#if that hadn't happened I would probably be living in pain that didn't know where it came from

[kyoupann]

From almost a year ago; what multiple scoliosis looks on me

So, my hip is a lil bit slanted and that makes one of my legs longer than the other; and so my spine tried to balance things out by turning into an S-shape. I never really considered it a disability because I can go on with my day most days without pain, even when the doctor who diagnosed me was like "yup, if you have kids you're gonna suffer even more and by 40 you'll probs need a wheelchair";

however, there are moments after walking for long periods (or really just bad days) where my hips hurt so bad I just wanna pass out, trying to walk real fast makes my right hip make a popping sound and it's painful, like a cramp. When I am with people that walk faster than my top speed (most of my friends rip) I either gotta try to keep up and bear the pain or stay behind watching the distance between us grow. It's really isolating in that sense. I can't lift more than 15k without my back resenting it later (I can't carry one of my dogs :( ) and let's not talk about sports that involve running 😂 I used to dance and that in of itself was a challenge for me; I'd be so sore after each routine, even after warming up. Wearing a back-brace(? Support thingy helps when sitting down for long periods but other than stretching exercises, there isn't much I can do about my fucked up back

Sometime all September and October last year I was going through a very hard time dealing with body image issues. Tbh, I'm still am. So I did the very logical thing of taking some pics and painting them. This was the first time I had ever done some sort of portrait and it was cathartic in a way; I encountered the idea that my body will never look a certain way because of my back issues. I have always had "love handles" more noticeable on one side than the other. I'd think that if my back was a bit straighter, I'd probably not have them at all. The amount of times I've tried to stand as straight as possible, trying to get them to disappear... yeah, that's embarrassing. But oh well, surgery isn't really an option for me so I gotta work on making peace with them🫠. Which is something I want to work on, so here's to that!

Anyways, I spent a good chunk of this month thinking if I should post in this so here it goes aaa

[kaijutegu]

So. Now that she's home and safe and gonna be ok, I can talk about this.

I almost lost Kaiju. Christmas Day. I was woken up by a phone call from Allison, who will be referred to a LOT in this story. Allison runs the pet store where I board Kaiju. She called to tell me that Kaiju had lost a LOT of blood. (As it turns out, half her blood volume. Humans die when we lose 40%, just so you know. She lost 50%.)

There were no visible injuries, and she had passed a bloody stool. Or rather, a blood clot with some poop in it. She continued to pass only blood when they put her in the bathtub to clean her up. If I'd taken her anywhere else, that... would have been it, probably.

But Allison is an actual miracle worker and knew an emergency vet who was open- on Christmas Day- and could see reptiles. As soon as she called me, she took her to the e vet, where they gave her fluids and oxygen and got her stable. They did some x rays and found... nothing.

In fact, the e vet actually complimented me on her bone density and how nice her toe joints look. Whatever this mysterious haemorrhage was, it was in the soft tissue.

The immediate thoughts were:

Impaction

Cancer invading an artery

Aneurism

Reproductive issues

However, the emergency vet couldn't figure it out, and my vet was out of the country. The e vet consulted with a lot of vets and it was decided she'd go into Chicago Exotics for care the next day- they were willing to see her on immediate notice. Allison drove her over and they did an ultrasound... and couldn't differentiate the mass they found.

So, exploratory surgery it was.

But... she didn't have enough blood for that. She wouldn't have survived... if Allison hadn't found blood for her. Tegu donors were found, the transfusion happened, and was completely successful.

And what the surgery found was completely unexpected. No cancer. No repro issues. No typical impaction.

Instead? Weird white things in her muscles and a partial impaction that seems to be related to a reduction in her ability to properly digest. There are two possible diagnoses at this point. One is visceral gout. This is very strange because in reptiles, articular gout basically always happens first, and her kidneys are fine.

The other option? Weird, potentially cross species parasite she picked up when she was in the Everglades. Something she's likely had all her life, something that was dormant until recently.

I'll know when the pathology report comes back in a week or so.

Anyways! She is doing very well. She is alert and interested in things. She has an incredible appetite, even though she can't have solid food yet. She's on three meds, including one I have to inject. At her three week recheck, we will add a fourth- either the correct anti-parasitic or a medication to improve kidney function, depending on the diagnosis. Currently she's in a hospital cage and she hates it- she can't have any substrate because of the stitches.

The vet says it should take about three months until she makes her full blood volume. Her pack cell count should be at 35%. It was at 7% on the 26th. But by the 28th, it was at 10%. She's gonna be ok. She's tough. My little girl is a fighter, always has been. You have to be scrappy to survive in the wild.

And throughout this entire experience, everybody has told me how lovely her personality is. Through the injections and cloacal probing and everything, she never bit or even tried to. The vet didn't think she even wanted to bite. Like it wasn't a question of wanting to bite and not being strong enough- it's just not something in her behavioural repertoire. She doesn't bite because she doesn't want to. Because even at her most scared, at her most painful, she's still Kaiju, the best tegu to ever live. Love is stored in the tegu, and it continues to be stored in the tegu. We have a long road ahead of us, but she's out of the woods and is going to be ok. We both are.

Also, consider this a MAJOR plug for Curious Creatures in Chicago. I'm never going to board my animals anywhere else.

[dwaekkilinos]

savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

[alwaysshallow]

— gorgeous, part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You're a vet - and you wouldn't ever think that a big guy with a skull face, kitten on his hands, would be in your clinic. (2,1k)

AO3 version

A/N: I have no self-respect; Poland won in volleyball, SO. your insane man and vet lady is here <3

next part

The first time you see him? It is a wild one.

You didn't really know how to react when your assistant, Bernie, stormed into your office, telling you that some "big guy with a skull mask" had a kitten that needed an examination. I mean, you were a vet, of course, and you ran your clinic to the 11 P.M. sometimes, but... the skull mask part?

First, you thought she was joking or trying to prank you, like in the past, when she told you that a guy came here with a head of a fish tank came to your clinic. When you thought about this later, it was really dumb that you believed that, but the emotions were too high before; you almost slipped on the floor when you were storming out of your office, to see if:

a) he actually had a fish tank,

b) if he had some fish in it.

The skull mask wasn't a joke, though; Bernie also looked like she saw a ghost or something, and was basically hidden after your figure when you went to the corridor, where patients should wait until it's their turn. Usually there weren't many people, only emergency ones, which happened rarely enough. You usually closed after 7, but today you decided to say a bit... longer. 4 hours longer, but who count that, right? There was no one except indeed a big, huge guy in a skull mask and military uniform; at least you thought it looked like a military uniform, your friend's best friend, Johnny, had one like that. You probably wouldn't even speak to him if he hadn't had in his arms a cat that was meowing sadly, like something hurt him – or, her. You didn't know what it was yet. Guy was scary as hell, and if he wanted to, he probably would've knock you out in just one move, but you walked closer to him – what he was gonna do, hit you with his cat in his hands?

"What happened?" that's the first thing you asked, as you approached the man; and for the first time, your gazes crossed.

His, unreadable, brown, piercing even. You couldn't even get a single thought from them, like it was behind some kind of shield, and it confused you, but interested you in the same time enough to know that this interaction will be seated in your mind for some time right now.

You always liked the mysteries, and he seemed like one.

"I don't know." he simply said, standing; and you could see how much bigger he was; not only in height, but in body, muscles. It was like a doll standing to a WWE fighter, as you watched those silly shows after your work at night. "Found that kitten near a dumpster. Seems like it's hurting, so..." he shrugged.

"Aren't you a talker" you murmured, your head up high, to look at him. "Come on in."

He said nothing; simply followed you, with that kitty on his big hands.

You didn't know his name even, and you were more than willing to help him, or more – to help this cat live without any pain because your heart was aching how pained and scared it was.

As well as your assistant, if you were talking about "being scared" part; she kept glancing at that big man, who put the animal on the special table (as you asked him to). It probably would be you in the past, the scared and with some kind of reserve but now, you were more than amazed with his gentleness to care about things like skull mask or the fact that he would crush you with his finger.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, you started examination; it was a certain routine if it was about strays, and this particular one seemed to be abandoned not so long ago.

Probably nothing was breaking your heart more than this; throwing animals to street instead of trying to get them a new home. You saw too much.

"I'll have to fill a report for animal shelter" you started after a few minutes, as you were trying to localize the cause of pain; it was probably a broken bone, but cat was pretty beaten up too. "And I have to know where it was exactly, if you know the streets around here. Maybe there's more kittens like this."

"Animal shelter?" he asked, and you could just feel how his brown eyes are piercing through your green scrubs.

Intimidating, to say the least, because in addition with his low, gravelly voice, it was something alluring, like you couldn't be indifferent about it. Hell, you didn't even knew the guy, he could be potential axe murderer that stopped in your clinic because he was sad about the cat.

"Yes, I can't take him. Someone has to." you explained.

"Who said I won't?"

As you raised your eyebrow, you looked back at him, in a little shock – positive one, though. Most of the people that were bringing strays weren't eager about giving them home, for multiple reasons, and you didn't judge. It was a good thing that they were bringing them here, but this man...

"So, you will?"

"Mhm."

You smiled under your nose, stroking the little kitten, as you waited for her to calm down, before taking her to an x-ray. Her new owner wasn't really talkative, but the most important thing was that he cared enough to not only bring her here, but to take her home.

It was easy to gain your trust, considering that the skull mask that he had right now wasn't so scary anymore.

"I'm gonna take her to an x-ray. Wait up here, okay?"

Again, no response, just a simple nod.

Was it thing about you two being strangers? He could act reversed only because of this, or he was maybe tired and didn't wanted to talk. Yet, you rolled your eyes to yourself while you were taking an x-ray in a special room.

Weird. Weird, because as the bubbly and talkative person you were here, always talking with owners of animals that were coming to you (or in some cases you were out in a farm or something), you couldn't do that here. I mean, right, he answered your questions, but it was... automatic.

Not leaving a small pole to discussion, and it was irritating at some point, because you wanted to tell him at least half of stories about strays and how it was heartbreaking to find them a proper, loving home. And how you were actually curious if he liked animals before, if he had any.

And yet you were, not able to talk to him in any way that would untie his tongue. If you weren't such a curious woman, you wouldn't give a single fuck, and you would only do your job, but... now, you were more than eager to have a proper conversation with that man.

At least a few words more.

"She broke her leg." you explained after an x-ray, to show him under the special light what were you talking about, when the results came in.

Usually, it wasn't so quick, but it was an emergency.

"It's not as bad as it seems to be, your cat will need a splint and a bandage."

He didn't say anything; just nodded, fucking again, still staring at orange cat that was lying on the table, with your assistant cooing to the animal.

You expected some questions, though. Anything. "Questions?" "Not really" he said, glancing at you.

"It will take a while. You can sit if you want" you pointed at the chair in the corner. "I can stand."

So if he wanted to stand, he will stand, end of story for you – so, naturally, you just started to do your job with the kitty. It was a stray, obviously, so it wasn't an easy job with her writhing under your hands, but you managed, somehow.

"Do you want to register me as her vet?" you looked at him again.

Maybe it could finally be a proper subject of your conversation – not many people thought about that when they were taking under their wings a stray, so you had to offer. Especially when that kitty was just too cute not to ask.

"Will it be different than visiting you from time to time?" he asked, his arms crossing on his chest.

"I mean, yeah. I'm under the phone, basically 24/7, if you have questions, you call me. Vaccines, medicines, everything is under your hand. And since the little one knows me..." you trailed off, focusing more on that construction you worked on.

It seemed almost done.

"Right, we can do that, then" he muttered, coming a little closer to the table, to look at his cat. "I assume you need something? Contacts, I mean."

You chuckled, amused. "Yeah, pretty much. Your phone number, your name, adress."

He frowned at that last mention and sighed, glancing over you again, like he was judging something before he actually will answer you.

Hell, what was that in him?

"Is adress necessary?"

"Not really, no."

You both went silent after this; as you finished, you sat to your computer to add another patient to your folder, where you kept everything in check. Meanwhile, Bernie was still occupied with the cat that was too sleepy to even respond, but the meds were kicking in, so it wasn't a surprise.

Rather, it was good. She needed some kind of rest.

"Name?" you looked at him.

"Simon Harris."

It felt like a lie, what he was telling you – especially his last name, but you didn't say anything about it.

"You have an idea for your cat's name? Or not yet?" you smiled softly.

"Not yet, no. And as for phone number..." he started searching for his phone in his cargo pants.

Took him a while, to go through the pockets, but when he finally managed to give it to you, you could finally save everything – the cat's name was just missing, but he needed to think about it.

