#listened to daylight on repeat the entire time i wrote this and cried

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (epilogue)

synopsis: on her 29th birthday, nora wakes up in her new home.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, swearing, smut (brief oral sex and shower sex), bradley is an idiot (affectionate), nora and jake are happy and domestic and in love. (wc: 4.4K)

note: i'm saving my sappy note for the end, but if you'd like all of the vibes, listen to daylight before or while reading 🩵

previous chapter | series post

TAGS: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @sometimesanalice @callsignspark @hangmanbrainrot @kandierteveilchen @startrekfangirl2233 @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @kajjaka @roosterbruiser

On the morning of her 29th birthday, Nora is awake before the sun.

At her side, Jake is fast asleep, a pillow crease across his flushed cheek, visible proof of how early it really is because between them, Jake is usually the earlier riser. He’s such a morning person. It’s almost obnoxious. 

During the week, he gets up at the crack of dawn – sometimes before, 4:45 AM sharp – and runs the five miles up the coast to Torrey Pines. He’s back with enough time to kiss a groggy Nora good morning and shower before he has to drive the half hour down to North Island.

It doesn’t make much sense logistically for him to sleep over during the week and drive an hour to and from the base – sometimes more with the evening traffic – but when Nora brought it up to him, watching a movie with him on the couch, tucked into his arms, Jake shrugged it off and said, “It’s worth it to me,” with a sweet kiss on her cheek. 

Weekends are nicer, slower.

On a slow weekend morning – a morning like this one – Jake sleeps in. He does a shorter run with the intention of catching her still in bed after; slipping back under the covers, freshly showered with dripping hair, a clean soap smell to his skin; hoping to convince her to spend another hour in bed with him.

(She never needs much coaxing.)

But now, for once, Nora’s the one who is awake.

She rolls onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, at the exposed wood beams that slant overhead; listening to the steady rhythm of Jake’s even breaths at her side and the faint clicking sound of the AC switching back on – because Jake runs warm and Nora lived in the city too long to be able to sleep without some sort of background noise  – and outside, the gentle sound of the songbirds, flitting between the branches of the lemon trees in the garden, chirping softly. 

Is there enough bird seed in the feeder? She makes a mental note to check. 

She gives herself a few more minutes to will herself back to sleep before she gets up.

She’s never awake this early. She shouldn’t let it go to waste. 

Nora quietly patters across the room to the dresser and digs blindly around the top drawer for a blue one-piece she knows is in here somewhere. She doesn’t want to pull out her phone and use the flashlight, not when Jake is still sleeping so Nora continues to feel around in the near darkness in the mess of a drawer. 

She’s actually been thinking about clearing it out, moving everything in it to the second drawer so…

So Jake can have his own drawer.

She’s never lived with a boyfriend before – never gotten serious enough with one to get to that stage – and while Jake doesn’t actually live with her, he has started to leave some of his clothes at her place. 

It was unintentional at first. He'd come back from a run and throw his sweat-stained shirt into the hamper out of habit and forget to grab it from the laundry room. And then, Jake asked if Nora minded him leaving a spare linen-button-up in the closet for those nights when Nora wants to put on a little black dress and blow $50 on drinks alone at some beachside wine bar in Del Mar. 

She has been finding his clothes here more and more and always ends up leaving them in the closet or folded on the dresser, but Jake should have a place to leave them, have a place here.

She finally finds the swimsuit and ducks into the bathroom to change.

He’s still asleep when Nora comes back out, chest rising and falling, steady like the sea, arm outstretched into the slight indent in the mattress where Nora used to be. She catches her lip between her teeth, smiling, and slips outside. 

A pre-dawn chill lurks in the late summer air as Nora locks the blue door behind her and heads down to the beach. She’s grateful for her extra layer, a faded NYU sweatshirt that’s almost long enough to cover the hem of the linen shorts Nora pulled on inside. 

She doesn’t see a single person on the sidewalks on her short walk to the beach. It’s quiet and calm, and within a few minutes, Nora kicks off her sandals and sinks her blue-painted toes into the cool sand.

Dropping her bag in the sand, Nora casts off the sweatshirt and shorts and stuffs them into the bag.

She wades waist high into the ocean and curses sharply under her breath.

A sunrise swim might sound very dreamy and all, but goddamn, it’s so cold.

“Fuck,” Nora hisses.

She sucks in a harsh breath, bracing herself, and swims deeper. 

She adjusts to the cold after a few minutes – a few long and cold minutes – and after that, Nora floats on her back, letting the waves rock her closer to the shore and back out again, always keeping an eye out to make sure she doesn’t drift too far away. 

It’s quiet out here and so still, and with sea salt on her lips, Nora lets her mind drift with the tide. 

It’s been a little less than a month since Nora decided to stay in California.

At the end of July, Charlie helped her pack what little Nora had on North Island into a suitcase and a few boxes that ended up in the back of Penny’s garage while Nora went back to New York. She wasn’t there for long. She grabbed cocktails with a few of her friends who still lived there, shipped the rest of her stuff across the country, and hopped on the next flight back to San Diego.

She hardly left the house in the week that followed, busy unpacking her boxes in the cottage-style house, settling in to this next chapter of her life. 

Natasha and Bob were kind of enough to come over and help her with some of the unloading, diligently washing and putting away the meticulously bubble-wrapped kitchen boxes, organizing the built-in shelves in the living room. Nora left Bob in charge of the latter and came back from a coffee run to find the books separated by genre and then alphabetized. She could’ve kissed him. 

Jake and Bradley rallied Javy, Mickey, and Reuben into Nora’s own personal movers, and in a single afternoon, the Daggers carried in and unpacked the couch, bed, and bed frame and didn’t complain once. She had to promise them pizza and beer, but still.

Who needs movers when Nora has Uncle Sam’s finest?

From there, Nora has started to slowly furnish the rest of the house.

She’s been searching online and frequenting the local consignment stores with a very particular vision in mind, a vision of creams and pale blues; white linen and oak; sea shells and cowboy boots and gold.

Last week, Nora picked up the most gorgeous rug for the living room, one that picks up all of the blue accents and makes the whole room look bright and open. It’s perfect. It feels like a coastal dream, like hers. 

It is hers, Nora reminds herself again.

She doesn’t have somewhere to go, somewhere to be a month from now, four months from now. It’s all on her time now. And damn, isn’t that something?

When Nora heads back, the mid-August sky is a patchwork of blues, denim clouds and fading stars and the barest thread of gold creeping over the horizon. 

At home, she quickly rinses off in the shower and pads back into the bedroom. 

She slips back into bed and snuggles into the crook of Jake’s shoulder, resting her head on his outstretched arm again, and Jake mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep and tugs her closer, breath stirring the strands of pale hair at her forehead.

She’s asleep within minutes.

Sunlight pours into the bright room and spills across her back when Nora wakes up again. At a much more reasonable 9 AM. 

Stretching, Nora reaches her arms above her head and extends her legs in front of her, kicking into the sheets. She rubs the sleep from her bleary eyes and looks around the room. She’s alone.

A familiar shirt sits in a crumpled pile on the hardwood, like evidence, unmoved from when Jake cast it aside before bed, but Jake is gone. He even made up his side of the bed, meticulously straightening the sheets and pillows, stretching the wrinkles from the fabric. A military habit that’ll never cease to amuse her. 

Huffing out an amused breath, Nora plucks the shirt from the floor and slips it over her head.

She wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, following the faint sounds of movement in there.

