you ready?”

“Not even remotely.”

Manon laughed, slapping your back a little too hard. “You’ll be fine. It’s out of your hands now.”

Out of your hands.

Right. That was the terrifying part.

The morning passed in a haze. You couldn’t focus in class. Every time the door opened, your heart leaped into your throat, expecting one of the ninth graders to barge in with the Fancy Mail deliveries. By the time third period rolled around, the anxiety had settled into a permanent knot in your stomach.

Then it happened. The door swung open, and a group of ninth graders marched in, carrying a pile of pastel-colored envelopes. The teacher barely acknowledged them, waving for them to get it over with quickly. Students perked up, some whispering excitedly, others pretending they didn’t care. You, on the other hand, felt like you were about to die.

You kept your eyes trained on your desk as they called out names. "Emma! Jordan! Nate! Sophia!"

Your breath caught in your throat.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her reach out, taking a small pink envelope from one of the ninth graders. She didn’t react right away, simply flipping it over in her fingers, as if debating whether it was worth opening.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Then, finally, she unfolded the card.

You risked a glance. Sophia’s expression was unreadable as her eyes flickered over the words. Seconds stretched into eternity. Her friends leaned in, trying to sneak a peek, but she angled the card away from them, lips pressing into a thoughtful line.

You were going to be sick. Or pass out. Maybe both.

Manon, sitting beside you, casually slid a piece of paper onto your desk. “Breathe. You look like you’re about to faint.”

You shot her a glare.

Then, as if sensing your stare, Sophia lifted her gaze. Your heart stopped.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Her dark eyes locked onto yours across the classroom. Not with amusement. Not with mockery. Just… curiosity.

Then, to your absolute horror, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk.

You tore your gaze away so fast you were surprised your neck didn’t snap.

Your heart was beating at an alarming rate, a deep, painful thud against your ribs. Sophia Laforteza had smirked. At you. What the hell did that mean? Was she amused? Flattered? Was she laughing at you internally?

“Did she just—?” Manon whispered beside you, voice barely above a breath.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you hissed, gripping your pen so tightly it might snap in half.

Manon snorted. “You’re so dramatic.” Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who just confessed their undying admiration to the most effortlessly cool person in school.

For the rest of the class, you kept your head down, pretending to take notes while your brain spiraled into a million different scenarios. Maybe you imagined the smirk. Maybe Sophia had been smirking at something else. Or maybe she was planning to hunt you down after class just to publicly humiliate you.

The bell rang.

You jumped, barely restraining a yelp. Students shuffled out of their seats, filing toward the door, but you stayed frozen. If you moved, there was a chance— "Hey."

The word was casual. Effortless. Like it wasn’t the first time she had ever spoken to you.

But it was.

And it was coming from directly behind you. Slowly—so slowly it was almost painful—you turned.

And there she was.

Sophia stood in front of your desk, Fancy Mail card still in her hand. Up close, she was even prettier, which was saying a lot because she already looked like some unfair combination of a model and a movie star. Her uniform was slightly rumpled from hockey practice that morning, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show her forearms.

You tried to form words, but your brain had officially left the chat.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the card. “So… you wrote this?” You swallowed.

"Uh."

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

The smirk returned. It was slow, teasing, and—oh god—you were going to pass out.

“You don’t have to look so terrified,” she said, tilting her head. “I think it’s cute.”

Your soul left your body.

Manon, the absolute traitor, was watching everything, clearly enjoying your suffering.

You blinked, forcing yourself to say something—anything. “You—um. You do?” Sophia hummed, tapping her fingers against the card.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not every day I get a confession that’s actually… sweet. And real.”

You couldn't believe this was happening. You had prepared for rejection, for laughter, for absolute embarrassment—but not this. Not Sophia looking at you with something dangerously close to amusement and interest.

She leaned slightly closer, voice dropping just enough to make your brain short-circuit. “So, what now? Are you gonna keep admiring me from afar, or are you actually gonna talk to me?”

This had to be a hallucination. A stress-induced fever dream.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. “I—I can talk.”

Sophia grinned. “Good. Then walk with me to my next class.” And just like that, she turned on her heel, walking toward the door.

It took you a full three seconds to process what had just happened before Manon shoved your shoulder. “Well? Go, Y/N!”

You stumbled to your feet, heart still hammering, and followed Sophia out the door.

Maybe—just maybe—you were surviving this after all.

[widows-venom]

⊹₊⟡⋆ IT DOES MATTER

PART 1

dark!wanda maximoff x fem!reader

✮⋆˙summary

you wake up again, chained to your own bed. you are determined to figure out why this wasn’t your wanda. and wanda was determined to follow through with some plan of hers.

✮⋆˙trigger warnings

dark!wanda, smut, dubcon/noncon, oral (r receiving), strap on usage (r receiving), face slapping (r receiving), mention of possible character death (idrk)

✮⋆˙authors note

please excuse the somewhat bad grammar and switching tenses, i’m not a native speaker anddd yeah, no beta, we die like — our souls when we watch marvel

you‘re thankful that there’s no headache when you wake up, but that gratitude quickly vanished, making place for fear. where were you? and who the fuck is that wanda?

you start to look around and notice that you’re settled in the midst of a queen sized bed — like the one wanda used to sleep in. but she’d never bind you to it’s posts like this — wait, no she would have but not this tightly. and not with her magic, but her silk robes.

where the fuck are you even? you simultaneously think the bedroom is familiar and completely new to you. it faintly reminds you off wanda’s bedroom but then again, it feels completely off.

the energy of the room doesn’t carry its usual friendliness and warmth, the carefreeness and calmness, the comfort wanda’s room always used to bring to you.

it’s all gone, replaced by an eerie, suffocating energy. it feels as though someone had draped a blanket of darkness and cruelty over the once comforting area.