You could think of multiple stories of people that came back to your clinic or called you to change the name in your documents, because they wanted something different. Mostly it was because the previous one wasn't a "good fit", but some were... funny ones, or weird enough that you didn't even bother to ask why.

Sometimes your curiosity got the best of you, especially when you asked why does he want his cat to be named "Pussy"; you regretted asking almost immediately, when he sat in the chair right in front of you. He talked for almost twenty minutes of his girlfriend and how he wanted to "give" her the cat with a name like that because it was funny enough.

And because of other things that you'd like to forget.

"Addison Frost. I run this clinic" you said, when he was saving your number in his phone. You could swear that he rolled his eyes, but it wasn't so clear as he wore that damn mask. What it was for anyway?

You wanted to see his face, badly.

"That much I figured" he muttered, his phone going to pocket of his cargo pants right now; he looked back at his cat, and at you again. "Can I buy something for her here? Or... I should go to the store?"

Hell, it was his probably longest sentence to you that day; and that made you smile a bit, when you reached out to the place you kept starter kits for kittens that needed to be taken care of more than the regular ones; you made a couple of them, and that was one of the last ones.

"No need to pay me for this" you said quickly, as he reached for his wallet. "It's... something that I give, just that" you muttered. "You can borrow that transporter too, until you won't buy your own. She needs to rest for the most of the time, and as she's a stray, she'll probably want to wander around your place."

He nodded, deep in thought, as you helped him with putting his cat into this; he was ready to leave, but before that, he dropped 90$ at your desk, leaving without any further explanation. "Hey! That's way too much, I can't take something like that" you left after him, approaching him as he was already putting the transporter into his Jeep. "It's just a simple help, not an operation, or..."

"You helped her" he cut you off, looking straight into your eyes "and that's enough. If that's too much, don't charge me for another visit or so. I won't take it back." he said, getting into his car; still looking at you, he nodded slightly. "Thank you. And, goodnight."

And with that, Simon Harris left you with many thoughts about that evening.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 10

Warnings: Hospital talks, sexual health, general health

"blood type?" "I don't know." "Wolf size?" "I don't know." "Last time you had a heat?" "That I don't know either." "Could you be pregnant?" Y/N and Chan looked at eachother  before looking back at the medical questionnaire in absolute bewilderment. "I do know my date of birth. The rest I have no clue." Y/N said honestly. "You don't know where you live?" Chan said slowly as if she had just hit her head. "I don't know your address. I just live there." "Good point." Chan chuckled as he tried to fill in some of it for her.

Chan had decided to contact a werewolf specialist after her sub-drop to check for any underlying health concerns. He was worried that Ateez might have done more damage internally than what Felix could pick up. Chan also wanted to find out more about her heat cycle along with when her next heat might happen so he could prepare and make her comfortable for when it happened. He didn't want to ask Felix to do those checks in case she felt uncomfortable so he thought a female doctor might be better for the time being. The female doctor happened to be Changbin's older sister Jaehee. She was one of the most reputable doctors and gynecologists in the city that worked closely with werewolves. Jaehee could have come to the house but Chan decided against it and decided to meet at the hospital as he thought it might be nice for Y/N to go outside. Chan didn't want to trap her in his set of woods away from civilization but he was so worried about Hongjoong catching on or finding her out in public and he wasn't ready to risk it just yet. There were already rumours that Hongjoong had lost his omega and his pack had weakened because of her disappearance. It also doesn't look good to the outsiders that he lost an omega. It shows massive instability and cruelty, because why else would an omega leave, unless she was taken. That was probably how Hongjoong was probably playing it out, but Chan wasn't keeping up to date with his patterns at the moment since Minho and Hyunjin offered to take over while Chan sorts out his problems with his own family.

"Hi Chris, how are you?" An orotund voice called out. Y/N jumped slightly at the woman's voice, causing Chan to chuckle. "Hi Jaehee. I'm sorry to have demanded for you so soon." Chan apologised. "There's no need. My little brother explained." Jaehee explained with a smile. "Come on then omega." "I'll wait here. So you two can talk." Chan explained as he gently gave Y/N a squeeze on her shoulder. "How chivalrous of you Christopher." Jaehee mumbled, rolling her eyes at the alphas behaviour. Y/N followed the female into her office but not forgetting to give Chan a nervous look. Thankfully he sent her a wave of comfort as she went in. "Don't look so nervous. I promise whatever you say to me doesn't go anywhere, the room is werewolf proof so no one outside of this room can hear. And I also won't disclose anything to Chan or my brother unless you're sick. The rest is not my business." Jaehee promised as she patted the bed before grabbing her clipboard and running through a series of questions. They started off as generic questions. What is her diet like? How often does she phase? What is her heat cycle like? How often does her cycle last? Do you get pain during your heat cycle? All of which Y/N knew roughly. Y/N had an alright diet but it could be better. In terms of wolf health, she didn't phase a lot and mostly it was because she was told not too so her wolf was always caged in. In regards to her heat cycle she hadn't had one in over 2 moons.

While Jaehee asked a series of questions she checked Y/Ns height, weight, body temperature before going on to blood tests. Jaehee promised the blood tests where only to check for deficiencies and rule out any possible diseases. "Alright, this next part I need to some cervical examinations just to rule out anything." Jaehee said with an awkward smile as she brought over the ultrasound. "Does my brother treat you right?" Jaehee asked as she waited for Y/N to get comfortable before sticking the instrument in. "Yes. He does. Him and Jisung helped me prepare my nest." Y/N said awkwardly. "Changbin has a big heart. Feel free to abuse it within reason. And when I say that I mean in a healthy way like asking him to buy things for you, not playing the rejection game like my friend does with hers." Jaehee shook her as she remembered what her friend told her. "How is Hyunjin and Minho? They are the most difficult pair. "Um, Minho is rather awkward with me and Hyunjin I think hates me. He frightens me." Y/N said honestly. "I doubt Hyunjin hates you. He can hate but you would know it as you wouldn't necessarily be here. Hyunjin is complex but be patient with him. My advice let him come to you on his terms do not go to him or force him." Jaehee stated. "Um. Chan got him to mark me." Y/N answered nervously. "Oh dear. I can imagine Hyunjin is not feeling happy about that. Give him time. He's not pure evil he just has different morals." Jaehee answered.

The room went silent as Jaehee poked and prodded around Y/N's body, glaring and squinty at the screen, making Y/N nervous. "You are definitely not pregnant. Which I am sure is a relief for you, however, your pelvic bone is cracked which is slightly concerning, so I'm going to have to ban Straykids from any intimate activity from you for the next twelve weeks. It might be eight but those feral males will try and push too early so tell them twelve. In terms of missing heats I strongly believe it is due to high amounts of stress so hopefully in the next one or two moons it comes back. Any questions?" Jaehee asked, in which Y/N shook her head. "Good. I'll write a report to give to Chris. Make sure you eat more protein, the bloodier the better. Try to get more exercise by running in your wolf form. Cardio is better than weight training at the moment as your body has gone through a lot of stress so I wouldn't advise following my brother to the gym. Herbal remedies are great for stress, reproductive and sexual health. I know Felix and Minho are great at making them. Definitely no sex for twelve weeks. The longer the better. Oral sex after eight weeks unless they are really gentle but I have no clue who would be. Minho might be the more gentle one or no maybe not him. Never mind. Oral sex we'll say is fine unless they thrust too hard, it's also a great relaxation technique. Alright what else. Ah, for your pelvic bone try doing pelvic floor muscles. Hot baths, massages and lots of rest. I've also typed this for Chan. Feel free to wack him around the head with it or any of them until they understand. Got it." "Uh, huh." Y/N said as she tried to process a large amount of information. "Your blood test and scan results will be all together in two weeks, but they will be done with a fake name in case Ateez somehow gets a hold of information." Jaehee explained as she gave Y/N her report along with a prescription for birth control pills with a knowing look.

Y/N thanked Jaehee and walked out of her office to see Chan on the phone. Chan quickly hung up and greeted her with a small kiss on the forehead. "How did it go?" Chan asked as he took her paperwork before holding her hand. "Okay." Y/N said awkwardly. Chan hummed in response and wrapped his arm around her. "Let's talk in the car. We have to pick up some wolf protein shake as Changbin has run out." Chan stated like he wasn't even sure what Changbin was on about. As soon as they reached the car, Chan read through the paperwork, taking all of the information in before he started the car up. "Is there anything you want to talk about or get off your mind, not in relation to this of course?" Chan asked, giving her the room to speak freely. "No. I'm just learning to trust and accept things and to feel comfortable again." Y/N admitted. "That's understandable. Your body and mind has been under a lot of stress for however long, but I am grateful you are trying to trust us. As you need lots of rest I hope you will allow us to look after you properly and show you who we are. Obviously within reason for some of them." Chan expressed while also stating the obvious about a certain wolf. "I will state if Changbin offers to give you massages that's fine but not if he finds a muscle knot. He tends to make them worse. Hyunjin is actually the better one to get them out along with Seungmin as they are good with pressure points." "Does Hyunjin hate me?" Y/N blurted out causing Chan to look at her. "No. No he does not. He has a story that is his to tell, but what I will tell you is Hyunjin once lived with Hongjoong and you know what Hongjoong is like he did something. Hyunjin doesn't hate you he hates him and his pack. He doesn't trust anything related to him. But please do not take anything he states personally unless he does make it personal. If he does make you upset at any point tell me." Chan stated as he squeezed Y/N's hand. Still, Y/N couldn't help but worry but for now she had to trust him until something changes.

[chosokamolvr]

pathetic little curse user

nanami kento x male reader

- nsfw under the cut

[name] was running for his life. he was running down the empty streets around the shibuya train station to save his life. but alas, his efforts were in vain.

a tall, blonde, yellow and black speckled tie wearing sorcerer was chasing after [name]. mahito had mentioned a sorcerer of a similar, or even the same description, but [name] never thought he'd see the day where he'd finally get caught by a sorcerer.

[name]'s legs kept dragging him along, going through different corners and short cuts along the way. then, [name] was trapped. he ran into a desolate alleyway with no way out. oh how he was fucked now. he didn't want to die this way, not to a stupid sorcerer he didn't even get to see the face of.

the sorcerer finally reached the alleyway, panting slightly as he looked straight into [name]'s eyes with a glare. [name] was panicking, he was shaking and his heart was thumping out of his chest. he hadn't lived long enough to die now! he didn't want to die by the hands of a handsome, tall, muscular sorcerer now did he?

"you." the sorcerer stated, walking closer to [name] before he held the poor man up by his hair. [name] was already squirming whilst the sorcerer hadn't even finished what he was going to say. "what did you do with gojo satoru?" the sorcerer continues, still holding [name] up by the hair.

[name] whimpered and he tossed his body around, wanting to be let down. yet, this sorcerer was too strong, far stronger than [name] or any other puny sorcerer the curse user had faced. "i.. i don't know! i wasn't in on it! i was just hired to distract other sorcerers! let me go, please!" [name] whined, not meeting the sorcerer's eyes.

the blonde man scoffed and he threw [name] against one of the walls of the alleyway. "maybe this will make you talk, or it won't." he said before unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down. the sorcerer creeped closer, as he pulled his boxers down revealing his hardening dick.

[name] looked at the sorcerer with a gulp. he couldn't believe this was happening to him right now. [name] was getting hard, and to a sorcerer at that. how pathetic. "what.. what are you going to do to me?" the curse user asked, but he already knew what this sorcerer was going to do.

"you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" he chuckled before he pushed [name] fully against the wall. [name]'s face was now pressed up against the brick, feeling weird and rough on his cheeks. "the name's nanami, by the way. nanami kento. i guess you'll want to know the name of who's gonna fuck you, don't you?" nanami says before pulling [name]'s trousers and boxers down, pressing his hard-on against [name]'s ass.

all [name] can do is gulp and stand back to recieve what nanami is about to give him. he closes his eyes and he takes a deep breath in. [name] knows nanami is probably not going to prep him or anything. why would you prep the enemy's ass for your dick anyway?

then, nanami pushes into [name]. first it's the tip, then he immediately slams in his whole length causing [name] to hiss out in pain. it burnt, but [name] knew nanami wasn't going to care.

nanami then kept a grip on [name]'s hair as he started thrusting slowly, trying to aggravate the curse user he was inside of. "shit. you're so tight, i feel like i can barely move my dick." the blonde chuckles, but in reality he loved how tight [name] was. "you're as tight as a virgin. have you never had sex? or have you just never been fucked by a man before?" [name] whines at nanami's questions, his body pressed against the wall as nanami thrusted. he didn't know how to respond, the dick inside of him was making his brain switch off.

as nanami thrusted, [name]'s dick was pressing and rubbing against the harsh texture of the wall infront of him. as painful as it was, [name] was in a state of pleasure. all of the pain he felt dissipated and turned into pleasure.

