#bucket head zombie

[plantzvmbz]

Love hate relationship with this guy..

Quick doodle, as I’ve already lost IDEAS… SOMEONE SEND PVZ DOODLE IDEAS PLEASE IM BEGGINGN ILL DRAW ALMOST ANYTHING

[empresskylo]

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER

SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...

WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.

The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.

The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water. 

With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go. 

The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep. 

“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained. 

“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves. 

“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”

Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”

“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”

“It’s too–”

You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”

“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly. 

“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”

Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that. 

“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price. 

“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon. 

“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”

He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting. 

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building. 

You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this. 

“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair. 

You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in. 

The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing. 

Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream. 

He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall. 

Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing. 

Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought. 

He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind. 

He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound. 

He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.

You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone. 

Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you. 

You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic. 

Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering. 

But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack. 

A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell. 

His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him. 

Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat. 

Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan. 

You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body. 

You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.

It was Simon.

Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you. 

“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare. 

A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them . 

You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came. 

Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise. 

You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in. 

Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before. 

You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself. 

Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.

Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory. 

He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support. 

You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time. 

Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin. 

His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time. 

You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful. 

When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life. 

You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well. 

But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.

You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you. 

You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements. 

You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all. 

He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast. 

You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.

Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever? 

You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him. 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part seventeen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Ghost wasn't bluffing about the rain.

The next two days are spent with a punching bag under a neverending drizzle. Well, a duffle bag filled to the brim with who-knows-what, hanging from a tree as your skin smacks into it repeatedly and wet hair sticks to your neck. According to Ghost, you hit about as hard as Blue does, and there's no point in sparring until that changes. 

He demonstrates before finding a comfortable tree to lean against and watch. The first few tries feel awkward until he reminds you to hold your stance. Once you dig your feet firmer into the mud, you start to catch on. You try to copy his movements. Knees, hands, elbows, feet. The rain soaks through the gauze on your hands, bunching it up, and the bag stings your unprotected fingers so much that your pinky starts to spasm.

You are struggling to hold the canister of water without wincing when Ghost appears behind you, grips your wrist, and says, "Why didn't you say anything?"

You pull away and tuck your hand to your breast. "It's not that bad."

His eyes sweep over the length of you before subtly narrowing. "You're bleeding. You should have said something."

When you glance at your fingers, you realize that he's right— the skin is split and oozing, but the rain waters the blood down to a light shade of pink. "Sorry, I guess. I didn't notice."

A callused finger reaches over to brush your knuckles before flipping your hand over, palm up, and tapping the heel of it. "Hit here from now on. It's less soft."

"Noted. Thanks."

Blue warms a bucket of water and soaks your hands that night. You listen to the sound of rain drumming against the plywood as you pray for it to stop by the morning, but of course, there's no one listening to you up there in the clouds because, by the time Ghost gets you up again, it's only gotten worse. Mist shrouds your ankles and the trees crackle and moan. He takes you back to the clearing and you know you won't be dealing with the duffle bag today.

"Let's see what you've learned."

He shucks off his jacket and you do the same despite the brisk temperature. Left in his shirt and sweatpants, the sheer size of him appears even more daunting. The black fabric soon becomes wet and sticks to his well-defined muscles, resembling a second skin. Ghost inclines his head and looks at you expectantly. Your heart races but you meet his stare, breathing deeply.

This time it's you who lunges first.

A swift kick to his ribs shoots the familiar burst of adrenaline through your veins. 

The flicker of confidence makes you greedy and you try it again, but he wrenches your ankle away and twists you into submission, pulling you flush to his chest. 

His breath hits your neck and warmth, not rain, prickles the skin. "She didn't hesitate. Good. But moves like that leave your stance vulnerable."

With a shove, you are released, and then he wipes the floor with you. Again. Everything turns into a blur of movement. The ground squelches beneath you. You try to focus more on offense, but the rain clumping your lashes and the way he darts so quickly makes that near impossible. Frustration builds in your chest the longer you two go at it. It is as if the past few days have done little to nothing. 

A bruising blow to your stomach almost makes you slip, but he catches you by the sleeve and draws you close, leaving you face-to-face. His eyes burn a trail over your forehead down to your nose and lips as you pant heavily, then snap back up to yours. 

"What happened to your confidence? Where is the girl who kneed my dick?"

You swallow and blink hard as you meet his thick gaze. "She's trying... but she's wet and can hardly see."

"Better than being dead." You place your hand atop his callused one and try to pry it off, but his grip tightens. "Stop holding back again."

Tension holds your teeth together. "Just because I wasn't a military sergeant like you doesn't mean I'm holding back."

"Lieutenant."

"What?"

"I was a lieutenant, not a sergeant."

"Does that change my point?"

His brow quirks and his hand drops. "You have quite the attitude when you're not scared of me." 

The stinging air turns your cheeks pink. "I was never scared of you."

"Blue's next lesson should be teaching you to lie better.”

Something about his tone causes a twinge in your chest. You back up and ready your fists. "Oh... Is she good at that?"

He stalks you with slow steps that scuff over the mud. "Pretty good at it. Though, she forgets who her old man is sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"You think I didn't notice?"

Your mouth runs dry. Unspoken truths hang in the air; the antiseptic, the food she snuck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes roll to the side. "Relax. I would've killed you the moment I noticed if I wanted to."

"Why didn't you, then?" 

A glint of—something—passes through his eyes. "Perhaps I thought you could be useful. Turns out I was right. Now—" He changes the subject. "Don't hold back or you can enjoy the shed tonight."

All the color drains from your face. "What? You... you can't do that."

"Why not?" 

Your voice sharpens. "Because you made a fucking promise to me, Ghost. You said you keep your word."

His broad shoulders give a lazy shrug. "I do, but you thrive when you feel threatened. Thought you could use the motivation."

Anger curls your lips. "That doesn't mean you can just—" 

Mud. Mud everywhere. Freezing, sticky mud cushions your fall as he hits you without warning. You gasp. A flash of a memory shoots through your spine; the way he pushed you to the ground that first time you met. The crack of your bow. The helplessness. 

You ignore the ache as you push yourself to wobbling feet. It as if every hit from him makes itself known. Your anger deepens and you launch at him without thought, snarling. Your ankles hook around his torso as you grab hold of his wet shirt and cling to his back. One of your arms clamps over his neck and squeezes while the other blindly scratches at any piece of him you can find; his collarbones, the bridge of his nose, his scalp. 

A few heartbeats pound before he throws you back into the mud. This time, he joins you. Salty sweat and the taste of coppery soil brush the seam of your mouth as you wrestle beneath him. It turns messy, your hair tangling with knots and pine needles, but you don't have it in you to care. You spit in his face and dig the heel of your boot into his back, riding up his shirt. 

"Ah. There she is." His voice is rougher and only the slightest bit winded. 

The fight you give is silenced when he pins your hips down with his and grabs one of your wrists. The other you quickly slip under your back, out of reach. Again, he has you pinned, and that pisses you off even more.

"Fuck you," you snap breathlessly. "Get off of me."

"Bold choice of words to say to your landlord."

The rain seems to fade into the background and all you can see—feel—is him. It should terrify you, the pressure of his body, but your mouth opens again on its own accord. "Bold choice getting me into this position again. I guess you don't want any more kids."

A sharp exhale leaves his nose and you think it might be his version of a laugh. "Thanks for reminding me." He brackets your knees with his, rendering them immobile. "Now what?"

Now what. The mix of adrenaline and anger rushes between your ears and that thing you've relied on to survive for so long—instinct—decides for you. Your free hand scoops mud and smashes it into his eyes, stealing his vision. The time it takes for him to wipe it away gives you a shot at his face and you take it without abandon, slamming your hand hard into his nose. You can practically hear the crack. Blood blooms through the white of his mask. 

Your irises unfurl. "Shit. Ghost. I—"

He sits up and you scramble away on your butt. Like a tide, your emotions wash away and leave your face flushed. When he peels the balaclava over his nose, a trail of blood trickles down his lips and chin. He pinches the tip and flicks a clot of it to the ground.