“don’t think so much, malysh, you know i like you pliant and quiet”, wanda’s voice rings out.

her voice is raspy, her sokovian accent more prominent than ever — more prominent than that of your wanda.

“there is no 'your' wanda”, wanda hisses and within the blink of an eye she’s on you, pressing you down on the mattress with the of her body.

her breath is cold and harsh against your cheek, her weight uncomfortable and constricting above you.

with your wanda it had always felt -

“don’t you dare continue to compare me with her!”, wanda screams and before you can even blink, her palm connects with your cheek.

as a startled scream leaves your lips, wanda harshly grabs your chin. her weird, callused black finger tips dig uncomfortably into your skin and you can practically feel the magic in them.

“you’re mine now”, wanda coldly states and brings your face closer to hers. her lips almost brush against yours. “there’s no need to think of that wretched, weak wanda you know”

wretched? weak?

as if you’re going to let someone — frankly, this was the exactly someone, but some other version of wanda — walk all over your wanda.

“what did you do to her?”, you spit out.

wanda huffed and rolled her eyes, grinding her teeth together. “that’s none of your business, malysh. i discarded her, like the useless little witch she was”, she snarked, an almost proud smile forming on her lips. “she couldn’t protect you, malysh, but i can.”

you scoffed, your throat closing up. discarded her? had she actually killed your wanda?

before you can even ask, wanda’s lips are on yours. harsh, unforgiving and — with a hint of love.

you tried to struggle against it, against her, her kiss. your lips not answering hers, merely letting her do as she pleased. but then, wanda pulls back. and there it was.

those hurt, green puppy eyes, staring at you accusingly. “kiss me back”, was it a demand? a plea, even? you didn’t know, but your heart stung.

how could you ever deny wanda? even if it wasn’t technically your wanda, those eyes hurt.

“please”, she whispers, her hands moving to your neck, gently touching your collarbones, tracing them.

now were you dumb, or just hopelessly in love with every variant of your girlfriend?

probably both.

because you lean up and kiss her, desperate to make those sad puppy eyes go away.

you kiss her, like you would have kissed her. slow, gentle and loving — and wanda lets you. lets you set the pace, doesn’t kiss your as harsh as before, but rather as soft as you are. as she would have.

you taste tears. maybe yours, maybe hers.

“let me make you feel good, malysh, please”, wanda whispered against your lips, gently connecting your foreheads.

did you have a choice? probably not.

“be gentle”, you rasped out, and wanda kissed your lips again, letting them linger.

with the twist of her wrist, she’s as naked as you are. a thick, veiny red strap-on settled between her legs. the sight alone making you clench your thighs together. you faintly recognise the toy, your own wanda had used it on you every now and then, but it looks — different. almost attached to wanda.

wanda smirked down at you, a devilish glint in her eyes, as she runs her hands down your thighs, gently spreading them apart.

“you’re so smart, malysh”, she praised gently and kissed your neck. “it’s different, attached to me. i can feel you”, she murmurs, her kisses traveling lower.

her gentleness makes you melt, a shuddering sigh leaving your lips.

“feel me?”, you whisper. “it’s - what, a magic cock?”, you laugh a little breathless at your own words.

wanda’s grin shuts you up. oh. it was a magic cock.

“just for you, malysh. as special as you are”, she murmurs, nipping at the underside of one of your breasts, as her hands on your thighs slide higher, massaging you gently.

“now relax, let me take care of you”, she coaxes, placing a kiss on your stomach, your hip.

“fuck”, you whispered, head falling back against the pillows. your fingers twitch, unable to move much do to the magical restraints.

“fuck indeed”, wanda mused, before nipping just above your shockingly dripping core. she moans at the sight of you, so wet and ready already.

“my, my, malysh”, she teases, green eyes flickering ip to yours as she darts her tongue out, flicking against your clit. a squeaky moan escapes you. “so nice and ready for me”

her tongue dips lower, spreading through your folds, humming at your taste. she manages to keep eye contact with you, while she pushes her tongue inside.

“god, fuck, wanda-“, you whimper out, hips bucking up, only to immediately be stopped by wanda’s hands pressing you down.

“don’t move, malysh, let me have you”, she whispers against your dripping core, the puff of air making you whine helplessly.

wanda’s tongue spreads your folds again, her nose brushing against your clit as she oh-so-gently eats you out. the occasional hum or moan of approval making you shudder from the vibration against your core.

fuck she was good. just like you had remembered your wanda being like.

wanda doesn’t speed up, her tongue keeping you in a nice, pleasurable state, while one of her fingers circles your entrance, slowly pushing in. “oh malysh, you take me so well, so good”, she murmurs.

you’re core greedily clenches around her. your breath comes in fast, needy little puffs and you try to move your hands again, struggling a little against the restraints — no use.

“wanda please”, you find yourself begging quickly. desperate for her, for her cock. the thought of her actually being able to feel you, is making you dizzy with need.