"ah- faster.. please nanami.." [name] blabbered and slobbered out onto the wall. nanami huffed and he took [name]'s arms, tying them up behind his back before thrusting faster, as per the curse user's request. "it's sir to you." nanami scoffs.

[name] didn't realise what had just happened. he was too late in the pleasure. once nanami slammed into him faster and deeper, [name] yelped out, coming back to his senses again. he tried to move his arms only for them to be bounded by nanami's yellow and black speckled tie.. the tie mahito had described before.

"mm.. sir.. please.." [name] whined, although he didn't know what he was whining for himself. nanami just chuckled and he continued thrusting at a decently fast pace that was also rough on [name]'s behind.

"you're pathetic, you know that?" nanami grunts inbetween thrusts, hand still firmly gripped in [name]'s hair. "you're letting a sorcerer, your enemy, fuck you and you're enjoying this too." the blonde chuckles, but he truly had a soft spot for pathetic idiots like [name]. "can you imagine what the people who hired you would say if they saw you like this? what's his name.. mahito, right? how do you think he'd react." nanami huffs.

[name] just mewls. he can't say anything as he's lost in the pleasure and ecstasy, he's practically drowning in lust. his back arches and his eyes roll back as he feels nanami go deeper. it just feels so good, too good to be the enemy's dick.

nanami smirks as he sees [name]'s reaction. the fact that [name] is too pathetic to respond and too built up due to a few minutes of sex is so thrilling to nanami. "answer my question from before." nanami states, gripping [name]'s hair harder to get him to speak. "what have you and your little friends done with gojo satoru?" nanami repeats his question from earlier. [name] responds by drooling on the wall even more. he's probably forgotten why gojo is, and truth be told he didn't have to do with gojo's sealing in the first place. nanami's dick was so good it made [name] forget about everything.

then, [name]'s vision went went and he cummed all over the wall. white painted and stained the brick, leaving nanami disgusted. "who said you could cum, you pathetic curse user? i certainly didn't." nanami grunted, clearly annoyed by [name]'s actions. "guess we'll keep going until i think we're finished. you wouldn't mind that, right?"

[name] shook his head, or, he tried to. his head was still against the wall, leaving a few scratches and marks and his hair was still in nanami's hand. "no sir.. we can keep going.." [name] squeaked out, his thighs trembling slightly as he had just came and by the fact that nanami was still thrusting into him.

"good." is all nanami responded with. he went far more deeper and rougher than before, the tip of his dick reaching [name]'s prostate again and again leading [name] to cum several more times over the wall.

once nanami was finished, he cleaned himself up and left [name] panting heavily on the floor of the alleyway. [name] was covered in his own cum, his hair all over the place and his wrists almost forming bruises. he did like the experience nanami gave him, but he never thought he'd be fucking with the enemy.

"pathetic little curse user you are." nanami said before he left. "you should be glad i didn't kill you and that i spared you because you're so cute." he smirked.

and that was the last [name] ever saw of the blonde sorcerer.

[originalaccountname]

Uhh i just finish stormbringer and i didnt quite understood Rimlaine relationship im sorry if this comes off as annoying its just that i read some of your analysis and you explain thing very good, thanks in advance 💗

Their relationship is complicated and contradictory. Ultimately, their lack of communication (both in talking and listening) dug a hole so deep between them that they both had to die before it was fixed.

I'm gonna attempt a timeline to break it down, so you can see what happened. This got way too long despite my best efforts so I'm putting it under a cut:

At an undisclosed time, Rimbaud, a spy/special agent working for France, goes to defeat a mad scientist and ability user, Pan. Pan had created a sort of puppet, named Black No12, who could manipulate gravity and obeyed him blindly. Rimbaud managed to cut the link between them, and Black No12 turned against and killed his creator and master.

Rimbaud took Black No12 under his wing as a fellow spy for France. He trained him and made him his partner. He gave him a name, his name from before he changed his identity to become a spy: Paul Verlaine.

Rimbaud wanted the formerly brainwashed person he found to be independent. Despite his origins, Rimbaud wanted Verlaine to feel human. He was his friend and wanted him to be happy.

Verlaine, on the other hand, was haunted by not being or feeling human. He felt lonely and isolated, and Rimbaud pushing so hard to make him feel human only rubbed salt in the wound. But he didn't tell Rimbaud any of that.

Rimbaud gave Verlaine the hat right before their operation in Japan to retrieve project Arahabaki. The hat had a special ability alloy woven into it meant to make sure no outside instructions could be used to brainwash him again. That was Rimbaud trying to guaranty Verlaine complete agency, one step closer to making him human. This was only a grim reminder of what he was to Verlaine. After the lukewarm reception of his gift, Rimbaud starts to feel permanently cold.

When they got (what they thought was) the artificial human from Project Arahabaki out of the lab, Verlaine was taken by the Bungou Stray Dogs curse of seeing yourself in other people and wanting to save them to save yourself. Verlaine told Rimbaud he was taking the child and going into hiding to raise him as a normal human being, to protect the child from the same pain he felt. Rimbaud, who hadn't realized how his dear friend suffered, still didn't understand and tried to reason with Verlaine that they couldn't possibly turn their backs to their home, and that the child would still be with them in France.

This poor communication resulted in Verlaine feeling trapped and choosing to shoot his only friend in the back. They fought and Rimbaud got the upper hand before he got surrounded by the lab's guards and desperately tried to use Arahabaki to defeat them too. This ended in the Suribachi incident and his loss of memory. Verlaine still had enough strength to stop Arahabaki/Chuuya's rampage before vanishing who knows where.

Fast forward 8 years, Fifteen happens, with Rimbaud, now permanently cold, who got some of his memories back. Rimbaud wants to know more than anything what happened to his partner and friend all those years ago, and is even willing to kill Chuuya (and Dazai) for it. As he dies, he remembers what happened that night while they were escaping, and how Verlaine chose to shoot him in the back over Chuuya. He tells Chuuya that he was probably human all along, and to live no matter what, before vanishing into thin air.

One year later, and Verlaine has found Chuuya and decided to try again to take him so they can be lonely together. He's trying to both isolate and protect Chuuya in a twisted sense of responsibility and kinship (and the power of projection). When Verlaine finally loses himself to Guivre, he manages to tell Chuuya about how he stopped Arahabaki 9 years ago in Suribachi so Chuuya could do it to him now. Chuuya understands from this that Verlaine might have felt lonely and oh so bitter about the world, that he might have hated his existence, but he had found friendship in Rimbaud and wished to save the world in his name. One person had been worth it, so he couldn't just destroy it all.

After the fight is over, Verlaine is dying from Guivre's energy having been depleted by Chuuya's efforts. As he dies, Rimbaud appears: Rimbaud has created a singularity with his own ability at the time of his death, maintaining his mind alive in his subspace by absorbing himself as his ability on loop. He's like the Old Boss was in Fifteen, just a puppet, not a human... but he's still Rimbaud. And Rimbaud wanted his friend to live and be happy.

Rimbaud apologizes for not understanding Verlaine's struggle with humanity and incidentally handling it badly. Then, he passed on his ability, now a singularity, onto Verlaine to replace Guivre as his source of life: a lot less powerful, but enough to keep him going. Rimbaud tells him he's glad Verlaine was born because he got to meet him, and disappears for good.

Verlaine realized then, way too late, that he really cared about Rimbaud. Rimbaud spent a whole year as something that wasn't human just for the chance of seeing Verlaine again and apologize to him. That got to Verlaine too. Since then, he's been hiding in the Port Mafia's basement, uncaring of the world, and mourning his friend and the friendship he passed by without knowing.

In the shortest, in-novel words possible:

[stxrvel]

moving on

how was your life after nanami died? pairing: nanami x f!reader content: angst and depression but fluff as you go. a/n: my first nanami's fic. sorry this one's sad, i was really in the mood for angst :(. hope u guys enjoy!

jjk main masterlist | main masterlist

You used to do everything first for him and others and then for yourself. Nanami Kento was a gentleman, somewhat rigid and almost bordering on strict when it came to his desire to please you and do things for you. From the day he met you until the moment of his last breath, the only thing on his mind was you and completely you.

Haibara smiling at him in front of him, memories of moments that had been buried in the back of his head, his heart constricting in his chest with a spasm of pain knowing what would come next.

“I can't leave her.”

“She'll be fine.”

Every time you cooked, you made enough for two plates. Every time you shopped, you kept all the toiletries Kento used in the cart, watching them wistfully as you stood in line to pay.

“You've been coming alone for a couple of weeks now,” the woman at the cash register began, taking the shampoo Kento used to run it through the reader. The beep of the readout the price stabbed your heart. “Is everything okay?”

You watched her keep moving the men's items around, packing them into the brown bag ready to be used, as if there was actually someone at home waiting to use them and not as if they would come to pile up with all the others that were at home that you had already bought months ago because you were unable to get them out once you were getting to the checkouts to pay.

“Yeah, he's been busy,” you almost mumbled and the woman's hands flanked. You didn't know if she had caught you in the lie. It had been a couple of weeks since you had stopped trying to mimic the happiness in your face and voice when you talked about Kento. You hadn't told anyone that he had died.

Every time your parents called and asked about him, you went into a state of mind you didn't want to acknowledge yet that was unhealthy. You didn't know how much time you had already spent alone, but maybe you were close to getting to the point where you started to see him walking the halls of the apartment and feel his ghostly caresses on your skin.

Every time you saw Itadori's name on your cell phone when he called or texted you, a whiplash-like snippet of pain would run through your body, with your head flashing back to everything that had happened and the situation you had been immersed in for the past few months.

But it was good to talk to him. He was probably the only person who knew and felt the pain as much as you did. Maybe you should start diverting that energy you were in the habit of doing things for Kento and do it for Itadori.

“I wanted to ask you if Fushiguro and I could stop by your apartment this weekend. If you're not busy…”

How could you be busy?

The extra food you kept in tupperware in the fridge had found use after so many months. It was no longer your side dishes. Now it was the food you kept for when Itadori and Fushiguro stopped by your apartment. The bathroom and toilet utensils you kept in the same place as Kento began to run out and end up in the bathroom, having to replace them for a completely different reason.

“Are you guys hungry?” the first time they had come to your apartment had followed something strange. It was clear that the life that existed in that place when you lived with Nanami was gone, and the boys were no strangers to the somber sense of loss and sadness that lingered in every space of the place where you followed. “There's plenty of food in the fridge.”

Itadori, eager to make that heaviness dancing in the air disappear, smiled openly and headed for the fridge dragging Fushiguro with him.

“Y/N-san, surely everything will be delici…!”

Itadori's voice trailed off.

“Wow…” Fushiguro let out, giving up fighting Itadori's arm that had dragged him by the collar of his white shirt.

There were no vegetables or fruit in your fridge. There was no packaging of any kind. Every space in the fridge was filled with tupperware, one on top of the other, behind each one there were more and it seemed like there was no end to it. There was endless cooked food and Fushiguro was sure that if they opened the freezer there would be more food in there too.

“This is-” too much, Fushiguro bit his tongue.

“Unbelievable!” Itadori recovered faster than he did. The pink-haired half-turned around on his feet to see you, his body bowing in a curtsy with an emotion that clashed fervently with your sadness. “Thank you so much, y/n-san!”

Itadori bowed a couple more times before returning his attention to the fridge and pulling out as many tuppers as would fit between his arms. Fushiguro watched him with a white, almost reprimanding expression, but let go the moment he found a half-smile gracing your face.

Half of the tuppers had been opened that afternoon.

Itadori and Fushiguro came back to your apartment several times a week since then and it almost seemed like they lived there a couple of weeks later.

“y/n-san…” the pink-haired's voice pulled you out of your mental space as you cooked for them. Amazingly, the food in the fridge had run out, for the first time in months. That night was the first time the boys had stayed over.

You frowned as you met Itadori's evasive gaze. Worry bubbled in your chest at the thought that something had happened, because Itadori looked terribly disgruntled.

“Itadori-kun, what's wro-?”

The young man pulled his hands from behind his back, a gesture you hadn't paid too much attention to, too preoccupied with the way his body hunched forward slightly.

Nanami's shampoo bottle was in his hands.

You felt as if a huge bubble had burst around you, with the disconcerting sound of a balloon.

“Can we use this?”

The way he spoke and lowered his head made it seem like he was too embarrassed to ask. Maybe he was a little right about that. For a moment you felt anger at seeing the container in his hands, out of the place where it belonged and where it was supposed to stay waiting for…. something.