She’s greeted with the sight of his bare back,  ripped muscles and golden skin, rolling and flexing, as Jake moves between the pans on the stove – bacon, from the smell – and the humming espresso machine in the corner of the counter. Charlie gave her that as a housewarming present, and Jake’s made it his mission to make the perfect oat vanilla latte.

He’s humming a country song under his breath, one Nora doesn’t recognize.

It sounds happy.

She quietly crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around him from behind, setting her cheek against the strong line of his spine, and Jake makes a startled sound like a sleeping cat that’s been unexpectedly patted on the head. She secretly grins. 

“No,” Jake protests immediately, shuffling to shield the breakfast from her view, voice comically close to a whine. "Go back to bed."

She laughs against his back. "No?"

"You heard me," Jake insists. "Get outta here. I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed."

Despite his words, Jake sets one of his hands over hers and intertwines their fingers. He has a spatula in the other hand, still pushing the eggs around the pan.

Grinning, Nora presses a kiss against a freckle on his back, against a dimple of muscle between his shoulder blades.

"I don't need breakfast in bed," Nora says. "Let's eat on the patio. It's beautiful outside."

She uses her most convincing voice, but Jake is stubborn, determined.

He gently argues – as if Nora suggested digging their breakfast from the Hard Deck dumpster – and eventually, Nora gives in with an amused shake of her head. He can win this round.

Mostly because Jake is adorably excited about the idea of bringing her a birthday breakfast in bed.

A few minutes later, Jake comes into the bedroom, balancing an iced latte and a few plates: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It's delicious, which isn't a surprise because Nora's come to learn Jake is a damn good cook.

Handy because Nora is only well versed in cocktail and dessert recipes.

When Nora's finished, Jake cleans up the dishes and brushes her hair out of her face. He kisses her cheek, her temple, the corner of her lips with a kind of reverence, like Jake can't stand to kiss her just once.

He ducks his head and murmurs, "Happy birthday, sweetheart," against her shoulder.

She catches his chin and kisses him, as honeyed and sweet as the maple syrup on her lips.

After breakfast, Nora gets a call from Bradley.

He's in the neighborhood – on his way to Penny's where, Bradley later reveals over coffee, is basically Maverick's these days – and wants to swing by and quote, see the birthday girl.

A cool breeze blows in from the coast, smelling like salt brine and sea lavender, so Nora shows Bradley to the stone-lined patio in the back and grabs a sweatshirt from the bedroom. She pulls it on over her linen dress on her way outside.

It’s only when Bradley raises his eyebrows that Nora realizes it’s a Dallas Cowboys fleece, one of Jake’s. 

“Shut up,” Nora says preemptively. 

She hands him a homemade Americano and sits next to him on the bench in the back, crossing her legs under the dress, looking out at the blue horizon of the ocean, a misty grey from the fog that lingers in the mornings.

“Didn’t say anything,” Bradley half-laughs, clearly holding back some joke about her being a born-again Cowboys fan. “Is Hangman here?” 

She shakes her head and sips her coffee through a glass straw.

"He's with Javy. They're going for a run in Point Loma." A run that Nora practically had to push him out the door for because Jake wanted to cancel all of his plans for her birthday. Both sweet and ridiculous. "He'll probably be back in an hour if you wanted to hang around and wait for him."

"Nah, I'm alright. I see him too much already." She gives him a look, and Bradley cracks a smile and knocks his knee against hers, all playfulness. "I'm here to see the birthday girl anyway."

“And drink her coffee.” 

He drops his shoulder in an easygoing shrug, brown eyes twinkling. “It’s good coffee, Rogers.” 

She grins. “Thanks, Bradshaw. You get me anything?” 

"Yeah, but I'll give it to you when I leave so I don't get punched."

He's wearing a cryptic expression, an I know something you don't know grin.

But before Nora can press him further, Bradley expertly changes the subject, distracting her with the latest gossip from the base, including Captain Mitchell all but moving in with Penny.

She still makes it down to San Diego a few times a week to hang out with Jake and see the rest of her friends. She pops down for the occasional night of cheap drinks and pool at the Hard Deck, meets Natasha for brunch at Little Frenchie, or spends the afternoon on Penny's boat with Bradley; but Nora will probably never see them as much as she did before. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling.

She's done with the documentary, and Nora doesn't miss the work, but she does miss seeing them every day.

Bradley drains the last of his coffee and sets the mug on the weathered wood of the bench. Another secondhand find from a neighbor who didn't need it anymore.

As if reading her mind, Bradley says, "We all miss having you on the base, you know? We all got used to having you around. It's not the same without you."

A faint smile as Nora says, "It's kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Don't you get bored out here?"

"So bored sometimes," Nora exhales, laughing, and Bradley chuckles, "but I really feel like I need to be bored right now. It's good for me." This is the longest break Nora has given herself in... well, ever maybe. She needs the space to recharge and breathe and feel like herself again. "It's nice to have some room in my brain to be bored for once. I felt so... scattered before."

"And I like it here," Nora continues. "I like having a place that's mine."

He goes quiet for a long and thoughtful moment, a slight scrunch between his brows.

“I’ve been thinking…” Bradley starts slowly, almost cautiously, testing the weight of the words. “I might want to move out of the apartments on the base and maybe get a house or something, I don’t know.” 

She looks at him, surprised. “You do?”

He chews on his bottom lip. Nods. “Why not? My squadron’s stationed here. Maverick’s probably going to propose to Penny soon. I won’t be leaving San Diego anytime soon, and I’m not getting any younger. I want something that feels more… grounded, you know?” 

She does know.

“Giving up on the bachelor life already, Bradshaw?” 

A cheeky grin pulls at his mouth as Bradley shrugs again. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that. I should probably start with the house. Take it slow.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” 

“Yeah?” 

An undercurrent of uncertainty leaks into his voice, and Nora softens. 

“Yeah,” Nora reassures. 

A moment passes, settles, and Nora’s lips pull into a slight smirk.

Noticing, Bradley asks, “What?” 

“Don’t go too slow though. You said it yourself. You’re definitely not getting any younger.” 

He makes a face, and Nora can’t hold back a laugh.

“You need to kick Hangman out,” Bradley grumbles, good-natured. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.” 

Another laugh bubbles from her lips.

“He doesn’t even live here.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

She ignores the pointed look Bradley gives her sweatshirt and continues, “And besides, I happen to like spending too much time with him. He’s my boyfriend.” 

She expects him to make a disgusted noise or fake gag like Bradley did when Nora first called Jake her boyfriend in front of him, but Bradley watches her and doesn’t say anything.

Her leg nudges into his. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just…” A shake of his head. “Hangman’s happier. You seem happier. I’m happy for you. It’s nice to see for both of you,” Bradley says sincerely. He drops an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. “I’m glad you’re here, Nora. Glad you stayed.” 

Moisture pricks at the corners of her eyes, but Nora blinks it back and swallows the rising lump in her throat. 

She leans into him. Presses her face into his solid shoulder.

“So am I.” 

On his way out, Bradley gives her a hug and her birthday present.

She sits crosslegged on the couch and slowly pulls the crumpled blue tissue paper out of the gift bag until Nora finds a messily wrapped rectangle. He must’ve wrapped it himself. She smiles to herself and carefully rips the paper away.

It’s a small waterproof camera, complete with a wrist strap so Nora doesn’t have to worry about losing it in the ocean. She can bring it on her next morning swim or the next time that Bradley invites her out on the boat. It’s sweet, so sweet that Nora’s a little confused.