“sh, i got you, malysh, i got you”, wanda mumbles. she detaches her mouth from you, leaving you aching for more. your hips buck against her hands, but she pins you down mercilessly.

wanda moves her body over yours, looking at your scrunched up face with adoration as she lines herself up. “so pretty”, she mumbles, her eyes wandering down to your core as she shifts her hips, brushing the tip of her magical strap on against your clit. watching the red tip brush against you, watching you twitvh and whine.

“wanda!”, you cry out already, her hands immediately tighten on your hips, holding you down, preventing you from even starting to buck up into her.

“there you go”, she moans, pushing the strap on inside, steadily, slowly. brows creasing in pleasure, as she feels your velvety walls fluttering against the magical cock.

“so good for me, malysh, so good”, she whispers, a little breathless, but not coming close to your breathless gasps.

“so nice and pliant for me”, she experimentally rolls her hips, makinng the both of you moan out in unison.

“fuck wanda, please move, please”, you whimper, eyes fluttering close in pleasure.

rough, callused fingers trace your cheeks, reminding you once again that this wasn’t your wanda. but in this moment, you weren’t sure you cared.

“say you’re mine”, wanda rasps, pulling her hips back almost fully, leaving just the tip inside you. “say you belong to me, malysh”

her hands tightened on your face, squeezing your cheeks a little.

“i- shit, wanda i’m yours”, maybe you weren’t stupid, but just a needy slut:

wanda grins and slams her hips forward, moaning loud, as you cry out in pleasure.

“there you go, malysh, my pretty girl”, she moans, setting a steady, quick pace.

“fuck you take me so well, feel so good around me”, she praises, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck as you struggle not to writhe too much under her.

“you were made for this, for me, my cock, baby”, wanda moans into the side of your neck, biting your skin and soothing it with a kiss.

“you’re mine, malysh, utterly mine”, she mumbles. “mine to take and use as i please”

she shifts a little, coming face to face with you. admiring your face, brows scrunched, lips parted and eyes shut in pleasure, for a few heartbeats.

“if you’re good, i might consider sharing you with your little weak witch”

[patriamrealm]

You know what this has been taking over my thoughts for a while so might as well get it out. This is going to be long so buckle up if you want.

There's something I never see mentioned in fics or anywhere else and that's the fact that Stanford was homeless for 30 years. Sure he was traveling from dimension to dimension but from what I can tell Ford was doing basically the exact same thing that Stan had been doing homeless for 10 years if not worse.

He can rationalize it away as all done for the greater good but Ford was a wanted criminal in what seems like hundreds of entire dimensions and likely not allowed to return to many (if he even could) much like Stan was banned from multiple states.

He had a huge bounty on his head and had to be paranoid and careful and on the run constantly just like Stan had been when he owed people like say Rico money.

The biggest difference I can see is that Where Stan was trying to both survive but also make those millions so he'd be worth something to his family and maybe they'd take him back, Ford wasn't expecting to get out of this alive.

Sure he was working towards killing Bill with this singular focus but it seems like Ford was fully expecting to die in the process. Ford fancied himself the hero sure but he was fully prepared to not make it out of that alive.

I actually think that, that whole mindset started even before he fell through the portal. He'd been tormented by Bill physically and mentally for at minimum a month by this point if not longer so when he was desperate enough to reach out for help from Stan. If Stan had taken his journal and left like he wanted I don't think Ford was planning on living much longer. To him there was no way out and if for all his smarts he'd still fallen for Bill's tricks.

For as much as he tried to cover it up he was still terrified that Bill could get to and hurt Stan. He didn't think he was worth saving but the world and everyone/everything was. Unless someone else stepped in I fully believe that Ford would have done something drastic if Stan had taken the journal and left that would have ended in his own death but at least everyone would be safe from Bill. Had no one stepped in in any case.

And I think that carried over on the other side of the portal. His single goal was to kill Bill, and it very much seems like he was prepared and ready to die doing so. He was already doing something drastic.

All this to say I think among all the new quirks and changes that Stan sees, I think he'd see some habits and things he did while he was homeless in Ford. Given enough time while on the ship I think they'd bond more over those shared experiences, and spot those key differences as well.

I think these things could be taken advantage of a bit more.

[saphronethaleph]

Legitimacy

“Take the throne, my granddaughter,” Palpatine invited.

Rey blinked.

“Why?” she asked.

“...what?” Palpatine asked.

“Why me?” Rey replied. “I am, by all accounts, the least suitable person you could possibly want – I hate you, I hate the Empire, and I also have no diplomatic skills.”

“Because I wish to pass on the throne to my descendant,” Palpatine said.

“Why?” Rey asked, more forcefully this time.

Palpatine glared at her.

Rey cocked her head slightly.

“...well?” she asked. “Do you actually care about what happens to the Empire after you die? You’ve built a fleet of over a thousand Star Destroyers with the capability to blow up every planet in the galaxy. That’s sort of out of keeping with-”

“The Sith Empire will rise!” Palpatine declared. “And, with my bloodline on the throne, it will last forever!”

“It won’t,” Rey said. “Once you’re dead, if you put me in charge it’ll last less than a day, depending on how long it takes to flush all of your loyalists into space and get elections started.”

Palpatine leaned forwards with a frown.

“Hereditary monarchies are more stable,” he said.