"Is it— Did it break?"

He touches the bridge. "Minor."

"I'm..."

The uncontrollable shaking returns to your hands, snapping his gaze to them. "Did they open up?"

Confused, you glance at the red skin across your knuckles before shaking your head. "No. I... I used the heel. Like you said."

"Good." A grumble of thunder brings his eyes to the sky before he stands up, mask still hiked over the bloody lower half of his face. He offers you a hand. "Smart use of the environment. Think we're done here."

It takes a long moment before you place your hand in his. The energy has swept through your body, leaving you numb, and there are no more sharp words left to share. With the grey sky, it is impossible to tell the time, but you figure it must still be early morning because Blue is not awake by the time you and Ghost return.

He is equally as filthy as you. Dark earth cakes the entirety of his body. He swipes his boots outside and you wordlessly do the same before following him into the quiet cabin. Everything is still except for your heart. It struggles to find a normal pace again.

"Let me look at it," you offer quietly.

He doesn't object, taking a seat at the table. The only evidence that the physical activity has affected him is the uptick in heat that rolls off his body. You move clinically to stand between his knees and ignore the awkward feeling that settles in the silence. You feel strange after getting so worked up. Like you don't know how to act. If you were confused around him before, you are more so now, so you focus on what you do understand— that his nose is most definitely broken.

For the first time, it is you looking down at him. 

"I'm going to touch it."

You will the trembling in your hands to stop and brush a fingertip along the bridge. His nose is strong. So is his jaw. An old scar indents the left of his mouth, deeper than the one on your brow. This isn't the first time you've seen part of his face— he does, in fact, have human needs like food and water—but the first time you've touched it. His skin is as warm as you remember. The tender swell in the bridge of his nose makes his eyes close for a moment.

"How's it feel?" 

He throws your words back at you. "Just peachy."

"Right. Um, have you broken it before?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry," you finally say, but he seems far from interested in your apology.

"Don't be. I said not to worry about hurting me."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing it."

"Liar." He calls you out in a soft murmur. "It felt good, didn't it?"

It... did. Possibly even cathartic. The release of emotions is not something you allow often, but hitting Ghost in the face mimicked the exertion of chopping wood only tenfold. Carefully, you nod. "A bit."

"More than a bit."

"Fine," you concede breathily. You avoid his eyes and look over at the wall. "It felt really good." There is a pause before you look at his nose again, clearing your throat. "It's minor enough to just let heal, right?"

His brows lower. "I thought you were the nurse here."

"Nursing student," you remind him, teeth grazing your lip. "I don't remember getting to this lecture."

"Fucking hell." He inhales deeply through his mouth, lowering the fabric back down, before saying, "Just go bathe, Twix."

"What about you?"

"I'll go after."

You nod but linger for a moment in his presence. "Ghost." Your fingers curl at your sides. "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever threaten me with something I have earned."

Making a demand of him is so utterly foreign to you that the words taste strange. The whites of his eyes slide up to yours and something you don't recognize passes through them. "Duly noted." His brows lift. "Don't hold back again."

You exhale. "I won't."

It is at this moment you notice the appearance of Blue in the hallway, still dressed in an oversized shirt that acts as her pajamas. She looks between the two of you, rubbing her eyes, before narrowing them and pointing an accusatory finger. "I told you guys to tell me when things got more interesting."

You repel from between his knees like a magnet, facing her.

"It wasn't that interesting. Don't worry."

[illubean]

hey ! can you write for the main four of hxh, where the reader is like immortal but the 4 don’t know and think they “died” but just comes back after like a couple lonngggg seconds? idk if this is weird but thanks!

Main 4 (HXH) w/ an Immortal!Reader

Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika Kurta, Leorio Paladaknight Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

not telling them beforehand is EVIL

Warnings: mentions of death

Gon Freecs

alright so for some reason you're fighting someone/thing

and right as you land the final blow they also manage to get a lethal hit in and you "die"

he is literally sobbing while laying on your chest as you take your sweet time to revive...

he is literally bawling his eyes out and feels so guilty because he couldn't help you :((

and then when he feels a hand on his head and hears "now what are you crying about?"

he literally shoots up in surprise

"You're alive!?" "Yeah, I'm literally immortal."

he's too distressed to even question you further and just opts to hug you tightly

he might ask you about it later, but for now he just needs the comfort of your embrace

Killua Zoldyck

this poor kid :(

he's literally already traumatized by everything his family has done to him now THIS?

he's another one who cries because he couldn't protect you

little does he know he doesn't have to

and when you come back like "heyyyy :p" he jumps like 50 feet from you

"What the hell!?" "My bad, took a little longer to come back this time than I thought." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS TIME????"

and you explain you're immortal and hes like HAAHH!?

he angrily wipes all of his tears away before beating you over the top of your head

he plays things off as him just being mad you didn't tell him about your ability

but really he's glad that you didn't actually kick the bucket

Kurapika Kurta

he literally lost his entire clan when he was like 12

so you "dying" to who or whatever just piles on top of the darkness in his heart

cue the red eyes ooohhh

he will quickly finish off whoever "killed" you and during that time boom you're back

"Look's like you took care of things here. Thanks Kurapika :D"

he gives himself whiplash with how fast he turns around

at first he is very wary because what if the enemy has some sort of ability to reanimate your body

but then you tell him you're immortal

and he's like oh...

bye bye red eyes

"You should've told me that earlier"

he just sighs and brings you somewhere else to make sure that you're really okay

Leorio Paladaknight

Leorio has a big heart and values his relationships

so when you "die" in front of him he is in arguably more distress than anyone else on the list

he doesn't just accept the fact that you're "dead"

he is literally crying screaming about to throw up

he's like NOOOO WHYYY WHYYYYYYYY YOU CANT BE DEAD NOOOOOOOOOOO

and you come back like just kidding :p not deaddd

he's literally screaming at you and shaking you back and forth by your shoulders

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? NOT FUNNY, THATS NOT FUNNY AT ALL!"

after that he pauses then starts screaming at you even louder to explain how you came back to life

"ARE YOU A ZOMBIE!?!!?!?"

and when you tell him his frantic yelling does not stop...

good luck shutting him up

[vee-art-zone]

#7 - What if Minecraft added Flamingos?

Flamingos are bright pink, 2-block-tall mobs that would be found in all the shallow 1-block ponds and lakes of the world, giving life to the otherwise dull lakes that arent part of rivers. This would, in turn, make them very common in Swamps and Mangrove Swamps. Flamingos spawn in great numbers, often over a dozen in any one flock, and will stick close to each other at all times.

If a player approaches a flamingo, it will enter Flight Mode, and attempt to fly away. In doing so, it prompts all nearby flamingos to fly in the same direction as it, turning the entire flock airborne at once, making for beautiful spectacles, until they find a better spot of 1-block-deep water to land at. Only players do this, so they won't be turned off by just any old zombie. You can initiate these rare, beautiful events!

A flamingo needs to feed in water, lapping up microscopic brine shrimp. To do this, it tilts its entire head below its body, turning it into a scoop in the water! However, if a flamingo is not given water to feed in, it will gradually fade in color every day, until after 4 days it is a dull white color due to being Shrimpless. So if you want your base to be decorated with beautiful, hot pink flamingos, you better keep them near water at all times!!

Flamingos can be bred with Buckets of Water. This, of course, does not consume the bucket, but does give you the peace of mind that every bucket of water, from oceans to lakes to your own skyblock water source, is teeming with brine shrimp. Happy fishing!

[ohthatsmiggles]

little repost

The dracula case.

Richard Chase , aka The Vampire of Sacramento.

He was nicknamed this, as he drank the blood of his victims and cannibalized their remains. Everyone in his life knew he was mentally ill, even his own mother! Please proceed at your own risk, as this case mentions children, the dismemberment of people, etc. It may be a little bad, this is my second time making this type of post!