She pulls out her phone.

Nora, 11:24 AM: Thanks for the camera! So sweet of you!

Nora, 11:24 AM: Why’d you think I’d punch you??

Bradley, 11:27 AM: There’s something else in there.

Curious, she pulls the rest of the paper out of the bag until she finds a rolled-up shirt at the very bottom. It’s a deep blue, a soft fabric. She lets it fall open and holds it up to get a good look at the words printed across the front.

“Oh,” Nora says out loud, reading. “You asshole.” 

Nora, 11:32 AM: Proud Navy Girlfriend???

Bradley, 11:33 AM: Do you like it?

Nora, 11:33 AM: What is wrong with you?

Bradley, 11:34 AM: Happy birthday, Proud Navy Girlfriend :) 

She sends him back a picture of her middle finger.

A hour later, Jake comes back, and Nora’s on the phone with Charlie.

He strolls in the front door, headphones around his neck, shirtless and drenched in sweat. Sweat shouldn’t be allowed to look that hot on someone. It should be illegal… or something. His dog tags gleam from the center of his collarbone. His shorts are slung obscenely low on his hips, low enough to reveal the mole there, and admittedly, Nora has only heard every other word out of Charlie’s mouth since Jake entered her line of sight.

“Nora?”

A droplet of sweat runs down his neck and pools in his glistening collarbone.

“Uh huh.” 

“Do you need to go?” 

Jake stretches his arms, folding them over his head, running his long fingers through his damp hair and setting his baseball cap back down, and Nora doesn’t even pretend not to watch the ripple that passes through his abs. 

“I, uh…” 

He catches her, of course, and smirks – a slow and humiliatingly smug smirk – and it’s all Nora can do not to fan herself. She coughs. 

On the other end of the line, Charlie snorts. 

“I’ll let you go. Have a good birthday.” And Charlie adds knowingly, “Tell Jake I say hello.” 

“Love you, bye,” Nora exhales and all but throws the phone across the couch, cheeks burning. “Charlie says hi.” 

“Hi Charlie.” Jake pushes the bill of his cap up with one finger, like the brim of a cowboy hat, and drops a slightly salty kiss onto her lips. His voice softens. “Hi, sweetheart. Did I already say happy birthday?” 

“A few times, yeah.” 

His eyes gleam. “A few? That’s not enough.” 

She bites her lip, grinning, and Jake presses his face into her neck, inhaling the smell of her perfume with a soft groan and also smearing sweat across her cheek. She wrinkles her nose at him and pushes him back by his shoulders.

“You need a shower. You’re all sweaty and gross.” 

“You weren’t lookin’ at me like I’m gross,” Jake drawls. He clambers onto the couch and puts his full body weight – his sweat-covered body weight – on top of her. She makes a high-pitched sound of protest, which quickly dissolves into a laugh, and Jake shakes with laughter. “You’re pretty gross now too, sweetheart.” He puts his lips to her ear, and Nora shivers under him. “Wanna join me and conserve water?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Nora says, which isn’t a no, feeling a little breathless.

Grinning, Jake allows her to push him off the couch.

He ends up on his knees on the blue rug and looks up at her, green eyes glittering.

Jake reaches for her ankles and pulls her to the edge of the couch, begins to slowly push the hem of dress up, one inch at a time.

“What about that shower?” Nora asks, watching as Jake pulls the fabric higher and higher, exposing more and more of her bare thighs, which part slightly for him, almost like a reflex.

“In a minute, sweetheart.” 

He spins his baseball cap backwards – a move that should be douchey and shouldn’t even remotely work for her but infuriatingly, because it’s him, absolutely does – and bends down to kiss the center of her panties.

He licks at her through the fabric, drinking in the soft sounds Nora makes. 

“Jake…” Nora exhales. She knocks his hat from his head, burying her fingers in his damp hair, pulling on the strands. “We should… You shouldn’t…” Her brain isn’t doing its best work right now, and Nora can come up with is, “Guests sit on this couch.” 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jake reassures, voice low and syrupy. “I’ll get it all.” 

"Fuck," Nora breathes.

He slides her panties down to her knees and spreads his tongue over her, and Nora’s head drops back on the couch, hair fanning across the back.

His mouth doesn’t leave her until Nora’s come apart on his tongue. Twice. 

After, Jake hikes her legs around his waist and carries her into the shower, hands spread across her ass, curled in her hair. 

It’s slow and certain as Jake works her open with his fingers and pushes into her from behind, warm water misting on her face, dripping down her front; hot lips pressing lingering kisses along her shoulders and throat. He pulls her dripping hair away from her neck, slowly winding it around his fist, pulling her head to the side to lick a stripe up the side of her neck. 

And all the while, Jake is murmuring in her ear.

Words full of praise and adoration and desire, and Jake smells like coffee and lavender shampoo and sweat and him, so very him, and god, Nora likes this, likes him more than she can put into words; loves this, loves – 

It’s burning, molten hot, full of feelings, pushing through the soil like early spring flowers, and when Jake breaths her name, it sounds like three precious words stitched into one. 

Around noon, Nora curls up in the arm chair near the front window, soaking in the feeling of the sun at her back, casting a shadow in the shape of her on the rug and the knotted floor boards. She loves the light in this room, gleaming, reflecting off the sun catcher that Nora hung in the window, sending a fractured light across the room in the afternoons. 

It’s her favorite spot in the whole house. 

She has a lot of free time now, and in that free time, Nora’s been sitting in this chair and digging through the buried files on her laptop; rereading old screenplays from college; half-written and abandoned drafts that Nora let her own perfectionism shred into something unrecognizable.

She’s been combing through the wreckage, hoping to make something new from the pieces.

And Nora finds herself coming back to the same idea – an ink-stained and half-formed whisper of an idea that’s lived stubbornly in the back of her mind for years now.

Something hopeful about losing your way and finding it again; about losing people and meeting them again; about soulmates, both platonic and romantic; about meeting someone and being absolutely sure.

She is scribbling in her journal when Jake settles into the chair within reach of hers.

He reaches for her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, a smile dimpling his cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes. He’s humming again, something happy, and Nora feels like a firework has gone off inside her ribcage.

She says his name to catch his attention.

And then, Nora says, “I love you.” 

And Jake grins in that easy and self-assured way that Nora’s come to love so much, like Jake knows her, really knows her. 

“I’ve loved you since June,” Jake says easily, so easily it steals the air from her lungs. “Just been waiting for you to catch up, sweetheart.” 

And just this once, Nora’s too happy to fight for the last word. She lets him have this one.

A year from now, Nora will be 30.

Not long after, Nora’s first feature film will come out. She’ll go to the very first screening. A small affair for her friends and colleagues and a few fans. She’ll wear a pale blue dress, and Jake will wear a suit and matching tie and pat his pocket the whole night to make sure the ring hasn’t fallen out, his grandmother’s ring.  

That’s later. This is now.

And now, Nora’s 29 and in love and for the first time in a long time, the world doesn’t feel like it’s ending. It feels like it’s just beginning. 

So Nora starts at the beginning. Starts with what she knows.

She opens to a blank page. And writes about love. 

end note: i finished this last month and fell into a bit of writer's block – slash post-creation depression lol – and didn't want to actually edit what i wrote, my bad.

i love nora and jake and everything BIHO has become so much. i love being here with all of you, and i love you for reading it and being so generous with your words and your feedback and your attention. 🩵 i'm also hoping – please, writer's block, i'm begging – to write more in this universe so if you really want to see anything or want to know any of my random post-biho headcanons, let me know!

likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day, and i'd love to hear from you.