“No, they’re not,” Rey replied. “They’re not more stable, it’s just that when something collapses it tends to collapse into a hereditary monarchy, as someone seizes power and passes on power to their descendants. So you have a period of a few hundred years with four or five succession crises, each of which for any other government would be a visible collapse, but for the monarchy it’s just going from hereditary monarchy to hereditary monarchy.”

Palpatine stared at her.

“And you say you have no diplomatic skills?” he asked.

“I did do a distance learning course on constitutional theory,” Rey conceded. “But about forty percent of it was how you deliberately broke a system that had lasted a thousand years just so you could point at the wreckage and say it needed fixing. And then how long did that last?”

“...I made mistakes,” Palpatine admitted, though it looked like he wasn’t very good at this whole “admitting things” lark. “But still! You will take the throne. It is your destiny.”

Rey laughed.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago you sent Kylo Ren out to, and I quote, ‘kill the girl’,” she said. “You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”

“How do you know that?” Palpatine asked. “The first bit, I mean. Not the second. The second is wrong.”

“Force vision,” Rey shrugged. “For both.”

“I have an intricate plan that you cannot even comprehend!” Palpatine declared.

“Doubt,” Rey said, clearly.

“All right, then, I will force your hand!” Palpatine said. “Unless you become my heir and the new ruler of the Sith Empire, I will have my fleet destroy every planet in the galaxy!”

“Starting with this one, presumably?” Rey asked.

“What?” Palpatine asked. “No. I would leave this one for last. Obviously.”

“Right,” Rey frowned. “So… see, I did hear about Operation Cinder and how you wanted to destroy the whole galaxy, and now you want to rule the galaxy or destroy it, so… your plan, if I understand this correctly, is that either your descendants will end up ruling the galaxy or you’ll burn it to the ground.”

“Yes!” Palpatine agreed. “Finally, you understand! Now, fulfil your destiny!”

“...so,” Rey said. “Who was your heir before?”

Palpatine blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“Before,” Rey repeated. “When you were the Emperor of the Galactic Empire. You didn’t have an heir then. My father didn’t exist until you cloned him seven years after the Empire fell.”

Palpatine glowered at her.

“...like, this is just a fundamental legitimacy problem,” Rey continued. “There’s thirty million crew on those ships out there and all of them know me as the girl who’s done more to mess up the First Order than anyone else in the galaxy. I’ve got a reputation. You should really have thought this through better, like, found me on Jakku or something.”

“You were left there to hide you,” Palpatine said.

“That sounds like something said by a man who’s really keen to use the Force to explain everything except the thing he doesn’t want to explain,” Rey replied.

Palpatine stared at her.

“Are you… bitter, my grandchild?” he asked. “Yes, feel the Dark Side flow through you!”

“Not everything is about the Dark Side,” Rey said.

“It is if I say it is,” Palpatine replied. “It is a Palpatine speciality!”

“Really?” Rey asked. “All right, then.”

She cleared her throat.

“Knowledge and the use of minimal force is the way of the Light,” she said, waving her hand. “And I know how a repulsorlift system works.”

“What?” Palpatine asked, then noticed something.

All the Star Destroyers hovering overhead had suddenly decided to stop hovering.

Rey was too busy running for cover and curling into a ball.

[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

I have a message for anyone living in Ohio

There is a bill in the Ohio General Assembly right now called Senate Bill 1. The bill, effectively, would force all public universities in Ohio to cut all their DEI programs and because of the way the bill is worded, it wouldn’t just cut things like organizations that have DEI in the title, it also means that Ohio’s universities wouldn’t be able to provide services and accommodations for people with disabilities

Now I was planning on attending a public university in Ohio to study Disability Studies and I also have a disability that requires accommodations.

If this bill becomes law, it would basically derail my life and the lives of thousands of other people who dared to not be born cishet able-bodied white men.

I don’t actually live in Ohio right now which means there’s not really anything I can do about this. But if you do live in Ohio I am begging you to fight this. Call your state representatives, protest, do anything possible to stop this from happening. This bill is such a blatant violation of civil rights and human decency.

Not a single President of any of Ohio’s public universities has spoken out to challenge this bill. The bill has already passed both the Senate and House, the House made some changes so sent it back to the Senate and it’s awaiting their second vote.

Again, this bill would effectively make it illegal in Ohio for anyone who’s not a cishet able-bodied white man majoring in anything that’s not MAGA approved to attend college.

So if you live in Ohio and you’re reading this, please do something. Make as much noise about this as you possibly can. Don’t let democracy die in darkness.

[hatsbuckets]

Hozier spiral. Please ignore me. (wait no don't) Listening to Hozier and thinking about the 141 boys. I might write something more formal later.

Fuuukkkkkk

Foreigner's God? ffuuukkkkk just ghost but also like sdjgahsdlfjaslkd

Would That I? so ghoap coded.

Take Me to Church? Can't forget this classic. Yeah. You get this one (all of them. it's all of them. Obvi Ghoap. YEs it's GazPrice. IT's GOT SO MUCH FOR SOAPGAZ. But also GhostPrice lowkey???)

Sunlight? oops you're thinking about Gaz and Soap being so lovely and bright. (especially from Price's pov?)