Richard Trenton Chase was born on May 23rd in 1950, he was an American spree killer who murdered six people in Sacramento, California. He was allegedly abused by his mother whilst growing up, though his father also physically disciplined him but that was usual for the time. By the age of 10, he already checked out for the MacDonald triad, which is bed wetting, animal torture and fire setting. Chase realized very young about his dark urges, though not ever being able to be in with a girl due to his impotence, he in adolescence then became an alcoholic with a chronic drug problem. Chase, keep in mind, was a paranoid schizophrenic, moving out from his mother because he personally believed his mother was trying to poison him. He moved in with a couple friends, they often complained that he smelt of weed, though he never cared, paying no attention to guests, walking around naked, they eventually got tired of him, telling him to move out. But he refused, so they moved out instead.

Whilst alone, he began to torture animals, he would dismember these animals, making them into milkshakes blended into cola. He had a belief that his heart was shrinking, that it wasn't beating correctly since his childhood, he believed consuming blood and the animal remains would help him from not dying.

In 1975, he was institutionalized due to his blood poisoning from injecting animal blood into his veins. He scared the patients horribly, even the nurses, they gave him the nickname "Dracula", being described as awfully bizarre. He was then prescribed medication, being taken out from the ward in 1976 after being deemed safe (My god, were they wrong.) Anyways, he was placed in the care of his mother. His mother, the cruel woman she was, got tired of her son, kicking him practically out, forbidding him to take his anti psychotic medication, claiming that it made him boring, dulling his personality, like a zombie, even though advised not to by the doctors. So she instead got him his own apartment. When he got his own apartment, he began to eat dogs and birds, hanging them up. Chase's neighbor, said she saw cats and dogs enter the apartment then never go out, so she never knew what happened to them, though she could have reported it, as it was not allowed for them to have animals.

The killings

He used a .22 Automatic handgun to kill his victims, first was a drive-by shooting, then the rest were home invasions. After shooting his victims, he would mutilate, drinking the blood, he would engage within necrophilia with female victims only. The victims include : An unidentified woman ( Shot, but missed ) Ambrose Griffin, 51 ( Shot in the chest. ) An unidentified boy, 12 ( Shot, missed. ) Teresa, 22 ( Shot twice in the head, then once in the hand! She was repeatedly stabbed, her organs removed, cut off her nipples, forcing her to eat dog feces, partially eaten at. Also necrophilia was done to her body, three months pregnant. ) Daniel Meredith, 51 ( Shot, then mutilated. ) Evelyn Miroth, 38 ( Slashed throat, shot, disemboweled, partially eaten,  failed to take out one of her eyes, engaged in necrophilia. ) Jason 6, ( Shot, then brutally mutilated once dead. ) David 1, ( Shot, eaten partially and mutilated. )

Facts

In 1977, Chase was arrested in Lake Tahoe, he had a bucket of blood, also guns in his car. He managed to convince an officer it was just from an animal, so there was no report made. ( He claimed it was cows blood, specifically. ) Witnesses saw him with a dog once, though the dog was never recovered so they truly never saw it again, so they never knew what happened to it, this is the same time the lake incident had happened. He had delusions of an alien force, and insisted he only ate humans because the outside forces were going to steal his blood! He thought his heart was shrinking as I mentioned, so ingesting blood also helped him from not dying. He had schizophrenia noticeable in his childhood, but it worsened throughout when he got older. He had a stable life at 20, but it crumbled. He then got into the ward, though he had killed one before, his mother insisted and weared him off his medication, making him go onto a whole spree. He also had hypochondria. Neighbors heard him shooting at the walls, he claimed it was the voices he had heard. He lied about his mental illnesses, so he could get his weapon of choice, it happened after he had purchased it. He killed small puppies, trying to steal a large dog, but luckily, he failed. His sister was afraid of him. In prison, he spoke about ufos and nazis, being afraid of them, wanting to get a gun to protect himself, he also claimed to be jewish, drawing the star of david on his forehead. He believed the prison leagues were in contact with the Nazis, trying to kill him with the food. He was sentenced to death by , but instead, at 11:05 am, December 26th, 1980, he killed himself from an overdose when he was hoarding his medication. The reasons truly were unknown. more may be added later! I hope you enjoyed. :)

[thesassypadawan]

Milky Way (Will x WifeReader)

Summary: It’s the night of Halloween and the little monsters are all tucked in their beds.  What better way to unwind and celebrate with your hubby than enjoying your favorite treat…Milky Way.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Cunnilingus, spooky treats, jump scare, slight hint of breeding kink, loving that thick booty, and…Will’s skilled tongue and fat dick.

Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

- It was the night of Halloween and all through the haunted house…  Not a little monster was stirring, except for a wicked witch and one handsome devil…

- “Mmmm, milk way; my favorite,” you hum happily to yourself.  Popping another piece of the candy into your mouth; moaning a tiny bit at its caramelly, creamy goodness.  All the while a lone drop of cum trickles down your leg. 

- Part of you knows you should feel guilty for raiding the kids’ trick-or-treat buckets.  That these confectionary delights weren’t good for you anyways.  That they’d go straight to your already thick thighs and would only give you a…

- An arm loops loosely around your waist, broad chest presses against your back.  Faint stumble tickling at, lips pressing into the side of your neck.  No doubt leaving behind a spot or two of the remnants of his ghoulish paint.  “Careful, your booty will get bigger if you keeping eating those.” 

- Evil grin spreads across your face, small giggle bubbles from your throat.  As you begin to unwrap what was easily your sixth one, wiggling your wide hips slowly…enticingly.  “Like you’d really complain?  Thought you wanted it to, whole reason why you filled me up before you went out.”

- Groaning low in your ear; the sound rumbling through you, forming goosebumps on your skin.  Will’s big hands glide down your sides; taking a moment to give each handle an appreciative squeeze, eliciting a sweet coo from you.  “I do, would love nothing more than to see you plumper…rounder.”

- Fingers creep underneath the skimpy black skirt, between your plushy pillows.  “And I’ll keep doing it too, every chance I get.”  Grazing your drenched panties, slipping past.  Coating them in his cum, your slick; teasing your warm folds, sopping cunt.  “Until we get that positive again.”

- Mewling softly, you rock backwards; impaling yourself onto his digits.  “Nnngh, hope it’s soon.”  Fiddling to open number seven; still blissfully sucking away at the last, letting the chocolate coat your mouth.  “Then I can eat all the milky ways I like…right?”

- “Only if I do,” he chuckles.  Lazily pumping them in and out, peppering your jaw and cheeks with heated kisses.  “And speaking of…”  Nipping at that sensitive spot, the one which makes you instantly melt.  “…the kiddos are down for the count and I did take them around the neighborhood, twice.  So…”

- Tilting your head, you shoot him a sideways glance.  Eyebrows raised in mischief, sugary morsel hovering inches away from your lips. “Dad tax?  All right, but you have to say the magic words.”

- “Fine, baby girl.”  Snatching it from your pinched fingers, removing his own from your greedy hole.  Will deftly hikes the costume up over your hips, tugs your jack-o-lantern panties down; dropping to his knees, nudging your legs apart.  Hot breath fans across your sticky skin; gummy walls flutter involuntarily, around nothing.  “We’ll do it your way.”

- Biting down lightly on your thigh, teeth sinking in slightly.  “Trick…”  You let out the yummiest little gasps as his hands grab, grope your ass.  “…or…”  Presses, trails loving kisses towards your creamy center.  “…treat.”  

- Burying his face, tongue darts out.  Sliding between your swollen lips; tasting, savoring.  Licking long strips, eagerly lapping up your mixed releases…devouring you like a zombie starved.

- “Dadddyyy,” you moan.  Gently squishing his head with your plushy pillows, grinding against him.  While he traces, delves deeply; reaching those places that only he can manage.  “More…dadddyyy more.”