[cantdwellonanyofit]

Sledgefu Fic Dedicated to @stolperzunge

Hello @stolperzunge!! I decided to finally make an account. I’m the anon that has been messaging you Sledgefu asks for a couple of days XD 

I finally wrote a fic, and wanted to share it with you. Let me know what you think! It’s based on all of the meta we have been talking about recently.

Please note the warnings in the tags. There’s some mention of suicidal thoughts, dissociation, internalized homophobia, and descriptions of gore related to the war. This was meant to be a oneshot and has turned into a multi-chapter fic already. :| Creative criticism is requested and would be appreciated.

Rating: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh R? For now?

He couldn't sleep. If it wasn't the nightmares, it was the intrusive thoughts. The thoughts were always gently sliding their hands around his throat like an enemy sneaking up on him in the dark. Trying to snuff him out before his comrades could hear. The dreams were worse. They waited until he was lulled into a false sense of calm, warm, security. Finally too tired to fight them off. Blackness opened up to screaming women holding babies. Blood rained from the ceiling of a hut while a woman reached her hands towards him. She begged in a language he couldn't understand. But blind panic was the same in every language. He could see it in her eyes, and he couldn't wipe it out. He couldn't stand to put either of them out of their misery. So he planted his feet and watched until the hut crushed her in front of him. Paralyzed by his fear and angry at his weakness. He would jolt awake, and every morning the anger and shame followed him into waking life.

He used to be a morning person before the war. He'd wake up before sunrise with a cup of coffee. He'd take Deacon on his morning walk. He enjoyed the solitude of morning, and watching the world wake up around him. It was like he and the world slept and woke together in the same rhythm. Everything felt aligned. But now the silence was like screaming. His mind would race while he tried to deal with the onslaught of thoughts and dream laden memories. He began to confuse what he really witnessed in the war with what he dreamt. But he didn't much think it mattered. The feelings that overwhelmed him were the same. He hated himself. He hated what he had brought on himself. He resented his mother for not understanding. He was angry at his father for being forgiving. Didn't his father know what he had done? Who he had become? He crawled in his own skin every waking moment.

He didn't go to Sid with his problems. Sid was busy creating his life with Mary. Gene couldn't bear to burden Sid with his troubles when Sid was just trying to forget and move on. He knew Sid also had trouble with sleep. But unlike Gene, Sid tried not to torture himself about the things he saw and did in the war. 

"You can't dwell on it. You can't dwell on any of it.” Ack Ack had said. And it seemed like everyone but Gene was able to abide by that law. The only person in the world who seemed able to pull Gene out of his moods had abandoned him. When Gene woke up on the train to a gentle shove, he expected Snafu's big blue eyes to be staring a hole in him. Like they always did. But instead, he realized another soldier had nudged him awake to ask if he was meant to be disembarking the train. They had arrived in Alabama. Gene looked around confused for a moment before the soldier repeated himself. But Gene wasn't listening. Where had Snafu gone? He couldn't have left without waking him. It wasn't possible.

But it had been possible, and now here he was. Alone. Like he deserved to be. God was punishing him, and Gene couldn't blame him. He'd killed countless people. And by the end of the war, he didn't much care about the damage he caused. He wanted to kill every Jap left with his bare hands. He wanted to make them feel as helpless as he did. He often thought back to his conversation with Leckie. 

"God created Japs too, right? Yellow slants who've tried to kill me on many occasions. Japs come from the garden of Eden too?" 

God had sent Gene on a mission to kill Japs for what they had done. But he also sent the Japs to bomb Pearl Harbor in the first place. And Gene no longer had any idea what God wanted from either side. Were they all meant to die? Had he survived by accident when God had deemed him disposable? And now God cursed him with these thoughts and dreams. To haunt him for daring to make it out. Maybe they had all been too dirty for God's love in the first place. He knew he'd never again feel the safety of that embrace. He tucked his bible away under his bed months ago after unpacking his suitcase. He couldn't bear to open it. He worried it would burn his hands if he even tried. He was no longer welcome in God's plans. He just knew it.

So, with no faith, no plans, no life, he withered away. He spent hours staring at the walls, off into the distance as he sat outside. And he tortured himself with his thoughts and his lack of purpose. He had no idea what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He wondered if God meant for him to commit suicide. If he had somehow messed up God's plan for him to die. If someone else had died in his place. If he no longer had God's love, then killing himself wouldn't matter. But he lacked any motivation to go through with it. It was as if he was meant to remain stuck between life and death. A ghost among the living. 

He knew God had more than one reason to reject him. Not only had he lived when he was meant to die, but he had been born homosexual. He was doomed from birth. He knew something was wrong when he was 6 years old and Betty Cannon had kissed him on the cheek, and he had cried. Sid would nudge him and point out the pretty girls at school, and Gene couldn't have cared less about them. He'd tease Sid for being a pervert and they'd laugh. His sinful nature was further solidified when he gazed at the nurse on Pavuvu. He demanded himself to feel something for her. She was beautiful. She had a kind voice. His mind recoiled as he tried to imagine kissing her, sliding off her clean hospital whites. He felt repulsed. "Alright, you had your looksey," the lieutenant had jeered. If Gene could've glared a hole through that lieutenants body he would've.

If he could've grabbed that asshole by the head and slammed it repeatedly into every damn cup on the table he would've. ‘I feel nothing, I see nothing, I am nothing,’ he would've screamed at him. Can't you see it written all over me? I'm a sinner, you fool. He couldn't ignore the fire in the pit of his stomach every time Snafu leaned against him. Played along with his jokes. Watched him. Snafu always watched his every move. And it drove Gene crazy. Gene thought about what Snafu's curls would feel like in his fingers. What his sweat would taste like as Gene ran his tongue along Snafu's neck. Along that fucking smirk. He went mad with lust thinking of all the things Snafu could do to him. So when he gazed at that fuckin' nurse and felt nothing another piece of him snapped off and was taken by the ocean. He was ruined, and God knew it.

All through his thoughts Gene found himself biking. As he came to, he realized he was approaching Sid's house. It had to be no later than 0500. He hesitated at the start of the driveway. This was crazy. He couldn't bother Sid. But then he felt his right foot swing over the left side of his bike to land beside his left foot on the ground. He began steering and walking towards the front door. He was like a man possessed. Before he could stop himself, he knocked three times in succession. He waited. What the hell are you doing? His mind screamed at him. He was about to knock again when the door slowly opened. Sid was holding his rifle, but quickly lowered the butt of it to the ground when he realized who was at the door.

"Eugene, you scared the daylights out of me. I heard the bike coming along the drive and just about jumped in the bushes to scout." Sid was laughing, but Gene was not. Sid's smile slowly faded. "Get in here," Sid made to grab for Gene's arm but Gene blurted out, "Can you take me to the train station?" Sid's brows came together in confusion. Or maybe it was concern. Sid's hand halted in the air, "You need me to do what now?" Sid's hand landed gently on Gene's bicep. He tugged him gently through the doorway and into the kitchen. "Have a seat." Sid moved to the stove and grabbed the kettle. "We can have coffee and talk it."

Gene was already shaking his head. "I don't need to talk about it. I need you to do this for me. I don't have a car and it'll take me days to bike there." Sid was pouring coffee anyway. "What are you going to do at the train station?" Sid asked.