Fushiguro entered the kitchen in a hurry, as if he had run from the room and took the shampoo from Itadori's hands, sending you a look between worried and embarrassed. The black-haired man bowed.

“I'm really sorry, y/n-san. I told Itadori not to take this. I'll leave it in its place.”

Fushiguro started to turn around even without raising his head and a mortifying sensation ran through your body. The formality he was trying to maintain and the care he took with the way he referred to you made you nauseous. This wasn't how you wanted them to feel around you, like they had to tiptoe around you and be accommodating so as not to provoke you.

“It's okay,” you mumbled, almost inaudibly. You cleared your throat, but the boys heard you clearly just the same. “You can use it. It's okay. Anyway, there's too much stuff in there with no use. It's better that than getting damaged... over time, don't you think?”

Itadori and Fushiguro's looks on your face as if they were afraid you'd change your mind at any moment and yell at them made you think about how tough you'd been acting in front of them about everything related to Nanami. For the last few weeks they had been coming over, the only thing you had shared with them that was his had been all that food. But there were plenty of other things you could share with them, if only to buy their company a little longer.

“You can use everything in the bathroom and in the room.”

Letting go is another form of love, so they say.

And so it was. Eventually, you no longer bought the perfumes and toiletries Nanami used automatically, but strolled in the market with Itadori riding in the cart and Fushiguro on the other side walking with his hands inside his sweatshirt, with both of them telling you what products they used and with the cart fuller than usual.

Soon, Kento's side of the bathroom was filled with all the products the boys were using and you didn't dislike the image at all. It was quite comforting, in fact.

“Ah, Megumi's really bad at this,” Itadori spoke to your right, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

The black-haired man let out a grunt in his direction. “Will you shut up?”

“You're doing just fine, Megumi. Don't worry. When you take your time you can tell you're putting a lot of dedication into it. That's good.”

Megumi barely trembled at your words, his hands moving slightly, leaving an odd curve in the cup of the cake he was decorating. If you or Itadori had noticed, neither of you mentioned anything.

“y/n-san, I'm sooo hungry. Can't we eat while Megumi finishes?”

“Patience, Yuji. You could help me with the drinks if you want to distract yourself.”

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!”

It was the third anniversary of Kento's death and it was amazing how a year ago you didn't think you could tolerate making it this far. And you even came to think for a moment that you would spend that year alone too, but Yuji proposed to cook Nanami's favorite dishes to honor his memory and it was physically impossible for you to say no.

The dining table was adorned with various dishes and four chairs, one empty for him.

Yuji was seated to your right and Megumi to your left. Kento would be sitting across from you if he were here…

Many times, the three of you sharing your meals there, you thought about what it would be like if Kento could've lived to spend those experiences with you. You didn't know how the universe or fate did things, because it was such a cruel thought, but you were so grateful that they had inserted themselves into your life.

“I never would've thought Nanamin had such a sweet tooth,” Yuji commented, with a huge spoonful of cake in his mouth. Megumi frowned at him and you felt him kick his leg under the table.

“He wasn't… not as much as Gojo-san, but he always praised me when I made these desserts for him from time to time. Mostly on special dates, it wasn't very often.”

“And rightly so, y/n-san! Everything is delicious!”

“I wasn't the only one who cooked, Yuji.”

“You're right. What Megumi did is a little dry.”

The black-haired man swallowed a grunt, tensing his shoulders. You smiled at the innocent manner of the boys and were thankful that despite everything they got along so well. They were the best thing for each other, and the best thing you had at that moment.

“You did very well for your first time cooking alone, Megumi,” you placed one of your hands on his shoulder, allowing him to unwind and relax a little under your watchful eye and loving smile.

Megumi barely sketched a half-smile that you didn't let go unnoticed.

At that moment, you would have loved to know what Kento would think of being able to see them reunited in his memory, but you kept yourself in the present, hanging on to the conversation the boys were having letting out chuckles from time to time.

Nanami at that moment knew Haibara was right. You would be fine.

[pyro-les]

Rescue - Agathario - part 1 of 3

1,124 words - Warnings: mentions of death

Taglist: @thecavalrywife @hannah-0730

Rio had first found her when she took yet another soul, a young witch taken all too soon. It was sad seeing people with so much potential die so young, the poor girl had only lived till her mid twenties before being brutally killed just outside her own home by a witch hunter. The sight wasn't pretty but it was nothing unusual however what she would never forget was the look on the childs face ehen she walked out to see her morher dead. Seeing the poor souls of the deads family react to their loved ones fate was never easy but with young ones it was so much worse, especially in cases like this where they had no one else.

"Who are you?" The child spoke, breaking Rio out of thoughts.

Looking back down towards the child, timid and scared but not backing away. How could she even see her?

After a pause, not knowing what to do since no one had ever seen her while she collected souls before she decided to honestly introduce herself. "I'm Rio."

The child smiled up at her before looking down at her mum. Her white dress was staring to turn red with blood, it was no sight for a child but atleast the hunter hadn't burnt the body like many would.

"She's not okay is she?"

The kid was clearly smart and surprisingly keeping her emotions somewhat in check. Rio felt bad for the kid, with this kind of response the kid had likely been warned by her mother this could happen and that's a difficult conversation for a kid so young. And she would know, having once having to have told her own child the same thing so so long ago.

"I'm so sorry." Rio replied meaning every word, she may be the embodiment of death but that didn't mean she hadn't felt grief. She knew first hand how horrible it was to loose family, and she atleast had someone to help her through the pain, this child had no one.

She had to help.

"Where will she go?" The child asked, looking up to Rio who had come to stand just in front of her.

There was no point in lying, the child deserved to know the truth. "I'm going to take her to the next realm."

The child nodded, seemingly not questioning why it was Rio who took her. "But where will I go?"

It was a good question. The kid couldn't stay here, witch hunters were ruthless and if they realised earlier there had been a magical child inside the house she would already be dead. "You don't have anyone left for you?" Rio asked hopefully even though she already knew the answer, only being confirmed when the child solemnly shook her head.

"You can come with me." Rio said nervously, she never expected to take anyone else in attempt loosing Nicky but she couldn't leave the kid here. It's going to be hard, for both her and Agatha aswell as the kid who's life was being so suddenly changed but there was no other choice.

The child nodded, probably a bit too trusting but it was good, it made it easier. "Where will we go?"

"Home" Rio replied with a soft smile, kneeling down for the child to climb into her arms.

She held her close as she stood, remembering the last time she held someone like this, remebering the worst experience of her life. The child hugging her back being the only difference, she could hold Rio close while Nicholas couldn't and never would again.

Trying to pull herself out of her thoughts she spoke softly to the girl "It'll be OK, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Rio opened a small portal to just outside her own home. A small cottage in a forest, it wasn't much but the purple flowers outside and the faint feel of the protection spell around it made it feel like home.

Feeling Rio's magic nearby Agatha came to the door to greet her wife, pausing seeing the small girl in her arms as the portal behind her slowly fizzled out.

"Brought in a stray?" Agatha asks, even with the sarcastic wording it was clear she was worried.

Walking closer to her wife Rio hummed, "she had nowhere else to go." Agatha nodded knowing she would explain the rest later.

"Who are you?" The girl asked, finally speaking after just looking around since the change of location.

Agatha looked to Rio for help, not entirely sure on what to say. "My wife." Rio stated, setting the girl down.

Seeing her looking around curiously Agatha spike to her, "you can look around if you want hun."

The girl then looked upto Rio, "But what if he comes back?" So she had seen what she was rather hoping she hadn't. The girl had watched her mother be murdered.

Kneeling down in front of her, Rio took the girls hands in her own. "No one can get you here." "We'll look after you." Agatha added on, putting her hand on the girls shoulder.

Looking between the two of them the girl smiles and whispers a small "thank you" before walking into the house curiously. The fact that the kid was still keeping it together after all she had been through in under an hour was ridiculous. She was certainly tough and judging by the unfamiliar magic in the air she had alot of magical potential too.

Offering a hand to help Rio of the ground Agatha asked, "what happened?"

Keeping hold of Agatha's hand Rio shook her head, emotion clear in her voice, everything she shoved down to be strong for the child now showing. "She was alone. Her mother was gone and she would've been too, couldn't just leave her there. I'm sorry it's just, she, she reminded me so much of him."

Her eyes softening Agatha put her free hand to Rio's cheek, gently brushing her hair out of her face "shh, shh. There's no need to apologise." Stroking her thumb over her cheeks Agatha comforted her wife, "you did the right thing."

"I didn't even ask you-"

Hushing Rio, Agatha spoke again "You didn't have to."

Rio smiled at Agatha, starting at her theough watery eyes, all of the emotions of the day starting to catch up to her. She was so grateful to have Agatha here, she was so understanding, so gentle, Rio truly didn't know what she would do without her.

Stepping closer Agatha finally brought Rio into a soft kiss, her other hand coming up to her face while Rios own instinctively wrap around Agatha's waist.

Slowly breaking the kiss, their foreheads still touching Agatha quietly speaks, "We'll look after her."

[thelov3lybookworm]

My Fault (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Starting over.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: Lol i just know half of you all gonna hate me for this, but this is the only way i could think of that would be good. I dont think making her end up with someone ese would have helped, so if you dont want her to end up with cass, then please dont read this.

also, why does sarah not tell us how people who cant winnow travel??? 😭😭😭

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Nina's excitement was palpable as Y/n slowly inserted the key into the front door of the home she shared with her husband, trying not to make too much noise in case he was in there, probably sleeping.

It was no use though, Y/n found out once she entered and ran up to her bedroom. Nina had just plopped down unceremoniously on the couch, telling Y/n to hurry up.

The moment Y/n pushed open the closed door to her and Cassian's bedroom -which she was sure was open when she left- she was hit with the strong scent of her husband.

Y/n froze on the threshold, staring wide eyed at her husband, who was on his knees in the middle of the room, fat tears rolling down his face.

He looked up, his eyes containing a world of pain and sadness and guilt and too may emotions that Y/n could not categorise them all.

"Cass?" Y/n mumbled, daring to take a step towards him. He released an anguished cry and launched forward, a dull thud echoing in his wake.

Cassian wrapped himself around Y/n's legs, sobbing into her abdomen. Y/n stared at the top of his head with furrowed brows, then rose her eyes to where he had been kneeling previously.

There, she found a worn diary lying on the wooden floor, left haphazardly. Y/n's blood chilled.

It was her diary.

Y/n usually hid it in her drawer, but she had been writing in it before she left to get coffee with Nina and everything went south.

Cassian had been gone more and more in the recent months, and to cope with all the sadness and need, Y/n began jotting down all that she felt in her empty diary.

And now he had read it all.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Y/n was still frozen when she realised that her blouse was sticking to her skin because of his tears. "Tell you what?"

"Everything. Why did you not tell me how much you'd been hurting? Why did you not tell me that I'd been a shitty husband?"

Y/n watched his shoulder shake with every violent sob that ripped out of his chest, numbness spreading through her. "You were never around long enough for me to say anything."

He sobbed harder at that, and Y/n couldn't take it anymore. She let her hand drift to the top of his head, gently caressing his soft hair.

"My love, why are you crying?" Y/n reached down, cupping his jaw and tilting his head back. She ran her thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that never stopped, her other hand still resting in his hair.

More tears flowed from his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but right at that moment, Nina spoke up from behind Y/n. Y/n hadn't even heard Nina walk up the stairs, so busy was she getting lost in her lover's eyes.

"Get away from her you bastard."

Y/n turned halfway, Cassian's death grip on her lessening just a little as he too peered from around Y/n. Y/n absently noted that Nina had left her bag down in the living room.

"Nina, please-"

"Y/n, don't. You just told me you wanted to leave, heal. What happened now? Are you having second thoughts?"

Y/n felt Cassian freeze, and she sighed, glaring at Nina. "You... you are leaving?"

"Thank you so much Nina, just what I needed." Y/n bit out, turning her back to her friend and glancing down at her kneeling husband. His skin was pale, paler than Y/n had ever seen him.

"What! I just helped you out! You had to tell him anyways!"

"Yes Nina, but I would have been more gentle!"

Nina huffed as Y/n grabbed Cassian's forearms and tugged. He complied, climbing to his feet as new tears gathered in his eyes. Y/n ignored her friend and grabbed Cassian's face tenderly in her hands.

"Cass? I... I need to leave."

"Why?" He whispered.

"I don't think I can handle letting your family walk all over me anymore. I need to stand up for myself. I'm sorry Cass, but I need to do this. Even if it kills me, I need to leave."

"I- they're your family too." His voice was quiet and uncertain, as though he knew Y/n would not believe him.

Y/n gave him a small, pained smile. "I don't think they feel that way."