- Growling into you, the vibrations only spur on your pleasure.  The knot in your stomach tightens, legs start to tremble and shake.  Face grows flush, breaths come out in short pants.  “Greedy ghoul…” 

- “Always asking for extra…”  Firmly he kneads your cheeks, rubbing circles into the subtle flesh.  “That’s how you ended up like…this!”  Smacking just hard enough to make it to jiggle, ripple…you to wail like a banshee.

- Your ghastly sounds couple with his wet, slurping ones; echo throughout…bounce off the walls.  And part of you knows you should be quieter, that you should try to stifle…swallow them down like candy.  But with the way he’s swirling, sucking…even nibbling on your clit.  It’s all too easily forgotten that…

- “Ma-mama?    Mama, is there a monster in here?”

- Both of you instantly freeze and never have you been so grateful for a kitchen island.  “N-no, baby,” you quickly stammer.  Trying your hardest to stay calm and composed…with your husband’s tongue still wedged deep inside you. “I was just…I was just listening to some spooky music while cleaning up.  Yeah…that’s all.”

- Despite it being such a terrible excuse, you were able to coax the gremlin to go back to bed.  Only after giving them an entire pale and saying that they could eat to their heart’s content.

- Letting out a sigh of relief, you popped the eighth piece into your mouth.  Nervously chewing, swaying your hips side to side.  “You really sure you want another one, dadcula?”

- Pulling away a bit, Will rises to his feet.  “Milky Way or kid?”  You can hear the tinkling of his belt, the ruffle of fabric behind you.  “Because the answer to that is both, momster…”  Then feel the press of his fat, leaking tip.  “As many as we can handle, until it’s all too sickeningly sweet for us.”  Before driving into your cute cunt, intent on stuffing you again with his salty nougat…then having his share, his dad tax.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @theoriginalsinner28, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @fredswrite, @anisangeldust, @catachlysmicjedi

[lectern-fullcauldron]

proximity chat has done a lot for hermitcraft. it makes the server feel closer and chattier, that's for sure. but there's a special warmth in pre prox chat silent interactions on the server. something special in the little hello dances and block punch waves. the in game chat becomes a lifeline and it was a delight to watch during timelapses.

the vibe of pre prox chat quiet hermitcraft was very much we are apart from each other, but we are here together. the hermit you are watching is alone, but never lonely.

my favourite example of this kind of phenomenon is the interactions between Cleo and TFC during demise in season six. some context: Cleo was still working as a teacher, and TFC was living in a different timezone with shoddy internet. they could never hop into a discord call together, never be online together. and yet they played.

TFC started season six by vanishing underground to build a fallout vault (not a bunker, he was very adamant about that). He rarely surfaced, only occasionally sticking his head above ground to marvel in confusion and what the others had done (and break Sahara). When demise came around, he decided to play, donning iron armour and carrying on as usual, avoiding basic traps placed in his base.

this is where Cleo comes in. Cleo, being Cleo, has announced that demise is a game between hermit and hubris, and has promptly fled anywhere she's been known to frequent (bolt hole strategy). for a while they slip into TFC's walls, just as Joe hides in the statue of Hemitry.

Now TFC is working on a fall out bunker, and Cleo likes fall out, so she slips into the base and begins to add armour stands. With them are puzzles that match the game lore with an accuracy that delights TFC when he finds them. He solves her puzzles and they come back to continue the story in armour stand diorama.

They never speak to each other, just play when they are on, conversing in the hermitcraft love language of pranks. in this time, Cleo dies in demise (falling to the hubris of trusting Keralis and Bdubs). Dead human Cleo rises, ready to kill, and TFC is happily caught up in their game.

Cleo sets another trail in the story that the pair of them are telling with armour stands. It ends with a book on a lectern for TFC to read, writing the demise plotline into the fallout lore of his base.

The vaults were never meant to protect, after all. And TFC falls for it, plummeting into the lava below, inventory full of the things that could save him - fire resist, blocks, water bucket. And yet he sits in the lava and just laughs, tired of demise and happy to give Cleo the kill they've worked so hard for.

The interaction means so much to me. They are never on at the same time, and yet they are playing together. Not having prox chat means that the game is drawn out and it spans episodes, a compilation of hard work and friendship.

And all the while, TFC refers to Cleo as 'everyone's favourite zombie mistress of cthulu' and Cleo delights in building new offerings for her friend

[gothamite-rambler]

That wasn't holy water, that was mop water!

Duke Thomas walked behind Jason Todd, holding a large bucket of warm water. He dumped the water over Jason's head.

Duke (shouting): The power of Christ compels you! You are now baptized! Haslababababa!

Jason: What the—? This isn't even holy water, you ass! Also, I am not a demon, a ghost, or a zombie!

Duke held the bucket like a weapon pretending to be doubtful about this claim.

Duke: You’re sure about that? Because that’s not uncommon in this world.

Jason: Yes, I’m fucking sure! All you did was toss fucking used mop water on me!

Jason stood up, sopping wet from the wretched smell of mop water soaking into his clothes. He glared at Duke, ready to punch him, but the younger man lobbed the bucket at his head and ran off.

Duke: Can’t hit me; it’d be a hate crime!

Duke dashed out of the house, laughing uncontrollably while Jason raced after him.

Jason: Stop using that as a defense!

Duke: Can’t hit me, though!

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Five)

Summary: He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood into his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh… Word Count: 2792 Warnings: still no smut Notes: triple asterisk (***) denotes a POV change as usual, dash asterisk dash (-*-) is a time skip but not a POV change AO3, Masterlist

Ghost and his dove left the cabin the next day, early in the morning. It took some convincing on his part, in the form of pointed groans and growls, to get Lelia to step foot outside. But they were too close to the base she came from, and the cabin had no food left. They had to keep moving, to find somewhere better.

Ghost led her to the stream he’d bathed in yesterday, and they followed it several miles south. Lelia became jumpy the second they left, but when they got to the stream, she paled dramatically and wouldn’t get within three metres of it. He found it odd, but it's not like he could have asked even if he wanted to. She didn’t complain, but he could tell how much she wanted to turn around and go back to the cabin, where there was a relatively warm bed waiting for her. He couldn’t blame her—even with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her ballet flats swapped out for a proper pair of boots they’d found in the closet, she was still shivering from the chilly autumn wind. Winter was just around the corner, and its threatening presence loomed overhead like a knife, in the cloudiness of the skies and the way her breath misted in front of her face with every puff of air.

Eventually, the stream came to an end, and Ghost collected some water in the bucket before they continued. The trees were beginning to thin out, and he hoped that meant they were nearing some sort of town. Anywhere that he could find a little more food for his dove.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The day ended before the woods did, and they were forced to stop when Lelia nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He felt guilty when he noticed just how ragged she looked—all she’d had to eat in the last few days was a can of beans, and she’d been walking nonstop since dawn. It was difficult for him to remember just how fragile humans were, especially when he’d never been a particularly delicate man himself, even when he was alive. But his dove wasn’t a trained, battle hardened operative—she was just a normal young girl, and he needed to treat her as such.

He groaned a quiet apology as he helped her set up a fire, once again handing her the matchbook to light it. She only broke one this time, which was quite the improvement. He added it to the flames as extra tinder.

“Do you sleep?” She asked him as the water boiled. He jerked his head to the left, then the right. “That must be nice. I wish I didn’t have to. Sleeping is more terrifying than being awake, most of the time.”

He’d heard her tossing and turning last night, had smelt her salty tears as she’d whimpered and begged someone named Andrew for mercy. Mercy it had sounded like she’d never gotten. He had wanted to comfort her, but he’d been certain his presence would have just made things worse. So he’d stayed outside her door and done the only thing he could to help her. Stood guard and kept her safe.

He did the same tonight. When the exhaustion finally got the better of her, despite the valiant fight she put up, he watched over her. But this time, when the nightmares came for her, there was no door separating them and hiding the terrified expression on her tear-stained face. So he moved closer, reaching out and clumsily twirling a lock of her hair around his stiff, cold fingers. He couldn’t feel the softness, but he could imagine it. Smooth like silk. Rare and desirable and beautiful, just like her. But with a hidden strength, too.