"Ride the train." Gene answered, curtly. Sid laughed, and set the cup beside Gene. Sid added hot water to his own cup which had likely gotten cold while Sid had watched a stranger approaching his home from the window. Gene could tell the curtain was off-kilter, as if someone had pulled it aside in an attempt to spy without being seen. Gene felt guilty for worrying Sid. He'd have felt guiltier if he woke Sid up, but it seemed Sid had no better luck sleeping than Gene did. "Ride the train where, you smartass." Gene debated whether he should be honest about his intentions. He trusted Sid. He and Sid had been friends since Gene could remember. Sid had always been on Gene's side. But this would be asking something else entirely of Sid. It would be asking Sid to see him for all of his sins, and accept him anyway. If God couldn't manage, he doubted Sid could. "Louisiana." Gene answered. He provided no context. He planned to provide no further geographical context. Sid didn't know about Snafu. He wouldn't even have guessed what Gene's plans were even if Gene told him he was going to New Orleans. But this secret pounded loud in his ears. Matching the beat of his heart. He felt like he was shouting the word Louisiana so he could be heard over the thumping of his heart. He was laid bare in front of God and his best friend. And he planned to deceive both of them. He really was beyond saving.

"Louisiana?" Sid answered. "What's in Louisiana that has you sneaking up to my front door and demanding I drive you down to the station this instant? Did you meet someone you haven't told me about?" Sid's eyes were mischievous. They were full of hope. Hope that Gene had something or someone out there to look forward to. Would they be so full of hope if Sid knew it was a man that Gene ached for? "You could say that," Gene found himself replying. He was skirting the truth. He was living in half truths and short responses. He was a man to be hanged but he kept outrunning the law. "You sly dog!" Sid slapped his knee and scooted his chair back so fast it made an awful screech. There was a thump from where Gene assumed was the bedroom, when Mary emerged from the doorway in her silken robe. Gene would've blushed had he been his old self. Had he been anyone at all anymore.

"What in the Lord's good name is going on out here?" She didn't seem to be mad, but rather playing at it. "Eugene Sledge, is that you causing trouble in my house?" Gene caused trouble everywhere. That's what the devil did when he got inside your soul. He made you destroy yourself and those around you. His lips lifted in one corner in a true Snafu impression. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to cause such a disturbance." He stood and bowed gently to her. "Sid and I were just about to head out to the train station." Gene looked down at his untouched coffee and thought to hand it to Mary. She might as well enjoy it before it gets cold. Sid stood up and grabbed his coat. It seemed letting Sid believe this was for a woman had propelled him into action. "I won't be long," he kissed Mary on the cheek. Sid grabbed his keys from the same hook his jacket had been on. "Well, come on now lover boy we best be gettin' on." Gene couldn't move fast enough to get out of his seat. He needed to keep moving before his mind came to. Before he hopped on his bike and rode all the way back home and never came back out again. This was his only chance to act. "Lover boy?" Mary smiled, "Gene, that's wonderful. I wish you the best." Gene cringed inwardly. "Thanks." He mumbled. It was a benefit to him that everyone thought him shy. His guilt could easily be mistaken for sheepishness.

He nearly squeezed himself through the front door at the same time as Sid. He took long strides to the car, and grabbed the handle before Sid had even reached the car to unlock it. "Alright, alright, I'm comin'!" Sid had picked up the pace to unlock the door and climb in. He leaned to the right and opened Gene's door for him. Gene immediately flung himself into the seat and fastened his seatbelt before he could run away. Strapped himself in good. "I'll take your bike home later for you." Gene nearly threw up. He hadn't even told his parents he was going on a walk. And now he was planning to leave the state entirely. His mother would call the police. "Shit, Sid. I forgot to tell them I was leaving. I didn't even leave a note." Gene began attempting to unbuckle himself. He needed to get home. If the police came for him and found him with Snafu they'd be arrested. They'd be blue discharged. He didn't know which one was worse. Sid stopped his hand, "I'll tell 'em when I drop your bike off. Don't worry about it. I'll be home and back to your place before they even realize you're gone."

Gene steadied his hand under the pressure of Sid's. Sid would probably never touch his hand again if he knew. He'd never jokingly wrestle with him. He'd be too afraid he'd catch what Gene had. That Gene would be attracted to him. That Gene would ruin everything like he always did. This was just another secret he would have to take to God before he was banished to hell. Why couldn't he get the devil out of him? But despite his inner chastising, Gene let his body rest in his seat. Sinking into the leather and willing himself to calm down. No one knew. No one would know. Sid would take care of him like he always did. Sid, who trusted him, while Gene wore a liar's face. Gene had no idea if Snafu was even still in New Orleans. Gene had no idea if Snafu even wanted to see him. Snafu had left him on the train after all. Gene had probably read into ever stare, every gentle touch, every time Snafu seemed to cut in the shower line until suddenly Gene and Snafu were undressed and standing close. Every time they searched desperately for each other on the battlefield, or in the line of fire, until they knew the other was still breathing. Both sneaking glances, but doing well to hide it. He had imagined all of it in his sick homosexual mind.

"You alright?" Sid asked, glancing sideways at Gene. Unbeknownst to Gene, he had been wearing a pained expression and holding his breath. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you. You don't need to be so nervous." Gene almost laughed. Sid had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea at all. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept well in ages." Gene responded, changing the subject. He couldn't stand telling Sid anymore lies than he had to. And there was no way to explain the worry without explaining the truth. "Yeah, I hear you there. Some nights I get a couple hours. Some nights it feels I get a solid couple minutes. Mary's understanding about it." Gene's mind wandered to whether he and Snafu would keep each other up at night with their nightmares. With their stirring. Maybe they'd both stay up together knowing what it was like in each other's brains. Maybe they'd get real good at distracting each other instead. Gene would give anything to let Snafu use him as a distraction. Gene could wrap his legs around Snafu. He could let Snafu move inside of him until they both forgot about everything but each other.

"I'm happy you two have each other," Gene shouted over his thoughts. Sid laughed at him. "Well, I'm overjoyed you want the whole world to know how happy you are for us, Eugene." He was ripping apart at the seams and it was only a matter of time before he lost the ability to pull himself to reality. He had to get away from Sid. From this town. From these burdens. Luckily, the rest of the drive remained uneventful as Sid let Gene get lost in his thoughts, and Gene willed his thoughts to stay in his head. He worried every thought was writing itself out on his face. On every inch of exposed skin. And when he stepped out of the car to say goodbye to Sid, the truth would be there staring back at him. And Sid would stare on, horrified. Until he called out for the police, and Gene was taken away. All his rights stripped, as if he had never existed at all. Just as God had intended.

They pulled into the station, when Sid slammed on the breaks and the car jolted. "Eugene, you don't have any bags with you! How did I not notice? What the hell are you going to do? You can't show up to your lady looking like that." Gene's head snapped to look at Sid. "How dare you? I've never looked so good?" He left his mouth slightly agape in mock horror at what Sid had insinuated. Sid laughed in return. "You haven't shaved, and I think you slept in those clothes." Gene hadn't even thought about clothes. About belongings. He guessed he'd have to start over when he got to Louisiana. "I bet they dress differently down there anyway. I'll consult the best shopkeepers around when I arrive." Gene wanted to get on that train before he changed his mind. If they left to go to his house to grab clothes he'd never come back.