"Please don't go Y/n. Rhys is feeling guilty for what he did. I'm sure everyone else is too. Maybe they're on their way here to apologise."

"Never seen anyone more delusional." Nina murmured from behind Y/n.

"Cass-"

Before Y/n could even get a word out, Nina piped up.

"If you really want to be with her, you can come with us. Leave this hell court."

Cassian ignored Nina again.

"Y/n, please don't go. I need you. We can all start over again. I promise they will realise how wrong they were."

"It's too late now. Give us a straight answer. If you love her, leave this place and come with us. If not, stay here and rot."

"Come on, Y/n. I can't leave them. They're my family."

"And she is not? You should not feel obligated to love someone because they're your family or whatever."

Cassian glared at Nina, then mumbled to Y/n. "Are you not going to defend me from her?"

"Like you defended her from your asshole family?"

Y/n could see Cassian trying to hold back a snarl at that, and she sighed, pinching her nose bridge between her forefinger and thumb. "Y/n. We need to talk. Alone."

Y/n nodded, glancing at her friend, who rolled her eyes. "I will be standing outside. Call for me when you're done."

She looked like she wanted to slam the door shut as she left, but she simply pulled it until it made a soft click.

Y/n turned to Cassian, offering him a tentative smile.

"Yes?"

Cassian took a step back. "I- I'll start from the beginning."

Y/n nodded uncertainly, wondering what he wanted to tell her. He grabbed Y/n's hand, gently tugging her to the end of the bed and sitting her down onto it.

"I... I don't know how to explain, but I'll try." Cassian took a deep breath as he settled into a kneeling position in front of Y/n. "First of all, I need you to know that I only ever kissed Nesta, and that was when I was drunk out of my mind."

He released a breath before continuing, clutching Y/n's hands as if they were his lifeline. "I... I know that isn't an excuse for what I did, and I never should have been at Rita's that night, but it happened, and I don't think anything I do or say will justify it.

"It started that day a year ago. When Rhys wanted to send me on a month long mission. Asshole, now that I think of it. I just now realise it for the plot it was." Cassian shook his head in disbelief. "He told me no one else could do it and that only I could do it. That should have alerted me, but alas, I now know that I'm very thick skulled."

A small giggle left Y/n, and Cassian's eyes rose to her lips, a little of life returning to the dull hazel. He smiled softly as his eyes met Y/n's, and her breath hitched. It had been far too long since the two of them had time like this.

"I remember you cried that day. That was the first time I'd seen you cry. I was so stressed because I did not want to leave you. That would have been the first time that I would be away from you for longer than a day. You told me you would write to me everyday."

Y/n could remember it very vividly. The way she had sobbed into Cassian's chest just as he was about to leave, the way she had stared up at him as his tears fell too. It had been a nightmare, to put it nicely.

"But you never did-"

Y/n interrupted him. "What do you mean I never did?"

Cassian glanced up at Y/n from where he was playing with her fingers, meeting her eyes with furrowed brows. "You never wrote to me? I never received any letters."

Y/n's lips parted in confusion. "I- I wrote to you everyday Cass. Sometime even multiple times a day."

Cassian stared at her in disbelief, and Y/n could see the gears in his brain churning. His mouth opened a few times, wanting to speak but no words coming out before realisation set in his features.

"Rhysand."

Y/n searched Cassian's eyes as anger and betrayal entered them, coming to the same realisation.

"Oh Cass." Y/n mumbled, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Fucker." Cassian said under his breath, his wings flaring slightly.

After a moment of Cassian cursing Rhys and his entire family line, he continued. "I never received those letters, so I was a little upset because I was looking forward to writing you. When I returned, I decided that it would be best to give Rhys all the information I had before coming home so I could spend some days with you, locked away with no one interrupting us.

"But when I arrived, Rhysand said things about you that riled me up. He told me that he had asked you multiple times if you had to send any letters and that each time you told him to, basically, fuck off. I did not believe him, but it kept happening every time I was gone, to the point where I was starting to wonder if you liked me at all."

Cassian rested his head on their joined hands, releasing a deep breath. "I never should have believed that bastard, never should have doubted you. And I will forever regret that. Rhys also kept up with his manipulating to get me away from you, I see that now. I should have stopped him the first time he said things about you, but I guess I didn't want to upset him after everything he's done for me."

"He is your family, isn't he? He would not have expected anything of you." Y/n told him, making him nod.

"I know. Recently, after Feyre and her sister's arrival, Rhys started to gaslight me into thinking I liked Nesta. He made me spend more time with her, train her. He got so much out of it. For one, he could get me away from you, whatever his reasons. By assigning me to Nesta, he could keep her busy and out of the way.

"He... he really fucked up my mind. He is a daemati after all. Yesterday at Rita's, I realised something was wrong. That I couldn't put up my shields properly. Then the next thing I knew, I was kissing Nesta. I left soon after, not wanting to be near any longer."

He sucked in a tired breath, his hold tightening on Y/n's hands. She gave him a gentle squeeze and he continued. "Today, when I was about to come home, Rhys convinced me to stay till dinner. And I just... somehow couldn't say no. It was like- like..."

Cassian trailed off, his wide eyes meeting his wife's.

"Oh Cassian." Y/n slid onto his lap, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry he did that to you. I wish I had known what was happening sooner so I could stop it from ever happening."

Cassian shook his head, staring at the wall behind Y/n's head, his features distant.

"Not your fault. You could not have stopped it from happening."

Y/n knew that, but that didn't stop her from wanting to rip off Cassian's brother's head. Hell, she wished at least she's gotten a little bit of power from her parents so she could do anything to stop what Rhys had been doing to Cassian.

She could not even winnow, so what was she even worth? At least this Nesta was powerful enough to be mated to Cassian.

"I just- I just don't understand why he wanted you to be with Nesta."

Without moving his eyes, still that far off look on his face, Cassian mumbled. "She is my mate, and the mother pairs people who can produce the strongest offspring." Finally, Cassian met Y/n's gaze, his eyes haunted. "He wanted me to produce as strong as an offspring I could."

Y/n's heart broke for her husband. She knew how much the high lord mattered to him, and the betrayal she felt would probably not even compare to what he was feeling.

Cassian opened his mouth on a gasp, about to say something when knock drew their attention, stopping Cassian from speaking.

"Are you done yet?" Nina's voice called out. Y/n looked from the door to Cassian. He stared at the door like it had caused him some personal offence. "The caravan will not wait up for us, and only an hour is left-"

"Caravan?" Cassian questioned Y/n, turning to look at her as his hands fell to her waist. Y/n nodded.

"Neither of us can winnow, so Nina had to contact a friend who knew of an agent. He technically transports people from one court to another on horse and carriages."

Understanding entered his eyes. "You- you really were going to leave."

Y/n nodded, making to pull away from him so she could start packing up. His hold on her tightened.

"Please don't go. I need you. I will make it up to you, I promise. I will wait forever if that's what it takes to earn your forgiveness." His eyes were again filled with tears, making it harder for Y/n to turn away.

"Cass... I won't forgive you. Not anytime soon at least. But... maybe I can give you one last chance."

The tears overflowed from his eyes even as a huge grin split his face. "Thank you. Thank you so much my heart. I will not let you down again."

Y/n studied him for a moment, smiling when he started laughing softly while wiping at his tear stained cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. Y/n gently pushed back some stray strands of hair from his face, placing a kiss on his forehead.

"Maybe we can start all over again. Like we never knew each other."

Cassian nodded. "Even though what good times we had together are precious to me, I don't think we can mend this. We need to start over."

Y/n smiled wide for the first time in what felt like months, genuine joy singing through her blood. "Let's get ready then."

•○🌑○•

Nina's pov.

It was around ten minutes after that the door opened, and Nina nearly fell to her knees and thanked the mother for it. She was getting bored standing out here all by herself.

And in the next moment Nina wondered if she was dreaming.

Y/n stood in the doorway, a huge smile and blush on her face. That was not what shocked Nina, though it played a part in it.

No, it was Cassian, who stood behind Y/n, holding two duffel bags over his shoulder, a quiet joy on his face.

Nina rose a brow at the couple, who only grinned. Releasing a disbelieving sigh, Nina pushed away from the wall she was leaning against.

"I had booked an extra seat just in case. Thank the mother I did."

Y/n grabbed Nina in a quick hug, and her happiness brought a small smile to Nina's lips as well.

Y/n turned and practically skipped down the stairs, happy to leave. Cassian moved to follow, but Nina caught his arm. He looked down at her, his brows raised high.

"Don't you dare hurt her now. Or I will fucking carve your wings from your back. Understood?" If possible, his eyebrows rose higher, almost disappearing into his hairline. Obviously, Nina wished Y/n never forgive him, but Nina also knew how happy the brute made her best friend, and that was all Nina could ask for.

He studied her for a moment, then nodded, pulling his arm away from her. "Hmm. Good."

With that, both of them followed Y/n, ready to start all over again, make a new life.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @awkwardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @blogforficslol @fasoaurore @fanboyluvr @darling006 @sonics-atelier @saltedcoffeescotch @lees-chaotic-brain @leeknows-wife

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts

[little-annie]

Just another @strangerthingswritersguild drabble.

G | WC 635 | Steve, Eddie & Robin

It was a typical Thursday evening in Buckingson home -as previously named by a very inebriated Robin and Eddie. Some random record playing on low, the small space lit by nothing but the orange glow of lamp light and candle flame.

To anyone it would sound like a peaceful night at home.

But not just anyone had Eddie for a live-in boyfriend and Robin for a best friend who also happened to be a roommate. And surely no one had the pair of chaos twins constantly bringing in stray animals to their home.

The first time it'd been a bird, some small feathery thing with a damaged wing that Robin carried into their home with her bare hands and made a nest for out of grass clippings Eddie had gathered in the park. They named the chirpy little thing Squeaker, and by the time it's wing had healed the small animal had been on several road trips and one memorable trip to the grocery store. He'd (?) joined the next migration and now every year since when his flock comes through the city, he'll perch himself on their balcony and chitter until Robin or Eddie come out to say hello.

Then there had been Bambi. A small abandoned fawn Eddie somehow managed to sneak past Steve and into Robin's room where the pair cared for the thing until a wildlife rehabilitation centre could pick it up. Steve didn't find out about that one until he answered the call from the rehab centre offering their update on the creature several weeks later.

There was also Bob the baby Racoon, Dorothy the dumpster cat, Roco the abandoned puppy and now, there was Pumpkin, apparently.

Steve had been in the kitchen slaving away over dinner when he heard the soft click of the front door and the insanely uncharacteristic whispers between Eddie and Robin.

And then there was a meow.

A wretched, croaky thing that sounded as if the newest addition to their home had the same nicotine problem as Eddie.

“Shhhh,” Steve could hear Eddie whisper as he continued to stir the pot of pasta sauce he was making, “Don't want Stevie finding out about you just yet.”

“We gotta bath you first baby,” Robin added.

Steve could only imagine the condition of this animal, let alone the event it would be for Robin and Eddie to bathe it.

But as he had a handful of times before, he pretended he hadn't heard a thing and let the chaotic two carry on.

Just the sound of them attempting to wash the cat was rather comical. Of course there was lots of swearing and one quite loud yelp from Eddie, accompanied by Robin's hushed placating. Funny enough they were still trying to be quiet, but Steve could still hear the murmurs of…

“Are you bleeding?”

“Of course I'm bleeding, Buckley. Did you see the claws on this thing.”

“Did you see the nuts on ‘em?”

“Unfortunately, yes. What the fuck?”

“Should they be that big?”

“I don't know. We'll ask Steve.”

“What do you think happened to his tail?”

“Probably froze off like his ears.”

Jesus Christ.

Twenty minutes, several yowls from the cat, one loud painful sounding yelp from Eddie later, Steve is introduced to Pumpkin.

He's a scraggly looking thing.

One eyed, half tailed and missing the majority of his two ears. The definition of a dumpster cat. Steve's sure the cat stunk before the bath the apparently three before him endured.

Robin and Eddie are soaked head to toe. Bloodied and bandaged. Hair in utter disarray. They look exhausted. But they also look to be just beaming with excitement.

The cat on the other hand, held tightly in Robin's arms looks less than thrilled.

“Steve,” Robin starts, joined by Eddie a moment later, “Sweetheart,”

“Meet Pumpkin.”

[artiststarme]

The Gift of Not Dying Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

It's been awhile but hopefully this will get me back in the groove of things. I hope you like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~ Steve watched as the dazzling smile on Eddie’s face dropped to reveal absolute, unadulterated horror. He clearly wasn’t expecting his best friend/tomorrow’s date/future boyfriend to show up at fuck past two in the morning with a bruised face and blood covered sailor’s uniform. Steve could only imagine how he would respond if Eddie had shown up to Hopper's cabin looking like death the way Steve must right now.