Soon enough, his dove settled down. He’d have liked to say he had something to do with it, but he knew that was just wishful thinking. Nonetheless, it took him quite a long while to finally let go of her loose, auburn curls and get back to his feet, returning to his self appointed role of her undead protector.

-*-

It took two more days to find a town.

Lelia could barely hold herself upright by the time they did, and Ghost would have offered to carry her—except that his instincts to feed were going haywire, having been denied too long, and every waft of her unique perfume made his mouth water. He’d given up on trying to wipe away his drool. It was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about eating her, of tasting her sweet, soft flesh and hot blood. He wanted to devour her, but not in the way he usually did his meals. He would consume her slowly, sniff and lick every inch of her skin before gently biting down. He’d start with her wrists, feel her pulse point flutter under his tongue before severing the artery so it sprayed her honeyed blood in his mouth. He’d keep her alive for as long as possible, not wanting to be parted from her. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to kill her. Maybe he could satisfy himself with just a piece of her, just his pound of flesh…

With a ferocious growl, Ghost suppressed the rising urge once again. He hurried Lelia into the first house they saw after clearing it, then put her in a room with a lock. He mimed the locking motion, then held out his hand, telling her to stay put. He pointed to himself, and then pointed back towards the front door, and prayed she would understand.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, sounding like she was on the edge of panic, even as she laid down on the bed, unable to stand any longer. “Where are you going? Are you— are you coming back?”

Ghost groaned pitifully, banging on the door. His dove jumped, and he nodded at her questions, but then pointed at the lock again, gesturing her over. Wide-eyed, she dragged herself out of bed, and he took several steps back as she approached. She looked at him in confusion, but he just grabbed the door and slammed it closed between them. He rattled the knob until she got the hint and locked it. This time, the groan he let out was one of approval and relief.

He fled the house and Lelia’s intoxicating scent quickly after that, retreating back into the woods to hunt. He was so hungry, so overwhelmed by the virus’s instincts, that he didn’t think he could stop himself from eating a human if he came across them. He hoped desperately that he didn’t, even though they tasted far better than the animals he usually fed on.

He was drooling at the thought, again. Fresh human… not just the scraps left by other zombies, like Lelia would have been had he not intervened. He imagined finding her torn apart, soft hair matted with blood, big brown eyes full of terror, frail limbs ripped off, empty stomach clawed open. It was horrid. It was what he would do to her if he went this long without feeding again.

He vowed then and there to never, ever let that happen.

***

Lelia startled at the knock on the door, slowly standing up from where she sat on the edge of the bed and crossing over to it.

“Simon?” She asked anxiously. “Is that you?”

A familiar sounding groan answered her, and she almost threw the door open in relief before she thought better of it. What if it was another zombie? She’d be dead, and Simon would come back to find her bloody, lifeless corpse. Possibly walking around. No, better safe than sorry.

“Knock three times, pause, and then knock twice more if it’s you,” she said. A few seconds passed, and then three slow knocks—bangs, really, Simon seemed to have trouble with his fine motor skills and so knocking was beyond him—a pause, and then two more bangs. Lelia waited a few more seconds to make sure nothing else was coming, and then she opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief as Simon’s milky eyes met hers—only to recoil in horror when she saw the fresh, red blood on his gear and around his mouth. There were bits of something Lelia was scared to know the name of stuck in his teeth, and instinctively, she took a step back. Simon did as well, giving her space and ducking his head. He almost looked… hurt? Or maybe ashamed… it was difficult to tell. She wasn't even really sure what the extent of his emotions were—did he feel the same way he could when he was alive? Or was it dulled? He was clearly capable of some feelings, otherwise there would be no reason for him to follow her around, protecting her. She still didn't understand why he did. Her best guess was pity, or maybe loneliness. Whatever it was, it kept her alive, and she was grateful.

“Did you… did you kill something?” She asked after a moment, swallowing nervously. Simon didn’t move or make a sound for a long moment, before he jerked his head up and down in a nod. His broken, bloody jaw quivered, teeth clacking against one another. Drool leaked out of his mouth, and Lelia had to fight the urge to wipe it away. It always seemed to bother Simon when he drooled, and once again, she wondered at his capacity to feel things like embarrassment or self-disgust. But she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the question she desperately didn't want to ask but knew she had to. “Was it— human?”

Simon quickly shook his head, so quick the string of bloody drool flew off his face and landed on her jacket. Simon froze, and any doubt she had that he felt things as deeply as a human did disappeared at the utterly mortified sound he let out. It was between a groan and a gurgle, and he automatically reached for her as if to wipe it off, before realizing his gloves were covered in blood, too. His hands hovered over her chest as she blinked at the new stain on her shirt, too shocked to say anything. Just as she came to her senses and was about to assure Simon that it was alright—it was gross, yes, but so was her period, and that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle—he turned around with surprising agility for someone whose muscles were in a permanent state of rigor mortis, and fled down the stairs.

***

He’d spit on her.

He’d showed up at her door looking like a murder scene, and then he’d spit on her like the snarling, rabid animal that he was.

He had never been so horrified in his undead life. He couldn't remember if that was the case for his actual life, but he’d bet on it if Johnny were here.

“Was pretty funny, mate, ye got tae admit.”

Ghost growled at the very Scottish sounding voice in his head. Whoever this Johnny was, he was a right arse.

He went straight into the downstairs toilet, turning on the tap. No water came out, as expected. He'd still had to try.

He turned to the towels instead. They were dusty and motheaten, but that didn't bother him. He wiped his face off as best he could, and then his gear and his gloves, pulling them off and stuffing them into one of his many pockets. The end result was… not great. The blood of the deer he'd killed and eaten had already started to dry, adding another stain to his gear and leaving a rusty brown hue to his colorless skin. He tried to pick tufts of flesh and fur from in between his teeth with his blunt, blackened nails, but he somehow only made things look worse. 

“Simon?”

The sound of his dove’s soft, concerned voice floated down the hallway, and Ghost panicked, slamming the door of the toilet shut so hard it rattled on its hinges. He heard Lelia’s heartbeat jump and her footsteps pause, before starting again in his direction.

“Simon?” She repeated, knocking softly on the door. He turned away from his ghastly reflection in the dirty mirror, paralyzed. He was acting ridiculous. He was a big, strong, undead soldier. He shouldn’t be terrified of a little dove like her. And yet he was. He was so bloody afraid that she’d tell him to leave, that she couldn't stand to be near him anymore. That he’d have to go back to protecting her from the shadows, an unwanted stray dog just following her around, desperate for any scrap of affection she would show him, but denied at every turn. It sounded miserable. It was miserable, but he would do it, to keep her safe. “Simon, will you come out, please?”

Unable to deny her, Ghost slowly opened the door. She stood on the other side with a worried expression, but all he could see was the drying string of crimson saliva on her smart pink jacket. He looked away, feeling ill.

“Are you alright?”

The soft, gentle question was entirely unexpected, but it shouldn't have been. Of course his dove would worry about the rabid, blood-covered zombie that just spit on her. She was an angel. It was why he had to keep her safe, keep her alive. The world needed people like her, now more than ever.

Ghost jerked his head up and down in a nod after a moment of hesitation, and then patted his chest, right over the spot where he’d spit on hers. He let out a quiet groan of apology, unable to meet her pretty brown eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lelia said, giving him a small smile. “This outfit was ruined far before that… besides, it’s not very practical for the apocalypse. My hus— I wanted to keep myself pretty. Clinging to a bit of the old world, I suppose. But I’m not on the base anymore. And trekking through the woods for days on end in a skirt is not easy.”

Ghost noticed the slip. It had sounded like she’d been about to say husband before she’d cut herself off. His eyes flickered to her left hand, but no ring sat upon her finger. Had he misheard? And why did the idea of her being married bother him so much?

You know why.

He ignored the thought, focusing back on her words. He grunted in agreement, and made a mental note to look for some clothes that would fit her—ones that would help keep her warm in the coming months. She was far too thin—she would need multiple layers if he was going to keep her from dying of exposure in the dead of winter.