"Do you even have any money?" Gene could've kicked himself. He really brought nothing. He wouldn't even be able to leave if he wanted to. Sid leaned slightly and dug in his coat pocket until he pulled out a wad of bills with a rubber band around them. Sid had a lot of distrust for banks, and often kept cash on him or hidden in his home. "No," Gene was already protesting. He would go home. He would forget this foolishness. "Yes, take it." Sid was pushing the money into Gene's coat pocket. "Absolutely not, stop it. I won't take money from yo-" Sid unfastened Gene's seatbelt and then pushed open his own car door and stepped out. "Sid!" Gene threw his door open and their eyes met over the roof of the car. "I can't take this." Gene couldn't lie to his friend and then rob him of his money too. "Eugene. If you don't take the money and get the hell out of this town I will take it personally. You can't stay here and keep doing this. Look at you. This is your chance to start over. Don't you want that? I'd do anything to get you back. This is the least I can do for you. Now get your ass up to that counter, get your tickets, and get out of my hair before I drag your scrawny ass up there and embarrass you in front of all of these decent folk."

"Sid--"

"I mean it!" Gene snapped his mouth shut. "I won't take no for an answer. Now get."

Gene came around to Sid's side of the car. "I'll never be able to repay you." Sid wrapped an arm around him in a gentle hug. This may be the last time Sid would ever touch him without disgust. Without questioning what dirty thoughts Gene took away from these interactions. Gene loved Sid, but never in that way. He was his brother. But Sid would never understand that distinction. Sid would be horrified by every time Gene had ever touched him. Gene hugged Sid, hard. He loved him like family. The thought of losing Sid crushed him. He tried to pour every ounce of his love into Sid with one hug. 'Please,' he mentally begged, 'Please know that I'll never be able to repay you for all the love you've given me. I've lied to you. I've deceived you. You're pure, and I'm rotten, and I deserve none of this.' Sid hugged him back with a similar strength before pushing Gene gently to arms length and putting a hand on each bicep. "You write to me, Eugene. You tell me everything." Gene nearly crumbled under the weight of his lies. He'd never be able to tell Sid everything. Even if he died to.

"I will," he lied. He was becoming a pro at this.

Sid stepped to the left and turned around to rest against the drivers side of the car. Giving Gene the room to leave and head towards the counter. Gene took the opportunity before he could stop himself. He approached the long line to wait for his turn. He stole a glance at Sid who waved goodbye at him, and got in the drivers seat. Sid must've wanted to keep his promise to return to his house for Gene's bike, and notify Gene's parents before they worried. Gene again mentally thanked Sid for every single thing he ever did for him, and moved one step closer towards his future.

[joelleindaylight]

My journey with Taylor Swift began in 2009, when I heard Love Story for the first time while driving. Two days later, my high school sweetheart proposed to me and I walked down the aisle to Love Story a year later.

For the next eleven years, Taylor would accompany my during some of my darkest moments.

I was lucky enough to see a few of her performances in person from the early 2010s: the 2010 VMAs, a show she did on Hollywood Blvd. for Speak Now, both Red and Speak Now shows, and her performance for Ellen when Red came out.

In 2014, I went through a really difficult time and was hospitalized involuntarily for suicidal thoughts. It was a really traumatic experience, and two days after being released I had a panic attack in my psychiatrist’s office. I was terrified of being sent back to the hospital, and could barely hold it together.

In the car ride home, Shake it Off was released on the radio. It played on Monday, August 18, 2014 for the first time, and I went home and danced to that song on repeat for an hour. I literally shook off my panic attack, rather than go back to Xanax.

The next month I was invited to her 1989 Secret Sessions. After one of the most difficult months of my life, she’d given me an experience that could help bring me out of my depression (along with therapy, medication, and a lot of support from family and friends).

I got to hold her cats, talk to her mom, and eat her baking. We listened and cried to 1989, and then danced to Kendrick Lamar in her living room.

After 2014, I was shunned by a lot of my friends and the industry in which I worked (I was a small business owner). I was told not to share my story and my experience, but I knew that it was important for people to know that they aren’t alone in their mental health struggles.

I got my first tattoo on January 1, 2015. In script up my spine, from tailbone to hairline, it says: “This is the golden age of something good and right and real.”

In 2016, my best friend of 10 years dumped me after I had my first child. She claimed I was a toxic person, and suddenly I found myself with only half my friends left.

Reputation came out in 2017, and she once again wrote me another album. I felt like I was just trying to keep my head above water, and was reacting to feeling of betrayal and abandonment that I’d gotten from my friends leaving me for no reason other than I had a mental illness.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this. When Lover was released in 2019, I felt like I could finally breathe again. The entire album was so full of hope and joy, two things that I cling to when my world gets dark. In the years between Reputation and Lover, I had my second (and last) child. He completed my family, and it felt like the hurt was finally starting to heal. For me, Daylight is the most meaningful song on that album, for so many reasons. I want to be defined by the things I love now, too.

Obviously we all had a really terrible 2020. We joke that Taylor saved the year, but it’s exceptionally true for me. I know I’ve already written a novel, so kudos if you’re still with me.

I’ll mention briefly that our journey to being outspoken advocates for justice also parallel, and I’ve been telling people for years that she feels so much more than what she is allowed to say. To see her finally receive credit for being a decent human being is a refreshing, but I think we’ve all known that she has been held back for awhile now. I definitely relate to that journey of speaking out about right vs. wrong and having an obligation to take a stand when you have a platform.

My ten year wedding anniversary was July 23, 2020. She released folklore on the 24th (or 9pm PST on 7/23), which meant that I got to listen to the album for the first time with my husband, ten years to the day after walking down the aisle to Love Story.

August has always been the worst month of the year for me. It’s the month I was hospitalized the first time. This year it was the month of my grandfather’s funeral and the month that I lost another group of close friends. I’m writing a novel now, called When August Ends. It’s about a whirlwind romance during the month of August. Because of Taylor’s gift, I think I may be able to change the meaning of the month for me.

I went back to the hospital in November, this time on my own. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed for a long time, and everything just came to a really low point this fall. For the past three weeks, I’ve been working on myself through an intensive therapy program. After adjusting medication and doing some much needed soul searching (again, via professional help), I’m coming out a much better person.

The first time I heard evermore, I cried. I cried big, fat, ugly tears. Because for the first time in a very, very long time, I had a peculiar feeling this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.

Thank for you for letting me share my story. I wish you all a beautiful end to the year 💜

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

Animals - Negan Werewolf AU

Note: This is a little thing I wrote for the  “ Negan’s Fall Writing Challenge” created by the lovely @thewalkingdead-imagines​ ! This is my second time joining a Negan’s challenge, and I gotta say I really enjoy every word, also was my first time writing an AU, oh boy it gave me so much ideas but had to do this short, college was kind of a bitch, but anyways, here it is! Let me know what you think.

So basically it’s kind of the same space and time from the show but instead of walkers humans started to become werewolf, so I guess it’s not big difference.

The leaves cracked under your feet as you ran through the dark forest, your heart pumping real fast, heavily breathing you kept running as fast as your tired legs allow you, a dense fog covering the woods made the night even darker, you could hardly see, but clearly heard them. Wolves, at least three of them, big, strong, furious and hungry, ready to attack.

They were dangerous close, getting closer and closer to you somewhere in the fog, waiting for the right moment. You focused on the road, trying not to fall down but still careful and ready to shoot. Soon enough you heard fast and heavy footsteps not far for you, watching for the corner of your eyes you caught a grey wolf running close so you raised your gun and quickly fired at them, they cried out as the bullet hit their side and fell to the ground.

You kept running through the dark woods leaving the wolf behind. There were still two of them left. You still hoped for a place to hide, you knew you wouldn't make it back to Alexandria, it was way far and with the wolves hunting it’d be almost impossible for you to even find the way home. So your only chance was to hide and wait for the day to come.