“Oh my god, Steve?! What the fuck happened? Are you alright?” Eddie ushered him into the trailer and gently pushed him to a seat on the couch. 

Steve didn't know how to respond to him. On the one hand, he didn't want Eddie to worry. On the other hand, nothing would ever be alright again. Hop was dead, his body still stuck in the Russian base under Starcourt where he himself had died multiple times. Steve could feel the throbbing of his broken heart's beats pulsating in his face still. He definitely had a concussion if the double vision and underwater hearing were indicative of anything. Worst of all, it was all Steve's fault. This entire situation never would have happened had he not tempted the universe. He was too happy, he knew everything would fall into catastrophe eventually and he hadn't warned anyone.

So instead of answering his best friend, he pulled at Eddie's shoulders until the man got the message and wrapped him in a warm embrace that smelled of Honeybunches, motor oil, and marijuana. All of Steve's favorite smells that usually calmed him down. But not this time.

He sobbed into Eddie's chest, tears and blood mixing together on his face and soaking into the thin black fabric of Eddie's shirt. Steve just couldn't stop. He cried for the pain he'd gone through in the Russian base and the incessant battery he'd endured at the hands of sadists. He cried for the loss of Robin's normal life and the fact that she would probably hate him now since he'd dragged her into the absolute shit-show that was his life. Most of all though, he cried for Hopper. He cried for his dad that adopted him into his little family and gave him a little sister, the dad that dropped everything to help Steve whenever he needed it.

Poor Eddie just hugged him through it all. He didn't know why Steve had woken him up from a dead sleep at an ungodly hour in the morning only to unveil a face more recognizable as ground beef. He didn't know who had beaten him up or why Hopper wasn't behind him in his truck ready to drag him back to the overprotected cabin in the woods. He didn't need to understand because his best friend was in need of help and a good hug which Eddie could provide.

After what felt like hours of crying, Steve rasped, “Eds, Hop is gone. He died tonight.”

Eddie’s hands stopped their soothing circles on his back and he pulled back to look him in the eyes. There was no joking there, just complete and utter dread and hopelessness in the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

“Chief Hopper died tonight? Are you okay, where are you going to go?” He backtracked for a moment and pulled Steve’s battered body to his gently once more. “I’m sorry for your loss, man. I know the Chief was like a father to you. What’s going to happen now?”

Steve wanted to cry, to scream at the world for being so unfair as to take one of the only people that had ever cared for him. But his eyes were dry and his heart was bone tired after such an arduous night. So instead of sobbing some more or breaking down, Steve shrugged. “I’m going to have to go back to my parent’s house. I can’t stay in Hop’s cabin without him there. And El is going to live with Mrs. Byers. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Eddie shook his head and placed a weary hand on Steve's face. He wanted to give him comfort but with all the blood and bruises on his face, he didn't know where to touch without causing more pain. “You can stay here. Wayne won’t mind as long as we don’t mess with his mug or cap collections. He’s got a habit for taking in strays. Hell, just look at me. You’ll always have a place here.”

Steve couldn’t move in though. Everywhere he went, misfortune followed. He was like a plague, sucking the life out of everything he touched. It started with his parents and he sucked the joy right out of their lives leaving nothing but bitterness and sorrow, certainly not enough love for the disappointment he became. It broke Nancy by killing her best friend and tainting their relationship. Steve should’ve kept his distance from Hop and El but his selfishness won out in the end. And now Hopper was gone. Steve’s plague had struck once again and had stolen his happiness with it. He couldn’t do that to Eddie and Wayne, they’d been through far too much already. They didn’t deserve to deal with him on top of it all. 

“Thanks but I don’t want you guys to get sick of me. I’ll just stay at my parent’s house and crash here when they come home. If that’s okay with you and Wayne.”

Eddie shook his head before entwining his fingers with Steve’s. “Of course it is. We’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, let’s deal with your face. Did you go to the hospital? I can literally see the bruises swelling in front of my eyes. There’s no way you don’t have a concussion right now, why would they let you drive like this?”

“They didn’t, I walked,” Steve corrected distractedly. His mind was reeling over grief and pain, too distracted to abide by the story he was supposed to use. 

“Walked from where?”

“Starcourt,” his mouth just kept talking despite his eyes seeing the alarm on Eddie’s face. “The Russians stole my car keys so I couldn’t drive. It’s fine though, I have an extra set in the kitchen of my parent’s house. It was only four miles or so, not too bad in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had worse.”

Eddie just looked at him blankly, too indecisive to decide on concern, horror, or anger at whoever had done this to his friend. He was pretty positive he loved this weirdo, who the fuck had the audacity to keep beating him to a pulp? Couldn't these monsters see how lovable he was?!

“Um, I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m getting my keys and we’re going to the hospital. I don’t need to know what happened, especially since I’m pretty positive that you’re concussed and not making sense. I just need to know you’re okay so we’re going to the ER. Let me just call Wayne and we can go.” Eddie motioned with both hands for Steve to stay still and he did. Even when he heard crashing in Eddie’s room while he looked for his keys and panicked whispers when he finally reached Wayne on the phone, Steve remained in his seat on the old couch.  

He knew he didn’t have to go to the hospital, the worst that could happen already had, but he couldn’t reveal that to Eddie. So, he’d bite his tongue and go through the motions. That was his specialty after all. For now, he’d let Eddie take care of him. He would ignore the grief that blackened his soul and the pain that accompanied the thought of his found family breaking apart. He'd deal with the trauma of loss and pain and death sometime later when he could handle a breakdown alone. At this very moment, Steve would hold himself together and lie to his friend and the doctors he was forced to see to keep the Party's secret. He had already dragged Robin into this mess and had probably lost her in the process, he didn't think he could survive losing Eddie too.

Tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @counting-dollars-counting-stars @newtstabber @estrellami-1 @thegoblinboy @manda-panda-monium @i-less-than-three-you @joruni @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mentalcyborg @vampireinthesun @spectrum-spectre @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @nam-draws @anaibis @zerokrox-blog @renaissan-vvitch @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @labels-are-for-the-weak @amoris-no-smut-allowed @5ammi90 @precursorandthedragon @i-must-potato @valinwonderland @lololol-1234 @wonderland-girl143-blog @tailsfromthecrypt @trippypancakes @ghosttotheparty @thing-a-ling @bleach-the-kitten @pyrohonk @carlyv @gregre369 @lololol-1234

@conversesweetheart @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @perseus-notjackson @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @lumoschild @lawrencebshoggoth @devondespresso @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @nohomoyesbi @theseaofdespair @justdrugsformethanks @space-invading-pigeon @audz-aus @mintmont

[ultimateissuessimp]

Ohhhh can you write cat king x dog king please? like enemies to lovers so cute I think! feel free to decline obv

Oooh you guys have no idea how much I adore writing for the Cat King 🥹 If the word count doesn't express that, I don't know what could. Thank you for this amazing request, I had a field day with it 🙏

Also HAPPY PRIDE MONTH Y'ALL! 🏳️‍🌈❤️

Fleabag and a Dirty Mutt

The Cat King x Dog King!Male Reader

Word count: 2,759

Warnings: Mention of a character dying (Don't worry, he's alive 🙌), animal cruelty (does that count-?), violence, suggestive language (Nothing happens tho 😔), can this be passed off as hurt/comfort? I don't know, really

When people talk about the stereotype of dogs and cats being mortal enemies, they're not that far away from the truth. They may bit be exactly mortal enemies, but the hate and deep rooted dislike is there. There are instances when dogs and cats live in harmony, but not these two. The monarchs. The royalty. The Dog King and the Cat King. Both too stubborn to change places where they rule, one at the docks, the other keeping closer to the woods, trying to stay as far away from the other as possible.

They had so many run ins with each other that it was a miracle they hadn't tried to kill one another yet. It surely felt like they were close to it though, especially from a point of view of an outsider. Those outsiders being two certain ghosts alongside a quite powerful medium visiting Port Townsend that started causing a little ruckus. Naturally the Cat King at first didn't care even though he was aware of them, of course until one of them used magic on one of his cats. Then he started closely observing them. While the Dog King, being the, well, being that he was, couldn't help but grow interested the moment he caught their very interesting scent, unlike any other ghost's or person in the town and the number was quite big. From the beginning he carefully observed them, before revealing himself when the, now group, clearly needed his help.

From that moment on they began something akin to a business partnership. They get rid of the damned witch that was only causing troubles for him while he protects them and helps them however he can, either his strength, wisdom or resourcefulness. They worked together, both sides diligently fulfilling their side of the agreement and everything was going really well until that new boy appeared. When he first sniffed the air while the new guy was around, his nose immediately scrunched up in displeasure. He reeked with magic, but he couldn't quite place it why or where was it coming from. Then he started talking about astrology and everything else with Edwin and Y/N's demeanor, while still cautious and distrusting, changed from an on guard one to a more relaxed stance. He thought that that was probably where the stench was coming from. The boy was either practising witchcraft or had it deeply rooted within him which was slowly waking up. He was wrong though, big time.

Then was also Thomas. That fucking fleabag that was a constant pain in his ass. He wanted to just rip his throat out with his teeth over and over again until the being was out of lives, but at the same time he felt like he would probably, ironically, miss the damn cat. That didn't change the fact that he was absolutely getting in his nerves whenever he could. This was one of those moments, the two accidentally bumping into each other at the viewing spot that the Cat King visited previously to talk with, and slightly torment, Edwin.

The large fawn and tan coated Doberman trudged up the stairs, from time to time looking up to the starry night sky to see if any star was shining much brighter than the rest and letting out a quiet, pleased sound when he found one. It was a little something to pass the time, especially when he was on a walk like this one.

When he finally got to the top and took a whiff of the air around, wanting to feel the freshness of the air coming from the water, but instead he could smell a very distinguishable scent of a certain fleabag. He immediately snarled when his eyes finally found the orange cat sitting on the stone ledge. He got an angry hiss in response and a swat of a paw, hitting the air, not even close to the dog. Y/N swiftly turned into his human form, an orange swirl forming around him before quickly disappearing when he stood on two feet instead of two pairs of paws, Thomas doing the same, the cat dissappearing in a purple flame, letting the human form take his place.

-What the fuck are you doing here, you damn mutt? - the Cat King asked, clearly annoyed as he looked at the Dog King with an disinterested look.

-I could ask you the same thing, fleabag. Don't you think you're treading a bit too close to my territory? - Y/N fired back, slightly baring his teeth before crossing his arms over his chest and walking over to the stone ledge, looking out into the view despite it being quite dark.

-Oh don't flatter yourself, I simply felt like having a bit of peace away from everyone and everything. This place seemed ideal, but now that you're here everything is ruined - Thomas answered with sass, he couldn't help the eyeroll that followed his statement as he stayed on his spot on the ledge, sitting on it with his legs crossed, one on the other, arms keeping him up behind him.

-Hm, sweet as always I see? Can your mouth do anything other than talk a load of shit? - Y/N asked another question, his eyes going to the Cat King without turning his head, a clearly unamused look on his face.

-It can also take loads, but you will never get to experience that, so why bother? - the man fired back with a smug smirk tugging at his lips, his canines showing off as the smirk grew into a satisfied grin at the Dog King's reaction that only spoke of disgust.

-As if I'd ever even let your face get anywhere near me that isn't at least six feet of distance - the Dog King said, distaste in his mouth at the simple thought of such a scenario.

That night went by in snarky comments and teasing before finally one of them decided they had enough of the company and went back to their kingdom. That was a few days ago, after that more pressing matters appeared that had the Dog King speeding to the forest in his Doberman form, picking up speed with each small sounds he was hearing in the distance. He knew those kids would get into some serious shit, but the fact they had a spy between them? A spy that worked for someone that wanted to kill them without any remorse? That was beyond trouble.

He was slightly late to the party, Monty already being exposed by the Cat King at whose sight Y/N rolled his eyes, before he reminded himself why he was there. He needed to help the kids, even though if that meant going against Esther and the agreement they made a long time ago.

He changed into his human form at the moment when Thomas was telling Edwin that the second kiss was always better before pressing his lips to Monty's for a brief moment. Y/N stared in surprise, as if frozen in his spot a few feet behind Edwin. A weird feeling started to appear in his chest, tugging as if someone smashed their hand into his chest, wrapped it around his heart and started squeezing. He winced in displeasure, before becoming mortified at the realisation that what he felt was jealousy. He was jealous of Monty.