Talk? Ghoap Ghoap Ghoap. "I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around" ??? Asgdhsadjf "I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice" ???? fuukkkkkk "All the things I would do / So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out / How I'm imaginin' you" asldjflakjdsflkj

All Things End??? ALL THINGS END???? All of them. All of themmmmm... I- they know they can die. Expect that they'll die on mission because you have to. and- aasdf

Sing? Look I know but see: GazPrice (or poly141 with Gaz) "Remember when you'd sing before we moved to it? / and we'd scuff up our shoes / Honey, the groove of it / Was whatever you choose / I want to be your lover" asdfjsdjjgh and and "you put your emptiness to melody / Your awful heart to song / you don't have to sing it right" Idk but it's therreeee.

Jackie and Wilson? I mean I see it for Ghoap. Soap just "Blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild / laughing away through my feeble disguise" ???? "She's gonna save me, call me "baby" / run her hands through my hair / She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / better yet, she wouldn't care." ahhhhhh

Movement? I mean look I see it. I know it's not his most popular song but "and when you move, I'm moved / You are a call to motion" Like Ghost following Soap like idk trust ???? "When you move / I could never define all that you are to me" Just aaahh trust.

Dinner and Diatribes?? The HEEEAAATTT of Ghoap. but also GhostPrice. I don't make the rules.

SHRIKE litterally Ghoap from the staaaarrrtttt "I couldn't utter my love when it counted / Ah, but now I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now / I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted / Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now" "All of that goodness is goin' with you now" crying screaming throwing up

FROM EDEN. FROM EDEN. FROM EDEN. all of them. them. them. them. them. Babe there's something tragic about them. All of them. asdjfhsjdhjsgkjdf. "Idealism sits in prison"? Ghost. "Chivalry fell on his sword" ? sorry but Price. "Innocence died screaming" ? Soap. Gaz. Both. Literally and metaphorically. "Babe / There's something wretched about this / Something so precious about this / where to begin ... Babe there's something broken about this / But I might be hoping about this / Oh, what a sin" Aaasdhfjskdfh also also "To the strand, a picnic planned for you and me / A ROPE IN HAND, FOR YOUR OTHER MAN / TO HANG FROM A TREE" MY GOOOOODDDDD screaming

Cherry Wine??? I can't forget her. I'm sorry, like I know this song is a lot, and I think it is them, all of them with any of them. Especially if you make it like the crazy, gruff (low-key toxic) them, like. I'm- I'm not even going to break this one down. PLEASE JUST GO LISTEN TO IT. Here look: "The way she shows me I'm hers and she's mine / Open hand or closed fist would be fine / The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine" "her fight and fury is fiery, oh, but she loves" "... I'm all but washed / In the tide of her breathing / and it's worth it / it's divine" okay bye.

Someone New? It's my favorite Hozier song. It's so all of them. I'm not gonna lie, in their own way. Just "You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you" like asdhfsoduhgsd. the song just feels like Soap, because he's going around, but he wants that solid man. And ack- dying.

Projecting my favorite little guys on Hozier. I have so many more thoughts.

This man I stg never misses.

Crying in a coffee shop? Couldn't be me.

Anyway byyyyeeeeeee

[respectthepetty]

The irony of Wine and Faifa's pink and red text matching shirts saying "Friends" on them is not lost on me since they are clearly in love with each other as we enter episode twenty-two of Perfect 10 Liners.

And Faifa getting additional matching shirts for them to wear only added to my joy since the shirts had lightning bolts in the shape of hearts on them because Electric Boy is in love with his Vino Baby.

And Vino Baby is in love with Electric Boy!

Just in case the engagement photos with the red roses didn't make that clear for everyone.

Or the fact that Wine is probably wearing Faifa clothes as he spends the night again, but also that it is Faifa's light blue that he is wearing.

They are just two Lapis Lads living their best Blue Boys domestic dream with sponsored milk product placements that could kill Faifa, but neither care because they are in love, and if they die, they are dying smiling.

But Faifa's mom shows up to cut the sponsored milk product placement short so Faifa won't die due to his allergy but rather from neglect and heartbreak because instead of her owning up to her faults, she blames the dad for not informing Faifa of anything since the dad only has three kids while she has a whole new family who she used to replace her old one. Good job, Mom!

Thankfully, the episode is out to prove that the boys are the best part of each other's lives because even though Faifa's mom is going to catch these hands, the boys decide to use their hands to comfort each other instead of violence.

BECAUSE THEY ARE IN LOVE!

And as to prove how much Faifa needs Wine after dealing with his ridiculous family, the mom calls Newton to notify him that Wine was in the apartment when she went to visit Faifa late at night, who then informs Yotha. Nobody tells Faifa anything but they are quick to tell each other everything. How funny! *murder*

I know Warit says Klao is a new man, but how much would one good punch in the stomach to two bothersome brothers cost? Asking for a friend.

Not even Green Guy Gun looking cute on the couch can save his Black Brooder boyfriend from the beatdown I want to give this family.

I thought about changing my mind the next day since both of them are wearing their colors.

BUT ARC AND ARM AREN'T IN THEIR COLORS AGAIN SO EVERYONE IS GETTING BEAT UP! Klao can give me a discount like those adorable coffee punch cards Faifa and Wine are swooning over! Pay for five punches get the sixth free.

Basically, the only boys I love right now are the Blue Boys who are honest, strong, and loyal, just like the flowers they are about to exchange in order to make their relationship official.

UNTIL OHM TOR SHOWS UP WHICH MEANS I GUESSED RIGHT! Look at Toey's face. Girl thinks she did good.

Now look at my boy's face. She did NOT do good!