Suddenly a figure appeared in front of you growling, a big brown beast with a killing face looking at you, showing their big pointy teeth. Slowly they came closer never stopped looking at you they started tracing a circle around you, as another one joined. Breathing uneasy you looked at them, your finger stuck to the trigger and your heart racing as your mind was trying to find a way out.

One of the wolves moved a little closer licking their lips, you were ready to kill them and so they were when suddenly they stopped and raised their ears, they started to sniff something in the air you couldn’t, and then a clear whistle rumble through the woods, after a small silence it sound again. The wolves got scared, lowered their ears and hid their tail between their legs when a male throaty laugh spread for the forest. 

“Well, damn” the deep voice said sending a cold shiver down your spine. “Looks like some doggies are hunting in my territory” he said. The wolves nervously cried, you could see them clearly shaking out of fear, it gave you chills and slowly you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“And I do not allow it” he raised his voice again firm and clear,  but no signal of him to see, just that powerful voice. He laught one more time and then you saw him. His tall figure standing in the middle of the road, wearing some grey pants, a leather jacket and a blood red scarf that made his handsome features stand out: his gray beard adorned with a pair of dimples, his fine yet rough nose, his black hair smoothed back and those hazel eyes. 

You stood there unknown of what to do, afraid to move or even blink, your whole body beginning to fill with adrenaline. 

“Now” he stepped forward. “Run” 

And that's exactly what you did. Your body moved without a second thought trying to put as much distance as possible between  you and that man. The wolves stayed, behind you the sound of growls made stronger but you didn’t dare to know what was going on. Then a wolf cried, the sound turned into a scream, a human scream full of pain. You felt goosebumps and an urge to run away. 

With your heart racing you continued running, looking back from time to time hoping nothing was following you but the moonless night wouldn’t let you. After a while you stopped to catch your breath, your legs way too tired out to keep running but you knew if you stop whoever was that man could find you. You wondered what happened after you ran, on wolf was dead no question, but did that man kill them? if so how? and why they feared so much?, somehow your head was unable to forget him.

The wolves often showed no emotions but hunger and fury, it was quite weird to see them as scared as that, and that meant danger not only for you but for your entire community, Alexandria. You have joined with your group a time ago. It was a nice place, with people living almost as the world had not went to shit but most important it had walls. Your group had already faced many threats and bad people and of course, the wolves, and the most recent enemies a group called The Saviors, but this guy was a real danger you could tell.

Finally after walking much you found an old cabin, finally a place you could hide and rest until the morning, now the daylight didn't guarantee your security but it meant at least you could find the right way home. 

The fatigue on your body made you fell asleep before you noticed, but almost immediately a knock in the door woke you up and made you flinch. You stepped close to the door quietly gun in hand. A knock again, before you heard him.

“Hey, open the door, babe” your stomach turned as you hear the voice of that man wearing a leather jacket you met in the woods. You stayed quiet, while you hear his playful laugh. “C’mon darling, I know you’re in there… can smell you” with that your whole body filled with tension.

“I won't hurt you” He said not receiving an answer. You doubted but decided to open without lowering the gun. And there he was, his tall body leaning against the doorframe, blood splashed over his features. “Easy, baby” he calmly said looking from you to the gun. “I’m Negan” 

You kept silence watching him, fearing him. His name was repeating in the back of your head, you were sure you have heard it before but couldn't remember where. The only thing you knew for sure was that you shouldn't make him mad, just in case.

“I’m, (y/n)” you said. He smirked.

“Well, (y/n) it seems to me, you are very far from home, aren’t you?” he raised his hand and slowly made you lower your gun “You won’t need this, I won’t hurt you, I told you before” he took the gun away from you hands. 

“What do you want?” You told him, looking at his eyes with fury. He hold your gaze and smiled softly and then raised his voice again “Take a sit in that comfy ass couch behind you, I need to talk to you for a bit” He ordered. Afraid, you did as he said, keeping you hand close to the knife on your belt.

He kept silence for a second and then he spoke.

“Listen, I know you’re from Alexandria, your friend Ricky has already killed a bunch of my men and I do not like that” You flinch as you heard he knew about your community. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you told him.

“Of course you know, sweetheart. I saw them and I saw you killing my men, and I am saying men ‘cuz they were still in their human form but even when they take their wolf shit form you still managed to kill them” he said death serious looking you deep in the eyes. Then he grined and let his back fell against the couch. “Now, I want to make a deal with your friends”

“What kind of deal? we barely have enough food for us and also we don’t want anything  from you” you were angry, your voice let that clear and your clenched fists too. Negan sigh.

“Protection. You work for me, you do what I say and I can protect you from other packs.” So he was one of them, he was a wolf. The man approached to you, his finger traveled to your chin and he forced you to look at him, centimeters distant to him you feel his warm breath “I just gave you a sample, sweetheart. Those wolves would have eat you if I wasn’t there, so maybe a thank you would be better than you complaining at me”

You look at him with hate on your eyes, moving your head to get out of his grab. Yes, he was indeed a real trouble for your safety, so you decided to play easy.

“Thanks” 

“Good girl” he smirked at you. He stood up before grabbing you by the arm and made his way to the door. “Now, to show you what a gentleman I am, I'm going to take you home.” as you stepped out of the old cabin he let go of your arm, then he transformed. He raised his head jaw clenched, his gaze darken while hair covered his body and all his human parts begun to change, the legs and arms got to the floor becoming like claws. All his handsome face features became larger, his teeth grew bigger and sharp. They he stood, a massive black wolf with hazel eyes, Negan.

He made his way to you, delicate movements he traced in his wolf form, until he was right in front of you, his face almost reached your chin, he was a really big wolf. His warm breath hitting in your face, you had never seen a wolf this close, it was both beautiful and scary at the same time.

Negan gave you a look and you knew he wanted you to crawl over his body, carefully you did, placing your arms around his neck. Once he felt you over him, he started running through the woods at high speed, the cold air hitting you face made you hold tight, feeling his soft hair and his warm body pressed against yours. And just for a moment you felt like you were safe, but the feeling didn’t last, quickly you were at Alexandria’s gates, standing beside the big bad wolf who howled and pretty soon you were surrounded by a whole pack of growling wolves. Up in the watchtowers you saw your friends having no idea of what was about to come. You turned your head to the side only finding out Negan was back in his human form, he winked at you before starting walking near the gates, whistling as he did in the woods but this time, his pack, now fully human whistled with him. 

“Hello” Negan called out, you saw Rick opening the gate’s curtain.

“Who are you?” your friend said cold, making the taller man laugh.

“Well, I see where this baby girl learned his manners” he joked looking at you, “I’m Negan, and those dirty men overthere are my Saviors.” he said moving almost theatrical, dangerous, “Here’s the thing, Rick, isn’t it? You and your gang killed a damn bunch of my goddamn Saviors” Negan bust off lowering the tone of his voice, making you flinch. You hopped your group were prepared, hoped for them to just start shooting and end with this already, but at the same time you knew it could only make it worse, those were werewolves, bigger, faster and more powerful than regular humans like you, there were people inside the gates who never had even seen one like this, so if Rick wanted Alexandria to survive he must think wisely.

“But you know what, Rick?” the sound of his voice got you out of your thoughts. “I am not mad at you. I’m happy that we could finally meet. Also brought you a little but damn hot gift to prove you I’m a real man” you felt his gaze lying on you while he spoke. “Come here, babe”. furios you stepped next to him.