An awkward silence fell between them, and Ghost could tell his dove wanted to ask him a question. He waited her out, and just as he knew she would, she broke first.

“So you—you went out to eat?” She asked, then winced. “I mean— earlier, when you were— were acting all… frustrated. You were… hungry?”

Ghost swallowed reflexively, tasting deer meat in the back of his throat. Slowly, he nodded, trying subtly to hold his jaw in place. Lelia looked nervous again, but also determined.

“How hungry?”

Ghost looked away, ashamed. He didn’t want to think about the overwhelming desire he’d had to sink his teeth into her supple flesh, or the vivid, blood-soaked images his virus-laden mind had conjured of him doing so.

Lelia sucked in a small, sharp breath, and her voice shook slightly when she spoke again—but there was bravery in it, too. A certainty. Like she’d made up her mind and couldn’t be swayed.

“We’ll just have to make sure you stay well fed, then,” she stated simply. “Then you won’t be tempted to snack on me… right?”

Ghost didn’t know how to explain that he was always tempted to snack on her, that her scent was the most delicious thing he’d ever smelled, that he wanted to see if her blood would warm him from the inside like a good whiskey. He didn’t know how to say that despite that, he would never harm a hair on her head, not for as long as he lived. Unlived. Bloody semantics.

So instead, he just grunted in agreement. He would always be tempted, but so long as he remained satiated, he would be able to keep his instincts in check. That was what she really wanted to know.

“Good,” she replied, sounding relieved. She offered him another smile, smaller than he would’ve liked but still just as sweet. “But you’re not the only one that’s hungry. Do you think there’s any food hidden in the cabinets?”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Minecraft Part 2

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: *Observes ruined remains of once proud city Alien: What happened? Human: There was a spider and in my attempts to kill it things got out of hand. Alien: How does trying to kill a spider destroy your whole city? Human: I tried using fire. Alien: How much fire? Human: *Points to several dozen lava buckets used* Human: I want to say all the fire. ---------------------

Alien: Am I meeting you at your base? Human: Nah, I lost that one so I had to build a new one. Alien: Wait, how did you lose it? Human: Turns out piglin’s can walk through the ender portal into the above world. Alien: So? Alien: It’s not a problem if you- Alien: …….. Alien: wait, you didn’t seal off your portal room? Human: I did not. -------------------------

Alien: *walking through dying npc village* Alien: Wasn’t this place thriving last time we were here? Human: Yeah; probably fell apart when I diverted the river. Alien: You what?! Human: I didn’t like how it looked so I blocked it off and shifted it in a different direction. Alien: What gives you the right to destroy this innocent town? Human: Innocent? Human: Have you seen their trading rates? Human: Why would I pay 15 emeralds for an iron pickaxe? -----------------------

Alien: Why are you hiding? Human: I am being hunted by the deadliest creature in the game. Alien: *Intrigued* What is that? Human: *Points at looming shadow* There…. *Shadow takes shape and reveals itself to be a frog* Alien: Seriously? Frog: Ribbit. *Frog opens its mouth and shoots out to alien* *Tongue latches on to alien and eat him* Human: They never listen…… --------------------------

Alien: What the hell is this? Human: It’s my home. Alien: It’s made of dirt. Human: So? Alien: Why in the sixteen hells would you make your house out of dirt? Human: I mean, it’s everywhere. Alien: So are fraking trees! -----------------------------

Human: BEHOLD! Human: A TOWN MADE OUT OF IRON! Alien: Seems like a waste of iron. Alien: Why did you make this? Human: Because I wanted to make the golems protecting the town have an existential crisis as they ponder the question “Are we made out of the town, or is the town made out of us?” Alien: By the gods you should not be left alone with your thoughts for long. ------------------------------

Alien: *Finishes building village in middle of a lake* Alien: Finally! Alien: No mobs will be able to make it across the water to reach them! Human: Um…. Human: You do know about the underwater zombies, right? Alien: I’m sorry, the what? *Trident goes flying past head as swarms of underwater zombies emerge* -----------------------------

Alien: Why did you spend three weeks rearranging the landscape? Human: So I can go on long walks through it. Alien: That’s it? Alien: How can that possibly be worth the effort? Human: Join me and see. *Pair proceed to walk down a long intricate pathway with different color trees, rivers and waterfalls, mountain ranges and rolling hills* Alien: Damn. Alien: That was peaceful. Human: I know, right? -----------------------------

Alien: What are you doing? Human: Trading with the piglins. Alien: Why? Human: It’s fascinating watching them when you throw gold at them. Alien: Didn’t they destroy your city my swarming through the open ender portal? Human: Yes. Alien: And you’ve forgiven them for that? Human: Oh no. Human: I plan on sealing up their home area later on and then pouring buckets of lava into it from the highest places and watching them run, scream, and beg for their lives before the all-consuming flames devour their flesh. Human: But right now I find them amusing so I think I’ll pause on that plan for a day or two. Alien: ……………….. Alien: What your gods must think of you when they see such casual malice. Human: They learned long ago to leave us be. For we have learned that they topple just as easily as their temples, and their names cast to the sands of time beneath our feet.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Spooktober Day 13 - “That costume really is convincing.”

It was just supposed to be a night of handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.

It was a chilly Halloween. A slasher film played on Stan’s television as you laid in his arms. Despite the occasional knocks from trick-or-treaters interrupting your movie, the night was peaceful. This child's laughter, however, was contagious. It was echoing outside as parents escorted their children from house to house. You loved to guess what each kid was dressed as. Stan was unimpressed or, at least, that’s what he wanted everyone to think. However, as you two stood side by side on the front steps of the Mystery Shack, you could see the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You set down the candy bowl by the door on your last turn. You gave Stan a smile and a sigh as you curled back into his arms. Immediately, you jumped when the girl on the screen was brutally murdered in her shower. Yeah, you wouldn’t be showering alone tonight. Stan would be grateful.

Stan pulled you close as your heart raced. “I can’t even tell what half of those kids’ costumes are. Can you?”

“Says the guy who wore a suit made of fake dollar bills last year,” you snorted as you tucked your head beneath his chin. Another gruesome murder played out on the screen.

Stan chuckled. “Hey, it was a statement.” His large hand rested on the back of your head as you hid your face in his chest to avoid witnessing blood spatter the scene playing in front of you.

Once another knock came, you reached for the remote in Stan’s loose grip to pause the TV. You stood from his comfortable and safe embrace to hand him the candy bowl. “Your turn, hot shot.”

Stan gave you a groan, full of fake annoyance, only to kiss you on the forehead before heading to the door. When he flung the door open, a figure stood on the stoop. It stood perfectly still. Stan was amused by the kid in front of him. The kid’s clothes hung loosely from its frame and patches of what appeared to be dead skin sloughed from the kid’s face.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Stan called from the door, “come check this kid out!”

You stood from the nest you had created when Stan went to answer the door. Standing next to him, you threw an arm around his shoulder. A loud laugh escaped you as you stared at the kid. It didn’t hold a bucket or pillow case to collect candy, but the costume was impeccable. The kid’s eyes were sunken in, lips cracked and twisted in a pained grimace. The kid played the part of a zombie very well, standing perfectly still.

“Wow,” you stared, mouth agape in wonder, “that costume really is convincing! I think yours is the best one we’ve seen all night.”

A stench hit you suddenly, making your face contort. You’d never smelt a corpse, but, damn, this kid went all out. They reeked of rotting meat and damp earth. Even the strange fluids covering their body smelled putrid. You had to give the kid credit, maybe an extra candy bar just to get them off your porch faster. The smell was making you nauseous. 

Stan looked the most impressed you had seen all night.”Great costume, kid! You got old steaks under your clothes or somethin’?” He gave a hardy laugh as you moved closer to him. Something wasn’t right, but only you seemed to notice. “Ya know, for a second, I though-”

The figure let out a low, guttural moan and Stan’s laugh died in his throat. The moan wasn’t playful, a kid just trying to get more candy by being spooky. It wasn’t a joke. It was too real. You felt it deep in your bones as a coldness that clawed its way up your spine. Your hand froze in midair, candy slipping from your fingers as you locked eyes with the thing on your doorstep.