But I'm going to skip over the angst because this episode was out to prove that Blue Boys are the best boys and they are HONEST, STRONG, AND LOYAL because Wine doesn't let the misunderstanding slide, but chases after our boy and tells him that the only reason he agreed to this arrangement is because he wants to be near Faifa since he likes him so much and he doesn't understand how Faifa doesn't realize that when he is giving his all and trying everything to extend this beyond that notebook of love deadlines.

AND THIS WAS AFTER HE KISSES HIM!

So in the end, the Blue Boys really did figure it out all on their own without any help from any of these messy gays, and Yotha can be proud of his brother who he did not help at all.

I'm sorry I ever doubted you, kings.

Now, let's plan the wedding!

IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENING!!!!!

Wait? Green Guy Po?! WHAT?!

[notaboutmeeee]

Yeah when devon was like "hey innie, someone wants to talk with you" I thought it was gonna be the doc to explain the reintegration as an argument for innie .ark to go along with the plan but instead it was a drawn out back and forth with outie mark that could've just been a "i need you to do this" "what happens to innies after?" "No clue" "fuck you, us innies dont want to die"

I also was confused why helly didn't throw the projectile in her hand and james? Like she was pissed and scared and he's an old man, he's an eagan who are the villains of the story. That was such a weird interaction??

And yeah I was waiting for helly to shout "go, mark, before they come". And also why was she there? And not taking over the building with the innies, since she knew mark did his plan because of the alarms?

The Dylan thing did not fit in this episode, it should've been in a previous episode. Now it felt so out of place with the other stories and pacing..

Also not only is innie mark in a lose lose situation but by staying in lumon he's at high risk of being killed for killing Drummond and destroying their project vs him leaving with Gemma and taking down lumon. The whole focus on love seems so small minded with all the mysteries and theories this show has presented and made us come up with, such a flat note to end the season on...like Gemma doesn't know where she is or how to get out, the security of the building could be waiting at the top of the stairs to drag her down for all we know...

Also the opening credits gave me hope we'd see Irving and burt again but sadly no...

can you speak on your severance s2 opinions? i promise this isnt in bad faith or anything, im just anon bc im shy lol, im genuinely curious

i'm gonna put this under a read more because it's gonna be long but...yeah [scratches head] if YOU the person reading this looooved this season and see nothing you didn't like about it, thats awesome and i'm happy for you. i also liked things in this season, and also its normal to be able to critique things you like, love and light <3 its literally just television

generally, yeah, i found myself disappointed with it. i think the writing this season, both the dialogue and then the actual character/world writing, fell flat and/or seemed like it was completely incongruous with the characters and world that we had seen in season 1. i think something i really appreciated about season 1 is that yes, mark was our main character and the lens we got introduced to both the inside and outside world, but both felt so much BIGGER than just him.

season 2, the entire plot and world and characters bend and contort to make mark like, the center of the universe lol. it's kind of ridiculous, the extent to which the world revolves around him now. it makes the world feel SOOO small. parts of my favorite worldbuilding aspects are seeing how the outside world feels about severance--i think the part where we see how working as a severed employee makes it almost impossible to work anywhere else is great! and in concept i like seeing other towns that have been devastated by lumon's industrialization, though i don't love the execution that we got. so like...everything lumon does is about mark? ALL of it? i know we don't know exactly how long lumon has been operating but like...they've been working on this stuff for longer than two years, lol. like, how many files have dylan completed? irving? petey? that girlie who wrote the lexington letter? is all of their work literally meaningless? like i get that there were people before gemma who failed the tests and they died, sure, but what about when mark started working there? what about the files that irving started and didn't finish, why don't they care about those? ohhhh right, because that's not the one that mark's working on. i get that it'd be a big deal if they got it to work fully once, but surely they'd want to make it work AGAIN, right??? like a science experiment?? i just wish we got like, A nod to other people on the testing floor, because i think the implication is that all of them are working on files connected to…different people, but maybe they're all just different versions of gemma?

honestly all of the innie stuff this season just felt so…idk, aimless? it feels like parts of the building only exist when the writers want them to, and just generally are not interested in exploring anything outside of the romantic aspects for all of these characters. like sure, after the season 1 finale, their asses are not gonna wanna work (EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY DO? TO MOVE THE PLOT ALONG?), but where's the camaraderie? what about all those other people in O&D, they literally export things to the testing floor, maybe they know about gemma? fundamentally i think the thing that's the most frustrating about innie mark is that they keep telling us that he doesn't care about gemma. which, sure, outie gemma, he doesn't have that same connection with as helly, whatever. but also, he DOES care about her, he literally knows that that's ms casey and that lumon was just going to do what they always do when they fire people????? like s1 mark cared soooo much about his coworkers, ALL OF THEM, even the ones that weren't there anymore—seeing petey and then ms casey get removed was like, a HUGE deal and vital to his growth as a character!!!! and the way that they constructed this whole season basically to remove everyone that isn't mark and helly by the end. lol. i'm honestly shocked that they didn't make a new version of the desk that was just two chairs, like dylan was just excluded from the finale except for when they needed him to come in and hold the door against mr. milchick. again. lol