He quickly shook his head before finally coming into the light, facial expression serious as he looked at Monty, trying not to let it slip how he felt not too long ago. There were more pressing matters to tend to than his silly feelings. He could take care of them later on when there wasn't a second death threat looming over the two ghosts and a first one for the two girls with them.

-I think it's time for you to go, Thomas. You've said what you wanted to say, if you have no intention of helping further on, just go bother someone fucking else - Y/N said, a little growl behind his words as he remained an eye contact with the Cat King while speaking, his nose scrunching slightly.

-Whatever. I'm out. Have fun, mutty - Thomas said, rolling his eyes before disappearing in purple flames, taking the source of light with himself.

Y/N looked at Edwin and then Monty carefully, assessing if there would be any action necessary like protecting the ghost from the crow or any other threat that Esther might have coming for them. When he didn't see or feel anything wrong in particular, he relaxed just a tiny bit, still on high alert for any danger while Edwin went at it, spewing out how betrayed he felt because of Monty.

When they were done there and reunited with the rest of the group, took care of the massive mushroom that tried to suck them into itself and be ultimately their demise alongside Esther, seemingly getting rid of her by sending her into a different dimension with the mushroom, only then could they let out a breath of relief while resting in Niko's apartment room. After some time Y/N decides that it's time to go back to his territory, letting the group properly rest after a night full of, well, bullshit. That was also his excuse to think about his feelings towards the Cat King. After just a minute of thinking he realized he was fucked. Utterly and royally fucked.

It was not that long after, a day or two maybe, when Y/N felt something was wrong. His mind was running a thousand thoughts per second while he felt squeamish and uneasy. Finally one thought became the beacon amidst the sea of them. The Cat King. Something was terribly wrong and it made him worried. That's why he turned into his dog form and sped towards the dogs, being careful enough with the cats he was passing, but also not letting them stop him in any way, growling at some that tried pouncing on him.

When he finally got to the docks and basically slammed through the warehouse doors, uncaring about the damage, he felt a sense of dread fill his body when he saw the last hit that a very pissed and determined Esther delivered to the Cat King's body, easily taking away his third life with her cane. He knew the man still have quite a few lives left, but it still mad him enraged with the witch, that damned fucking witch that was an ever bigger pain in his ass than the Cat King that was currently trying to get used to his new life and changing into his human form.

Before Thomas could even get a word out, Y/N let out a loud growl and a warning bark before launching full speed at Esther, leaping over the Cat King who slightly covered when he heard Y/N approach quickly. He landed right on her, making her slam down onto the ground while his full weight rested on her. He bit harshly into her upper arm before standing up and trashing his head around, tugging on it, causing some damage to her body, her head hitting concrete already making her slightly dizzy. When she got the chance to free herself, she shouted in frustration and anger, clutching her arm tightly to her chest before landing one strong blow with her cane to the Dog King's head. While she put some space between them, he changed into his human form, a clear sign of damage she made also visible on his temple that was bleeding down the side of his face. Yet he still stood there seemingly unfazed, shielding Thomas with his own body, standing in Esther's way if she happened to get another surge of violance out of herself.

And then of course when he got out of his initial shock, the Cat King had to start shouting about Esther making his lose his third life and blabber out the fact that Edwin had been through Hell, literally and metaphorically, clearly giving Esther an idea, judging by the look on her face. He simply couldn't shut the fuck up when he should.

When the witch left, Y/N turned towards the Cat King, assessing his new look, his heart skipping a beat once or twice. While he didn't like the circumstances of the change, he really didn't mind the new aesthetic. It suited him. Anything suited him right ally, but the black looked especially... Nice.

While Y/N was taking the view in front of him in, the Cat King started ranting about how stupid he was for even risking his own life like that, taking a couple steps towards the Dog King and taking his face firmly, yet carefully into his hands, turning it to the sides however he seemed fit, checking for any other damages than the most obvious one on his temple. When he didn't see other wounds, he sighed before tugging the sleeve of his coat more onto his hand, trapping the material with his fingers to his palm to keep it covered and bringing it up to Y/N's temple, gently cleaning it off of blood.

-Why the fuck would you do that? Have you gone completely insane, you dirty mutt? - Thomas huffed out in concerned annoyance, wiping away at the side of the Dog King's face, being careful not to irritate the wound further on.

-Long time ago, kitty. I felt that something was wrong and I just couldn't ignore it. You were in trouble and you expected me to just stay away? Really? For how long have we known each other that you still think such bullshit? - Y/N replied, raising one eyebrow at Thomas while his half lidded eyes slowly traveled all across the man's face, the Cat King clearly not noticing his stare since he was too engrossed in patching the Dog King up, even whipping a small cat themed bandaid out of thin air and placing it on the wound.

-Yes, clearly. If you were in trouble and I knew, I wouldn't give two shits, honestly. One annoying mutt less and did you just call me "kitty"? The fuck? She really smacked you hard, damn - the Cat King said, shaking his head and huffing out in an annoyed way, yet the concern written all over his face spoke of something else and so did the barely there blush that appeared when his brain finally processed what Y/N had called him, his heart doing a little flip.

-Mhmm... For sure - Y/N replied shortly and simply, a small cheeky smirk pulling at the left corner of his lips, his eyes still roaming all over the man's face before finally settling on his eyes, the Cat King's own dilated ones staring right back into his.

They both continued looking into each other's eyes, before Y/N finally had enough and leaned in after cupping Thomas' face in his hands gently. His chapped lips pressed sweetly, yet a bit needily into the Cat King's own soft ones. Needy to feel that everything was okay. That Thomas was okay. That he himself was okay. That they were and will be okay. The Cat King responded rapidly by wrapping his arms around the other man's neck tightly, keeping his close. They only pulled away when breathing comfortably started to be a struggle, chests heaving as they breathed deeply, forehead pressed tightly together.

-Don't... Don't ever do that again. Don't try to save my life or one of them when your own gets compromised because of it - Thomas whispered out, his eyes closing and scrunching slightly as an image of badly wounded Dog King entered his mind, but he quickly shoo'ed it away. He swallowed hard before opening his eyes once again just to be met with a big grin on Y/N's face.

-Can't promise that, kitty. Especially not when I know that now you're an unlucky black cat - the Dog King fired back teasingly with a chuckle, his nose rubbing softly against the man's in his arms that were now comfortably resting, wrapped around Thomas' waist.

-Oh fuck you - he got as a reply, a chuckle of his own leaving the Cat King moments before he was the one to initiate another kiss. That one softer, filled with gratefulness and something else entirely. Something as sweet as a cherry blossom tea with a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies.

-If you wish, sure - Y/N said into the kiss, both of them unable to contain the smile that were gracing their faces as they kept close to one another. All they had to do now was simply revel in this new feeling and let it grow like a bush of roses.

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

He's dead

"Hello, is this Sally Jackson?"

"Yeah, one of Percy's friends I'm guessing? I'll put him on the phone for you."

"Thank you."

"Hey...?"

"Hi.. it's Leo."

"WHERE THE FVCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!?"

"Language Percy! I don't want Estelle picking that up."

"Sorry mom."

"I forgot you didn't know I was back, I need to tell you something."

"Is everything okay? Is there another prophecy? I swear to the gods if there's anoth-"

"Are Annabeth and Grover with you?"

"No, Leo what's happening? You sound scared." Percy heard sobbing through the phone, "Take a deep breath, what's going on?"

"J-Jason... he- he.. fvcking sh!t- Jason's dead."

"No. No he can't be- but how? Why?!" Percy let out a scream of pain, breaking down into tears. "W- when..?"

"Two weeks ago, I told Piper I would tell you but I haven't been able to do it until now."

"Is she with you?"

"No, I'm alone."

"Where are you?"

"On some street in the middle of somewhere with no money, where I've been for two weeks."

"Are you in New York?"

"Yeah, somewhere in Manhattan."

"Describe it, you're coming over."

"Why...?"

"Just come, I don't think you should be alone right now." As he gave directions everything sunk in, Jason was dead. He would never fvcking see him again, never be able to laugh with him again, everything would never be the same again. He'd lost his bro, the one who'd always do dumb sh!t with him, the one he could talk to about anything but they'd always still be chill. He was gone.

Percy open the door with bloodshot eyes, tears still rolling down his face. Leo was a wreck, he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week, or eaten for that fact. He hugged him, they both half collapsed on each other, holding so tightly it was as if the other was about to disappear.

"Percy, is everything alright? Who's here? I heard crying what happ-" As the hug broke Sally caught sight of the small boy,

"Mom meet Leo, son of Hephaestus."

"Hello, you can stay here as long as you need I know demigod lives are hard. Go take a shower, I'll get you something to eat, if you want we can talk about what happened."

"Thank-k you." Leo whispered, unable to keep his voice from breaking.

"Percy, what's going on?"

"You remember how I told you about camp Jupiter... and..Jason?"

"Of course I do."

"He- he died.. I don't know what happened, I don't know why he even got involved but he's gone." Percy broke down, his mother's arms wrapped around him. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Annie."

"One step at a time, I know things are hard."

"HE WAS BARELY SIXTEEN!"

"I'm so sorry, you can't bring him back."

"But I could."

"Perc-"

"The gods ask for so much but they can't bring back a single person who died fighting for them!?"

"You know they're cruel,"

"I can't do this anymore."

"Leo, you feeling okay? Physically."

"I'm fine."

"Do you want to talk about Jason? I know he was your best friend, he was one of mine."

"He- he was my boyfriend, surprise." He didn't give him any time to answer before continuing but he could see the sympathy is his eyes. "Percy you've lost so many people, how do you keep going on? How do you carry on every day knowing you'll never see them again?"

"It's not easy, especially at the beginning. Somedays it's hard to go through wit somedays your fine, somedays you wish you could join them. They say time heals, that's not exactly true, but people help you heal, if people want to help, let them, even if you don't think it will. I know you want to run away, I know everything seems pointless but right now the worst thing is to be alone."

"I've lost my mum, I've lost Jason, who's next? I have no family that wants me, and my whole life's being controlled by the gods who don't give a shit about us."

"I probably shouldn't be saying this but... do you want a smoke? That's what I've been doing for the past few days, I know it's unhealthy but it... helps."

"Yeah, thanks Perce."

"Can I... show you something?"

"Yeah, you alright?" A tear fell from his eye,

"Ever since Jason- I just couldn't take it anymore... I... I need... some h-help, please." Leo rolled up his sleeves, his arms covered in burns; his breath was unsteady almost scared. "S-sorry." Percy pulled him into a hug,

"You don't have to apologise, I know it seems pointless to go on, I have scars to." Percy turned his forearm revealing pale scars all over his arms.

"But-t you're... you're... THE Percy Jackson, you've been on so many quests and you're so strong an-"

"That's what people thought, I still haven't forgiven myself for Bianca's death, or Beckendorf's or Luke's. But at some point you have to keep going on, you can't spend the rest of eternity grieving. Instead live for them, live to show their sacrifice made a difference because at the end of the day... you can't bring them back."

"How do you find the courage to try."

"You don't just wake up one day and suddenly be okay, it takes time, maybe your life won't be the exact same, but you have to keep living. I can't pretend I've gotten over Jason's death, I've been high a lot in these past few weeks... but I know at some point I'll have to move on."

"Thank you for everything Percy."

______________________

I wrote this a while ago and I thought I would post it because I'm taking forever to post the next Helpless part xx

[tinyarmedtrex]

Hello! Would you do

61. “I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

for firstprince please? 🤍

Going for the ANGST, I love it. Thank you!

Henry gaped at the ring. It was nestled perfectly in a little red box, the diamonds shining under the light. It was objectively gorgeous. Alex had done a good job. Expensive but not flashy, tasteful. 

"Well H?" Alex asked, unable to hide his excitement. "What do you think? Come on," He nudged Henry with an elbow. "I need your thoughts if you're going to be my best man." 

Henry choked back a sob. He had to look away as he attempted to school his face into something besides horror and finding that he couldn't. It seemed that his face had forgotten how to smile. 

"Don't you think it's a bit soon?"

He didn't have to be looking at Alex to know he was frowning. "It's been a year. We're not getting any younger and Amber isn't going to wait forever."

The response made him wonder if Alex truly wanted to do this. Not that it really mattered, once Alex decided it was nearly impossible to get him to change his mind. Once Alex set his mind to something he was going to make it happen, come hell or high water. 

It was one of the many things he loved about Alex. Along with his kindness, his attentiveness, how he knew Henry's exact order for every restaurant, how he would curl up next to Henry and everything bad would seem to disappear, how he never made Henry feel guilty for his bad days and instead sat with him, waiting them out. 