The kid, zombie, stepped forward wih one foot dragging behind it. That smell, god that smell, became suffocating. The flesh hanging off its arm wasn’t the painted latex you had thought it was. The decomposition fluids weren't painted on. It was real. A zombie. Torn and festering flesh clinging shouldn’t to bone that shouldn’t be moving.

“Stan,” you whispered as you clung to him a bit tighter. Your voice was barely audible. “That’s not a costume.”

Stan gave a laugh as he looked down at you. You’d tried to scare him like this before, but you were a terrible liar. Then, he saw the look on your face. You couldn’t fake anything, especially not fear, and his face drained of all color. He dropped the candy bowl, its contents spilling on the stoop. His hand moved to slam the door, but the figure let out another loud groan, louder as it lounged forward with its arms outstretched toward you. 

You stumbled back as Stan pushed you behind him as he slammed the door just in time. However, that did not deter the corpse clawing and crashing against the door. The whole Shack shook as the crashing, scratching, and clawing continued. Its hands slapped against the glass, leaving dark, wet trails across the panes. 

Stan turned to you, his breathing shallow, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “We need to barricade this. Now!”

You nodded, your legs shaking as you raced to grab everything you could. Chairs, boxes, anything you could pick up. Outside, however, the scratching continued, growing louder and louder. In a moment of curiosity, you peaked out the window. There was no longer just one. The entire Shack was surrounded.

Stan was sweating, piling the furniture you had stacked up in a more secure fashion. As the horde grew closer, Stan pushed you behind him. He grabbed the baseball bat he kept by the door, pulling brass knuckles out from a drawer nearby.

“Listen to me, baby,” Stan said. His eyes were wide as he took your face in his hands. He kissed you hard. “Go upstairs. Hide. Barricade yourself in some room. Hell, find a hidden one if you can.”

You shook your head. You weren’t going to let him do this alone, “Stan, I will not-”

“Go!” He shouted as the windows broke.

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every age wouldn't you like to see something strange? come with us and you will see this, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloween pumpkins scream in the dead of night this is Halloween, everybody make a scene trick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho, Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red I am the one hiding under your stairs fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[hermitcraftx]

joel smallishbeans empires season one pov is so abnormal. he built a tree to "give birth" to his clones. which. in all honesty could be it's own post WHAT the fuck is up with that. he named the zombie that would zombify them magic mike and said "that's only meant to be... magic and if it has any other meaning then i don't know it". he travelled out a thousand blocks to get a tropical fish bucket to breed his axolotls and fawns over them and has a room for displaying horse heads. the only shulkers he has people have given them to him. all he has is terracotta. he's a little freak

[aurora-313]

I never understood why there had to be such a massive conspiracy around Masaki. It detracts from the tragedy of Memories In The Rain and Ichigo's character as a whole that she was a Quincy.

Look at that flashback objectively if Masaki were a powerless human:

It's bucketing down rain, a deluge in the middle of monsoon season. You're eager to get your son home from his karate practice. Conditions are dreadful but as long as you're on concrete, you're both okay. Then your son suddenly stops. Something only he claims he can see catches his attention. You've indulged his talk about ghosts because he's a boy, he's allowed to have an imaginary friend and its never harmed anyone. But suddenly, your son's shouting. Launching into a full sprint down that steep slippery hill, at the base of which is a dangerous rushing river. Or potentially slip on a loose bit of stone or root, and break his neck. You can't see what he sees. As far as you're aware, your son's taken absolute leave of his senses and is charging headlong into a certainly fatal situation. Naturally, your response would be to freak out and throw yourself after your son, hoping to catch him before he could jump into the water, very probably drowning. Then CHOMP. Hollow chow.

Revealing Masaki was a Quincy is irreparably cheapening her death.

Let's pretend for a second Grand Fisher wasn't there. And the same thought process outlined above occurs.

In an attempt to stop Ichigo running down the hill, Masaki could've slipped, fallen and broke her neck instead. Or took a bad tumble, ending with a fatal blow to the head. The effect on Ichigo would've been the same. He would've developed a massive guilt complex because his tragedy of impulse caused his mother's death.

That is the whole crux of Ichigo's guilt. His actions caused this outcome. And it was the hardest lesson he had to learn.

Grand Fisher or no, if Ichigo hadn't acted the way he did, if he hadn't tried to save the 'girl' from falling into the river, then his mother wouldn't have died in the first place.

Revealing Masaki as a Quincy, and that her powers were """conveniently""" stolen at exactly the time she needed them most, completely invalidates the human randomness, tragedy and relatability of that death.

It invalidates the guilt that drives 99% of Ichigo's character and actions. That same guilt, now predicated on false pretenses, fueled his desire to protect, to suffer through hell if it meant he could protect the people he cared about (at times to their detriments). Especially since that desire can rage dangerously out of control, and at one point literally got Ichigo killed and reanimated as a monstrous hollow hellbent on destroying everything around it, muttering 'protect, protect, protect' like a zombie.

It's a flaw Ichigo had to overcome by coming to terms with it and using it to as motivation in a healthier manner. Not be absolved of.

A prime example of a character carrying their guilt and growing past it done well is Edward Elric from Full Metal Alchemist/Brotherhood.

Edward and Alphonse never got over Nina and Alexander. They were never absolved of their guilt. Its a mark permanently etched in their collective psyches and reconciling with the fact alchemy could be used in such vile ways drove a huge part of their early characters.

What they did was learn to grieve and cope and move on with it as motivation. They vowed never to allow that kind of monstrosity to happen again. Even when Ed's about to give up his alchemy forever, he declares 'I'm just a simple human who couldn't save a little girl. Not even with alchemy.'

Rather than have Ichigo go through a journey like this, EBTR removes the burden of guilt from Ichigo's shoulders completely when Isshin tells him "No, it wasn't your iconic recklessness that got your mother killed. It was an ancient prophecy and you never should've felt guilty in the first place."

Isshin may as well have said "Everything you believed about yourself since the moment you were born is a lie. The foundation of your personality since you were 9 is a lie. Have fun finding a therapist to deal with the crippling psychological ramifications of that bombshell, but do it after you win another war for us."

It irreparably damages Masaki, and by extension Ichigo's and Isshin's, characters that she had powers.

If Masaki was a Quincy from the jump. Cool, why didn't she teach Ichigo basic control of his reiryoku? Or how to tell the living from the dead - something Ichigo canonically struggled with for as long as he could remember? Basic safety measures that would've avoided those kinds of situations in the first place.

You don't wait until a toddler get splattered by cars before telling them not to play in a busy road, or not to stick a fork in a power point after they've been electrocuted and rushed to the hospital. You teach them rules and install safety measures to prevent those situations in the first place.

There's four main interpretations I take from Masaki's decision to willfully neglect Ichigo's education in the spirit arts:

Well-meaning but naïve and frankly reckless desire to preserve Ichigo's innocence for as long as possible. Fair and the most benign explanation.

Threatened into maintaining her silence by either Kisuke or Isshin (or both depending how generous I feel), lest the seal on her hollowfication "mysteriously" weaken.

Realizing she was a dead woman walking since been bitten by White, Masaki partook in the conspiracy to turn Ichigo into a living weapon and purposefully martyred herself to make it happen.

Masaki having powers is the cosmic retcon of retcons and Kubo didn't think about the implications of his own writing...

If Masaki absolutely HAD to be a Quincy for the sake of turning Ichigo into Aizen's gary stu project, then fine.Yhwach's influence should've been kept far FAR away from it.

Maybe Masaki couldn't use her powers because if she tried, it would've destroyed the seal keeping the hollowfication in check. When Grand Fisher emerged, she baited it to kill her instead.

"Oh, but we need to explain why Ichigo's so powerful."