i don't inherently have a problem with exploring the romantic stuff, i think that could have been done well, but i just don't think it was. and that's primarily because, i think the writing this season for helly was ass! they took away her agency and subjugated her to be just the love interest for mark! especially with the finale, i just feel like the helly i know would've been like mark, what are you doing??? go?!? like she wants to take down lumon, THAT's what will take down lumon! like whatever, mark made the choice that he did, but helly playing along with it makes no fucking senseee. like they want us to think that it's the same ol helly we know and love, they give us crumbs of her anger, like when she's rallying the marching band people or whatever, but again, only when it's plot convenient. WHY WOULD SHE NOT ATTACK JAME? he's like 90???? and helly doesn't like this man???? she has nothing to lose???? fucking THROW something at him helly!!!! the helly that tried to chop her fingers off and hang herself and gave that speech in the s1 finale is not in the room with us. and i don't mean this in a way where i think it's helena again, it's not. they've just completely fumbled her character because they want mark and helly to be together at all costs. and honestly, i think it's so reductive to make this show just about ships, but textually it feels like that's what they want us to do, and i think that's sad. again, it makes the show feel so SMALL, when the world within it used to feel so BIG and like we would want to learn more about it. i care about mark and helly--before they kissed!! i think it was rewarding to see the ways they challenged each other and grew as people!! them as a romantic thing could work but they haven't put in the work to MAKE it work. and, it feels like of redundant even to say, but i do think it's fucking ridiculous to write a story where we get kissing and fucking for allllll the straight characters and then the one gay couple doesn't even get a kiss before separating them completely and writing irving out of the show, basically. like what are we in, hayes code era television?

but yeah, the information they chose to reveal vs what they didn't was also frustrating. i honestly wish they revealed less! there's so much TELLING this season. it feels like they think we're stupid (which, i can't speak for the entire population watching the show, maybe some people literally do need mark to look at the camera and explain everything, idk). like there's sooo much clever storytelling in the first season that just, completely gets snuffed out from overexplaining. i understand in the finale that oMark needs to tell iMark about why he did all of this but like, WE as the audience already know??? we don't need to see this?? and cobel confirming stuff i feel like we already knew about how the numbers work and like, i just don't knowwww. like you can just show me it, i was picking up on it. like we know about the four tempers, you show it to us all the time, cobel having to look dead in the camera and explain it just made me feel like there was a better way we could've done this. i do think some stuff benefits from a "hard" confirmation. like i'm glad they confirmed the helena thing, BECAUSE it backs up and supports all of the lovely and subtle things they had already shown to prove that it WAS helena! like i've known since the first episode LOL, so they do KNOW how to do subtle storytelling. and i think the gemma episode was great, i loved seeing her as a character and thought it gave her so much depth. but again, i think allll of the explaining they do this season not only snuffs out the fun of speculating on the viewing end, but from a writing perspective it just kind of writes them into a corner. i think they're focused too much on making these elaborate set pieces and events take place without thinking of how they fit together, not only on like a writing/episodic level but just the world of lumon at large.

i think a great way they showed story in the first season is through the paintings, and through irving and burt bonding over the paintings! like it not only establishes the lore of kier and then we get to learn more about them as characters through their reactions to the paintings. the paintings this season, honestly, were weak, they were so heavy handed. love and light to whoever painted them, but they were nottt doing the job for me.

(this is a small thing, but like…the intake questionnaire asks them to "name a US state or territory," so they KNOW that delaware is a state. so why would they think the equator is a building? again its just like. a cutesy moment for mark and helly to banter but they could've done it in a way that isn't contradictory to like, our understanding of what information crosses over the sever and what does not).

i keep thinking about the ORTBO, and it just seems fucking CRAZY to me that they aren't freaking out about SEEING THE SKY? BREATHING FRESH AIR? FEELING FIRE? SLEEPING?? WASN'T THE WHOLE THING THAT THEY COULDN'T FALL ASLEEP???? i guess my impression of how the chip works is that the technology doesn't know how to handle when they enter a subconscious/asleeep state, so the innie and outie memories begin to bleed together, hence why dozing would be a bad thing on the job. but again, they clearly had this idea of how they wanted irving to reveal that it's helena in the waterfall, and yes, i did enjoy the spectacle of the episode, but its another example of how they'll build these moments and only focus on what they want to see. like there's so much interesting stuff that they could explore and just choose not to, because (usually) it doesn't involve mark, or mark and helly.

also, i'm just gonna say it, i feel like the writing for the women this season all was kinda bad! it's, again, a byproduct of the world revolving around mark now. reghabi is brought into the story when mark needs her, and cast aside when he doesn't want her anymore. devon has been completely reduced to mark's lackey, like i guess ricken and the baby are fucking fine or whatever??? because she only exists when mark is around, and her only job is caring about mark (which obviously yes, they're siblings, of course they care—but s1 devon had a life outside of mark as well). cobel is only brought back into the story to explain to mark how cold harbor works. i said this before but honestly i like the concept of her little solo episode, though the execution wasn't great, because at least she was doing something on her own (except for when she needs that guy to help her. heaven forbid a woman does something of her own accord without a man to help). and again, helly is completely flanderized to be mark's love interest. i think there's a way to have mark and helly be together and them be their own people, but for the length of the season they did not have the proper time to unpack all the shit from the ORTBO episode so everyone just…conveniently gets over it very quickly, like in the span of a day. like i do think it's a jump to go from "i don't trust you, are you even you?" to missionary under plastic tarps that quickly, i'm sorry. and i think even gemma suffers from this fate as well. i think with hers it makes more sense, like she fucking loves her husband, but i wish she was given opportunities to like…want things for herself, too. like she hasn't been outside in two years! i bet she misses her job, her students, her family, devon, ricken, like anyone outside of mark? but she has to be the tragic love interest that can't be with mark but can't run away from mark, either. she's reduced to set dressing for mark and helly by the end.