Henry had been in love with Alex practically since they met. After a rough start they became friends and then roommates. Henry knew it was risky to room with his unrequited straight man crush but when Alex had asked, he'd found it impossible to say no. And living with him had proved amazing. From the late-night movies to the early morning breakfasts and everything in between, Henry had loved it. 

He'd thought that Alex loved it too. He'd never considered that Alex was thinking about the rest of his life, a life where he was married and living elsewhere.

"Henry, what's wrong? I thought you liked her." Alex's voice had shifted to concern. Much like David, Alex was an expert on Henry's mood. Curse him for being so attuned. Just this once he'd like to be able to hide his emotions.

"I do. I -" Henry looked up at Alex. At his warm brown eyes and perfect curls. At the man who had captured his heart years ago, entirely without meaning to.

“Alex, I- I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

Henry was horrified. He hadn't intended to say it. The words had spilled from his lips like tea from an overfilled cup. 

He'd just confessed his feelings to his nearly engaged friend. To his straight best friend. 

"I'm so sorry Alex. I should never have- I need to go." Henry turned on his heel and went to his room, throwing items into an overnight bag and then scooping up David. When he went to back into the hall Alex had disappeared. That was probably for the best, though he couldn't deny the pain in his chest.

He went to Pez's, explaining through tears what he'd done before collapsing onto the guest bed. 

Three days later and Henry was still there. He hadn't heard from Alex, not a peep since his idiotic confession. He was still kicking himself for it. He'd ruined everything, a lifelong friendship, and for what? Nothing. He wouldn't blame Alex if the man never wanted to see him again.

"Hazza," Pez sang before opening his door. "There's someone here to see you."

He sat up, brushing the Jaffa cake crumbs off his shirt. "Tell me you didn't call Bea." He didn't want anyone else to know what he'd done.

"It's not Bea." Pez said before flitting away. 

Then another figure filled the doorway. Alex. He looked nearly as rough as Henry, with dark circles under his eyes and lifeless curls. 

Henry sprang to his feet, grateful that Pez had been making him shower every day. "Alex I-" Oh what to even say? "I'm sorry. I truly am." Barely five words in and he was already crying. "What I said- I put us both in an awful spot. I hope you can forgive me, one day. I know-" 

His speech was cut off as Alex surged forwarded, pressing his lips to Henry's. Henry sank into it. It was everything he'd always imagined it would be. Alex's lips were soft against Henry's, warm and plush. He could have lost himself in it if not for the gnawing pit in his stomach.

He broke the kiss and started to ask, "What-"

"I love you too." Alex interrupted.

His eyes were likely the size of saucers. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead, he simply shook his head.

Alex huffed a laugh. "I do. Fuck H, it took you confessing for me to realize it, but I do. I always have." He stepped back in, cupping the back of Henry's neck. "Something clicked when you said those words and I knew, I knew I had to say them back." 

"But-" His brain still wasn't working. This had to be a dream of some sort. "You're straight."

"Apparently not so much." He let out a rueful laugh. "I made a list. When I wrote it all down, well, it was obvious. I called Amber and broke things off with her. Honestly, she wasn't too surprised." He shrugged. "Seems everyone knew but me." Alex locked eyes with Henry. "Sorry it took me so long."

"This isn't real." Henry said, his brows furrowing. "It can't be." Henry didn't get the love story, the happy ending.

Alex's hands moved to his cheeks. "It's not. Henry, I love you. And, assuming I didn't fuck everything up by abandoning you for three days, I'd really like to take you on a date." 

Henry opened and closed his mouth. It was surreal. Here was Alex, confessing his feelings, offering Henry everything he'd ever wanted. He'd dreamed of this more times than he could count but had never expected it to actually happen. 

"Unless it's too late." Alex dropped his hold and stepped back. "I'd understand if-"

"No!" He cried, grabbing Alex's hand to stop him from moving. "Alex I would have waited a millennia for you."

 Alex grinned at him. "Five years was probably enough." He stepped back in, comfortably crowding Henry's space. "So, a date? What do you say?"

"One thing, before I agree."

"Anything baby."

"Kiss me again."

Alex's grin grew as he pulled Henry's face to his. "Thought you'd never ask."

This time they didn't break apart for a long time. 

[captain-fantasy]

cillian murphy! peaky blinders setting x reader.

could you do a fic where Thomas Shelby and the reader meet at a pub after Grace dies (cuz thomas is high key sad and wants to drink) and some heavy smut happens between both of them.

-🦆anon

Unveiled Hearts - Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, alcohol, smut

Grace's death had shaken Thomas Shelby unlike anything had before. He lost his beloved wife, the mother of his child, and the only person he felt would ever truly understand him. 

Thomas had retreated into himself, shutting out the world and drowning himself in whatever alcohol would provide momentary comfort. His family had tried to console him, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Instead, he was consumed by his grief, anger, and regret. 

One late night, as Thomas sat alone in his study, he heard a knock at the door. He didn't bother getting up to answer it, barely moving his eyes to look at it. He knew it was probably just one of his brothers or Aunt Polly, but when the door opened, and you walked in, he felt something profound within his heart begin to light, something he hadn't felt since he was with Grace. 

You were one of the few people he trusted, a confidante who had always been there for him no matter what, even when you were kids. But you took one look at him and knew that something was wrong. His eyes were sunken and heavy, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes were in front of you. The stoic man you once knew was fading right in front of you. 

"Tommy," you said softly, closing the door behind you. "What's happened?"

Thomas didn't answer, staring at the floor as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. You walked over and sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Talk to me, Tommy," you said. "Let me help you."

Thomas looked up at you, the gorgeous blue eyes you loved now filled with pain, his voice full of desperation. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I don't know how to live without her."

You didn't try to offer false comforts; you knew that wouldn't be helpful. So instead, you just sat there with him, holding him close and letting him cry. 

You sat there with Thomas for hours, listening to him talk about Grace. He spoke of their love, their plans for the future, and their shared dreams. As the night wore on, Thomas' tears began to dry up, and he fell into a deep sleep. You stayed with him, watching over him as he slept and promising to be there for him no matter what. 

You watched him until you saw the sun begin to rise, not even noticing how much time had passed since you saw him fall asleep. Then, finally, he began to stir, brows furrowing as small whines escaped his lips. You quickly got up, placing your hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake and bring him out of his nightmare. 

Thomas slowly opened his eyes, confused and disoriented. When he realized where he was, he sat abruptly, looking around the room. 

"You stayed with me all night?" he asked, his voice hoarse. 

You nodded, smiling softly at him. "I wasn't going to leave you alone, Tommy."

Thomas looked at you for a long moment, his eyes less bloodshot and tired, now filled with gratitude and admiration. "Thank you," he said finally.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Of course, Tommy. You needed a friend."

Your own words stung you a little. You always loved Thomas, but you knew it was wise to just stay friends. Clearly, his way of life was far too dangerous for him to let anyone else in. What happened to Grace just made that even more evident. 

As one of the only people he trusted enough to let you see him like this, you knew it must have taken a lot from him to let his guard down, allowing you to see him at his worst. But then, when he stood up, you saw the effects of his work on his body. His arms and torso were littered with scars and healing cuts, and blue, black, and purple bruises mottled across his chest, almost covering his tattoo. 

Your mind came back down when he finally stood up, the hardwood floor creaking underneath him. Your eyes followed him as he dressed, watching as he carefully picked everything out, as if putting on a costume that would present himself to the world, covering up the wounds he tried so hard to hide.  

It was a while before either of you spoke. 

"Listen, I know it's early, but would you like to come back here for dinner tonight? I want to thank you properly for being here for me."

You smiled, looking down for a moment before you nodded, "I'd love to, Tommy. I'll see you tonight."

As you left Thomas's house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. You knew it was wrong to hold on to these feelings so soon after his wife died, but you also knew that it would be good for Thomas to get out of his hole and start moving on. 

You returned to his house adorably prompt, deciding whether to knock or just walk in. You have been to his house countless times, and you were basically considered family, but because of this event, you were unsure if you should–

"How long were you standing there?" Thomas asked, pulling the door open. 

"Not too long."

Even though you'd been there before, the atmosphere had undoubtedly changed. Candles were lit, and the room smelled like the dish Tommy had spent all day trying to make. He was never a good cook, but the sentiment was there. 

You could tell that he had put a lot of effort into making this dinner special, and it was clear that he wanted to show his appreciation for everything you had done for him. 

As you sat down at the table, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness. You knew that Thomas was still grieving, and you didn't want to do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. But as the night went on, the conversation flowed easily between you. You talked about everything and anything, from the secrets of your past to the hopes of the future. You were one of the only people he allowed to know his past. 

When you finished your meal and started to clear the table, Thomas reached out and took your hand. 

"I have to tell you something," he said softly, his eyes locked onto yours. 

You felt your heart racing as you waited for him to continue speaking. 

"I know this might not be the right time, and I know that people will talk shit about us, but I can't keep it inside anymore," he started. He had a lot to drink during your dinner, and you heard his words slur when he walked closer to you. The smell of whiskey on his breath burned your nose. 

"You're drunk, Tommy. We shouldn't–"

"Stop, just stop," he spoke, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling you closer, forcing you to listen to him. 

"You've been the only constant in my life since we were kids, y/n. I was an idiot to not see it before." His hand moved from your wrist to wrap around your waist. "All I've been thinking about for weeks was you."

Your eyes never left him. You were looking for any sign of a lie, but he was serious as far as you could tell. 

"I've felt so guilty, but I can't be without you anymore." he finished, waiting for you to respond. 

You felt the wetness between your legs growing, and you pressed your legs together to try and relieve the ache that had been there since you walked into the house.

"Kiss me, Tommy."

He didn't wait any longer, pulling you close for a deep kiss. The way his body pressed against you took all the air from your lungs, and for the first time in months, he could forget and lose himself in your touch. You moaned into his mouth, tasting the liquor he was drinking just a few moments ago. His hands traveled down your body, resting underneath the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful as he pressed you against the table. 

This kiss turned more aggressive before he turned you around and bent you over the table, reaching over to push the dishes he'd been working on all day off of the table. He pulled your bottoms down in seconds, looking at your dripping folds in the candlelight. 

"Already this wet?" he teased, "I've barely touched you." 

His voice was low in a way you hadn't heard before. His index finger gathered some of the wetness that hat started to drip down your legs, sliding effortlessly through your folds and making you desperate for more of him. 

"Please, Tommy, please." You've never sounded so pathetic. 

"Easy, sweetheart, I'll give you what you want." His voice got breathier. When you looked behind you, you saw that he had taken his aching cock out of his pants, giving it a few tugs, and lining against your entrance. You whined in anticipation, arching your back and pushing your ass out to touch him. 

With one quick push, his entire length was inside of you. The air left your body again, and you relished the breathy moans you heard from Tommy's lips. 

His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you were sure that you'd be sore for days when you were done. Tommy pounded into you, almost entirely dragging his entire length out before slamming into you again, the feeling almost too much for you to handle as you felt your orgasm approaching. 

This was not making love; it was purely physical. You knew that, and yet, you couldn't help yourself from imagining what it would be like to wake up with Thomas in the morning with his arms around you, hands traveling across his chest as you stared into his eyes while you made slow, passionate love. Not caring about what was happening outside your bedroom. 

In another life, you suppose.

You were brought out of your daydream when your orgasm hit you. Your vision turned white, and the fire in your stomach spread throughout your entire body. Tommy finished right after you, the feeling of fucking you through your orgasm too much for him to continue. 

As his hips stilled, your heavy breathing became the only thing he heard. Tommy gently turned you around to face him, and for the first time, you found it difficult to look him in the eyes. His hand moved under your chin, carefully cradling your face to have you look at him. 

A soft warmth spread through your body as his fingers brushed against your skin. You finally met his intense gaze, and within those piercing eyes, you saw a vulnerability you had never witnessed before. The smell of sex and the weight of unspoken words were heavy between you. 

Tommy broke the silence with a trembling voice, "I've been fighting it, but I can't hide it any longer. I love you. I have since we were kids and every day since that."

His confession left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Emotions swirled within you, a mixture of joy and fear. You had longed to hear him say those words, but now that they were out, a world of uncertainties lay before you. 

Tommy continued, his voice filled with sincerity, "I understand if you don't feel the same or if this complicates our relationship, but I couldn't bear another day without telling you the truth. If you have me, I want to be by your side. I'd do anything for you. "

Gathering your courage, you touched his cheek, your thumb drawing tiny circles on his soft skin. 

"I love you, Tommy. With everything I have, I'm completely and hopelessly in love with you."

As the weight of unspoken feelings was finally lifted, you found solace in his embrace. The world around you faded away at that moment, leaving only the two of you. 

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