Ichigo's sperm donor is an ex-Captain and member of one of the royal families, who are noted to have above average base stats. His powers took a hollow aspect thanks to the encroachment temporarily transforming him into a hollow at the base of shattered shaft. Hollowfied Shinigami are naturally stronger (on paper) than their non-hybrid counterparts.

"Why does he two spirits?" The awakening of his power was so fractious it literally splintered into its component pieces. The hollow is the repressed parts of Ichigo's, so its a psychopathic reflection of himself. The old man is the other half of his soul realising the best way to get through to Ichigo is by giving him actual fucking parent.

Sometimes Occam's Razor is the best solution.

[lizhaoyu]

Why so shy? PART 1

A/N: Hey, gays. I'm back with a new fic. I started maining Iso for a little over the week, and I can say that I'm loving him. I haven't been seeing a lot of fanfics for him, so I took it upon myself to make one. Iso might be OOC, and I gave the reader shadow abilities because I'm gay. Enjoy thirsting.

Part 1 (You are here.)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

(Iso x Shy!GN!Reader<3)

Nervous.

That's exactly what you were feeling right now.

You've heard there was a new Valorant Agent coming around, and like the others, you came to greet him with a warm welcome.

But no one really ever said that the new recruit was this attractive.

Currently, the new recruit was greeting Jett and Phoenix who came up to him first.

Meanwhile, you were practically sweating buckets and very much trembling behind Jett.

What do I do??? Should I just walk away now????????, you thought.

"Hey." A smooth sounding voice interrupts your trail of thought.

OH FUCK, you internally died.

You turn to look at the new recruit, taking in his appearance.

Black hair, purple eyes, perfect skin, beautiful lips...

"U-Uh..." You let out. What were you supposed to say to the most attractive person you've ever met????

"I'm Iso." Iso looked directly into your eyes.

"I-I'm..." You stutter, unable to process the fact that he was speaking to you and looking into your eyes.

JESUS HE'S SO ATTRACTIVE WHAT DO I DO OH GOD FUCK IM GONNA COMBUST, you thought.

"Are you alright?" Iso asked, looking concerned.

"Bro, take it easy!" Phoenix ruffles your hair with a laugh. Right, you completely forgot about them. How were you not supposed to forget? A literal angel was in front of you.

"Don't worry, they're just shy." Phoenix grins, giving Iso a thumbs-up.

"I-I'm leaving!" You quickly ran away to hide your flushed face.

IS THAT SERIOUSLY MY FIRST IMPRESSION ON HIM? I'M FUCKED, you thought as your heart raced, your mind was frantic.

You ran quickly into your room, the metal door automatically closing behind you as you pressed a button to lock it.

You jumped in bed, unable to get Iso out of your mind. I mean, how were you supposed to? He looked absolutely astonishing and attractive that you immediately froze on the spot.

How were you supposed to talk to him like this? The moment he spoke to you, your heart immediately started doing cartwheels and your stomach was filled with a whole zoo of butterflies.

Even worse, you were reminded that Brimstone assigned you for the first training with the newbie. You were absolutely fucked.

Iso was to blame for looking like that. He was too attractive and handsome and beautiful and pretty and gorgeous and charming and lovely and delightful and appealing for his own good.

Right now, all you had to do was prepare yourself for Iso.

-

Last night, you barely had enough sleep. You were mentally preparing to face Iso without stuttering and your face flushing. You can't fuck up the training either, you had to keep up appearances.

You drag yourself out of your room with a tired expression, practically looking like a zombie out and about in the hallways.

You tried fixing your appearance, you really did. After all, you still had to look good despite the lack of sleep, right?

You press the button to open the training room's door, dragging yourself in with a sigh.

"Good morning." You hear Iso's voice beside you.

"Gah!" You jump, unable to process Iso's presence so early in the morning.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you." Iso chuckles.

"N- It's fine...!" You shook your head, trying to compose yourself and prevent your face to flush.

"We didn't get to properly talk yesterday. Again, I'm Iso." Iso gave you a small smile.

"I heard about you from Brimstone. You're supposed to train me, right?" Iso continued.

"Ah-, yes. Should we start or do you want to warm up first?" You gave him a nervous smile. You tried hard not to stutter, really.

"No need. I'm really excited to see your abilities. Brimstone said that I should see for myself." Iso shook his head.

"Let's start. Grab whichever gun you feel comfortable with on the rack, and we'll start with the headshot accuracy training first." You nod, taking a Sheriff. It's one of your best picks, and you were eager to give Iso a great second impression.

Iso nods, standing beside you and taking a Vandal from the table.

TOO CLOSE HSGDGSAFDHASFD, you thought as you walked to the controller and spawning the training dummies.

"R-Right, so... For the first challenge, I need you to shoot the dummies in under 30 seconds. Try to get as much headshots as possible." You held the Sheriff tightly.

"Understood." Iso nods, getting into a stance and aiming his Vandal at the dummies, waiting for your approval to start.

"Begin." You nod to Iso, keeping an eye on his accuracy.

Iso quickly started shooting the targets, finishing them off with great accuracy and speed.

OMBSJDGJHASDG HE'S SO COOL AHSHASAHJGDS, you thought.

"Did I do good?" Iso looks at you, breaking your trail of thought.

"Oh- yes! Very good." You laugh nervously, checking your timer.

dont blush dont blush dont blush, you thought.

"You destroyed them all in 17.2 seconds, nice!" You smile, pocketing the timer.

"We can start with peer-to-peer ability counter training now... Uh, basically, we 1v1 but like... No shooting each other, haha." You smile awkwardly.

"Do we not use guns?" Iso asks.

"W-Well, we do. But we take out the ammo to prevent any friendly-fire." You look away, your face reddening slightly.

You take out the ammo from your Sheriff. Iso sees this and starts taking out the magazine and ammo out of his Vandal as well.

"A-Anyway... My abilities are shadow-related, much like Omen. We're kinda different, though." You explain.

"Back to the training at hand, I want you to try and counter me and my abilities with your own. Rest assured that I won't hurt you." You smile nervously.

"I understand. Do we start now?" Iso nods.

"Yes, let's start." You nod, standing a few meters away from him.

Iso nods, casting his ability, Contingency, to help himself push forward. He pushed through his wall, hoping to try and disarm you of your weapon.

However, when Iso lunged through his wall, you were nowhere in sight. Iso looked around swiftly, trying to discern your location. Suddenly, Iso feels the muzzle of your Sheriff behind on his nape.

"Right here, Iso." You press the muzzle of your Sheriff gently behind his neck.

"Woah..." Iso mumbles, slowly turning around with his eyes wide, like a cat.

OH FUCK DID I JUST DO THAT? ADNJGDASHGDSBDASD, you thought.

"I- Sorry! I, uh..." You quickly put away the Sheriff, your face flushing.

"How did you do that? That was amazing." Iso asks, his voice showing signs of eagerness.

OMG DID HE JUST COMPLIMENT ME? I'M DEAD, your mind raced.

"Was that one of your abilities? That was awesome." Iso continues.

"I- Y-Yes! I call that one 'Shadow Fusion'. Basically, I merge myself in any type of shadow. You have a shadow under you, so I merged myself with it." You explain, albeit nervously.

"A-Anyway... That's all for today's training. You're free to keep training, though." You nod to Iso, walking back to the table and placing the Sheriff on the table.

"Can we train together again sometime?" Iso asks.

HE WANTS TO TRAIN WITH ME AGAIN? SSGDHAFSDH, your mind raced, your face turning a light shade of red.

"Uh- Yeah! Definitely...!" You nervously nod.

"I have a mission briefing with Brimstone soon, I need to run. Uh, see you!" You came up with an excuse to leave, your mind racing with thoughts of him.

"See you soon." Iso smiles, nodding.

AAAAAAAAAAAAA, you thought as you rushed out of the training room.

That night, not once did Iso ever leave your mind.

-

(A/N: Hey gaymers, is this story to your liking? Requests are open to request a specific plot for PART 2. I based reader's personality here with me, because I get so shy whenever an Iso is in game with me, lol.)