they constructed this season i think, with the hopes and knowledge that they'll likely get a season 3. which yes, we know now that it's been confirmed and approved or whatever, but they didn't know that when making season 2, and it feels like no one got a full character arc. it's all start and no follow through. we've had the same "mr. milchick experiences racism in the workplace" moment like what, five, six times, and yet we haven't even started to see him DO something about it yet? like sure he told mr. drummond to eat shit, but then to play along with the minstrel show cold harbor shit, they just didn't care about giving that plot line any action so it'll just get brushed along to season 3. (and while there's intentional commentary about race in the show, it also feels like there's unintentional consequences to their writing choices that upholds the whiteness. like, natalie is just forgotten about, reghabi is dropped as soon as mark doesn't want to play with her anymore, ms. huang barely gets to do anything before being written off and sent away, and yes, i do think having gemma suffer as mark and helly skip away is part of it. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, sorry!). i think dylan is maybe the closest we get to an interesting arc, and i enjoy the inclusion of his wife, but even he's reduced to JUST this story, only getting to talk to mark or helly when the writers need him to, i guess. and the stuff with burt and fields is so nothing, like it feels like it should be going somewhere but they're just leaving it open for season 3 (i guess??? even though it seems like irving isn't going to be in it at all, so why would we be following burt and fields??? and also don't even get me started on how the outie irving stuff is just NOT EXPLORED AT ALL. like whatever sure who the hell cares, sorry for wanting to see that go somewhere or whatever).

it's too early for full reintegration to happen so, we'll just finish that in season 3. (then why introduce it so early in season 2? ohhh right, we need cliffhangers to end every episode on). it almost feels like they don't have faith that people will keep watching without introducing these dramatic moments, but it's all just gasps of breath, there's no actual momentum. like, i've already watched the first season, you don't need to bait me with the prospect of seeing meaningful progression and then take it away from me when the next episode starts. the structure of how episodes speak to each other is that they…don't? like obviously i don't need every episode to pick up on the exact moment the last left off, but the timeline of this season is just soooo strange. the first two episodes are in the same span of time, and then there's gemma and cobel's episodes back to back…it genuinely just feels like they didn't consider the season as a whole which, considering how much money and time it took to make it happen, makes no sense.

and to continue on the timeline aspect, it feels so confusing as to how much time has really passed. it feels like the wanted the structure of the first season, but the pacing mechanic of the first season (working up to the end of the quarter to get to the waffle party) makes the pacing of the second feel even worse. like a.) mark's completed like 3 files a quarter (if we assume he's worked there for 8 quarters, i.e. two years), so making THIS file the super special final one truncates the possible time by at least a third.but then also, b.) he's been at like 95% complete since like, episode 5..? again, i just think it should've been considered more during the planning stages. and it kind of boggles my mind that the creative team views the marching band in this finale to be analogous to the waffle party in s1 when, it's way closer to the music dance experience? (they said this in the like behind the scenes for the finale ep). and in that regard, it really does kind of feel like a retread that doesn't work as well because, again, it's all about mark! especially after the shit with the kier statue, why would mr. milchick play along with the song and dance, like it just feels like they wanted to use tramell tillman's dance experience again, and they wanted to use the colored lights again. he could've just stood by the door to make sure mark and helly stayed there, which was obviously the goal of having all those people there. and yeah, i get the work is mysterious and important or whatever, but the implication that they have ALL OF THESE PEOPLE whos sole job is to be a marching band makes no fucking sense, i'm sorry. i find it hard to play along with the worldbuilding, again it makes lumon seem like its run by like dr. doofenshmirtz or something, it's so cartoony. like are they a global and successful company, or are they incompetent and leave gaping holes for their employees to undo everything? this is THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY IN LUMON HISTORY and they couldn't…shut the door to MDR like they had before? the goat sacrifice room is directly outside the exports hall door? the music dance experience works so well as a catharsis moment because everyone has their own shit going on, and we get to see the guy who hasn't really disobeyed yet (dylan) finally snap, and we see the others come and support him as a TEAM. it's just spectacle for us, the viewer. and especially the thing where they make the panels with mark's face on it—HE CAN'T SEE IT???? i don't need fan service winking moments like that, i dunno, that just annoyed me lol.

anyway, i feel like i have more to say probably but i gotta go do things so, i'm gonna leave it here. in conclusion, i'm missing my friends from s1 MDR sooo so bad, i feel like i haven't seen them this season at all. i did like parts of this season, but overall it was not what i was hoping it would be. (i don't even really KNOW what i wanted it to be, and of course it doesn't matter what i "want," but i feel like what i "want" lined up with what they wanted to do explore with season 1 so…maybe that's where the dissonance is coming from). and whereas at the end of s1, where i left it being like "where are they going to go from here?? (as in, theres so many possibilities", this season finale has left me asking "…where are we gonna go from here?" because i'm left like, inherently incurious about the people we have left and the choices they've made. and, i feel like THEY (as in the executive team making it) must feel this way too, because apparently they've completely scrapped the writers room from this season and added on two new showrunners. good luck to whoever that executive story editor is LOL