“(y/n) are you alright?” You saw Carl behind his father looking at you with worried eyes, this kid was strong but also had a big heart and you knew it.

“I’m fine, nothing to worry about kid”  you started to say.

“Hell yeah, she’s totally right kiddo” Negan interrupted you. “Her sweet ass is safe and alive thanks to me, young man” he said slinging an arm over your shoulders. Oh this man was enjoying himself, being in charge, he liked it.

“Get your finger outta her!” you heard Daryl growling angry, he was a close friend and after all you’ve been through he and the rest of the group became your family.

“Everybody shut the shit down!” the leader of the Savior screamed. “I was in a good mood but now I’m starting to think which one of you I should take for dinner. Let's make this quick” he spoke walking along the gates, “There’s one and only one option out of this, you work for me you provide for me, you do shit I say, you’ll be alright. I will give you my service and we are all nice. As I said, It is your only option, so whatcha say?” 

“What’s your price?” Shaking his head Rick spoke. “We don’t have much”

“And we don’t need you” you raised your voice. You couldn't have this deal, it gave u goosebumps. Negan turned in his heels, and walked directly to you.

“I like her” he said a few inches from you. “She got spirit, maybe I’ll keep her” he smirked at you. “Now, Rick. I want half of your food, and anything I like.”

“No” you answered. “We are starving here, if you take that away many people will die, we can’t…”

“(y/n)” you heard Rick trying to calm you but Negan raised his hand in signal for him to stop. 

“I really like you, sweetheart. But maybe you should learn that sometimes you gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours”

“We’re not doing it.” You told him serious. “I already thank you for saving me, but we are not going to give you our food, there children in there, families, you can’t ask us for that kind of things, give us time, we’ll find something else but not food” you stared at him with cold eyes, you were trying to protect your family.

“Well I can, and I am asking you to. Sorry to disappoint you baby but I take what I want when I want it” he hissed. “So, I want half of your shit! Now this land belongs to me, everything Rick, you work for me now so I want my shit ready when I come back” he yelled out pissed. “And you, (y/n)” he held your chin up, his eyes darkened, his fangs growing as he spoke. “You belong to me” 

For the corner of your eyes you saw his men turning into wolves again, suddenly you weren’t looking at a man anymore but a black beast with sharp teeth that somehow managed to get you once more on his back, dragging you quickly away from your family, from your home. He was a monster and now he was taking you to his place.

[arbitrainfinitum-blog]

Issahbella prefers to sleep during the daylight hours.

Despite the current circumstances that occupied her villa, this is an age-old practice of hers. 

Sleep does not come to her in the nighttime, unless absolutely required. There is a deep, heavy-set scar, under the mountains of glacial ice, the armor of stone, twice molded to every crack of her, in truth, very fragile soul.  The shroud of night, while welcome, suddenly grows malicious and bitter when she lays vulnerable, twisting blackened claws around her being, through her skin, and into the map of veins that lead to her inner self.

There is no greater threat to Issahbella Zeverani than her own mind. Vampires, zombified corpses, Stand users, all of it is irrelevant. She will not flinch in the face of the end of her life, when it inevitably comes, roaring and bestial or calm and quiet, demanding the long over-due blood price. For when she sleeps, she is cast into the sea of nightmares that linger beneath her carefully crafted facade.

While she is a woman of few fears, there is nothing more terrifying than memory. A time which for most, would have long since hazed, blurred into oblivion by passage of the same thing her mind imprisoned. Yet for her, it remains, perfectly preserved in her mind, all the colors, all the pain, all the horror, bile in her throat just as sharp as that accursed day.

The loss of her family was slow. Plague killed quickly, but even then, with her damnable curse manifesting for the first time, the seconds seem to tick by as hours. First, her mother, in her final moments, her clammy hand clutching her own-- voice whispery-- ‘Bella, bella, bellezza, mia cara bellezza, perché siete così freddo?’, breath shallow in her chest. Even on her death bed, Alessandra de Vincenzi was a woman of peerless beauty. The cold pallor of impending finality did little to hide the golden radiance of her mother’s skin, the cloud of ebony fanned over the pillow, still silky soft, as if she hadn’t been trying to sweat out a fever. She’d died with her daughter’s name a whisper on ruby lips turned grey.

Little time was allowed for her to weep. Despite their best efforts to burn every trace of that all-consuming pestilence from their home, two days after, her father collapsed in his study, discovered by her younger brother Marco. They’d barely manage to move him to a bed when he died. Even still, the memory was fresh, as if she’d just opened her gaze and seen it again. It burned in the back of her mind-- the sight of the last little traces of life in her father’s honey-brown eyes fading as he looked upon her and her brother.

“Prendersi cura della tua sorella.“ She’d nearly choked, watched Marco nod, his face pale, eyes dark. And then, Johannes de Vincenzi, like Alessandra, died, with his children at his side.

Not quite a week passed, before the horrible, cold realization dawned on her, that like their parents, Marco was dying. Her baby brother, so determined to protect his beloved elder sister, couldn’t hide his illness for long. Her paranoia made her watchful eye too acute, too accurate. So distinctly aware was she of it, that her darling, dearest, only brother took matters into his own hands.

He didn’t want to suffer, he’d wrote. He didn’t want her to watch him wither, he’d wrote. He didn’t want to lose his life in such a slow, agonizing way, he’d wrote. 

He was trying to protect her, because he loved her, he’d wrote.

A week and two days after the death of Johannes de Vincenzi, Issahbella found her younger and only brother, Marco de Vincenzi, belly up in the nearest canal to their family villa. Rather than waste away to the plague he, like all the others, had contracted, he took his own life, throwing himself into the canal to drown.

Of all the memories imprinted in her ancient, frozen bones, there is none that haunts her quite as the sight of her baby brother, skin blue and pale, body bloated with rancid canal water, sightless eyes hazed over with the milky sheen of death. Dead. In the canal. 

She had screamed, cried, and drug him out with strength she didn’t know she had. The grief had been impossible, like the weight of the entire city collapsing onto her back all in that moment. No bite of a knife, no graze of a bullet, no bite of a vampire had ever been, nor would ever be, as painful as what she felt in that moment.

In her sleep, she relives this all again. And again. And again, and again, on an endless repeat, disembodied voices chanting in her mind, that she couldn’t save them, you didn’t try to save them, they were gone and she was alone, failed, she’d failed them, worthless, heartless-- !!

And when she can take no more of this incessant loop, and she herself cries out only for, ‘God, please, mercy! Mercy!’, does the cruel loop gift her with one last horror.

Issahbella cradles Marco in her arms, in her lap, just as she had in that day, molten tears dripping down paled cheeks, off her nose, the salt worse than the taste of seawater in her mouth. She is drowning in her agony, her heartache. And as she does, does her darling, precious, most beloved brother rise in her arms, hands cradling her face, wiping her tears with thumbs turned colder than blizzard’s bite with death.

“Dearest sister...” The voice that tumbles out of his mouth, water-logged, gurgling and wet, like some oily monster, is not his own, but she listens all the same, frozen in place with terror. She cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, only watch as this....thing wearing her brother’s face pulls her towards the canals edge.

“Stay with me, sister. I love you.” Poison. His words are poison in her blood, burning so brightly painful, she is nothing but ice.

Into the water they tumble, and his hands, decaying away into bone, flesh melting into the putrid green waters, clasp at her throat, and still she cannot move. His voice bombards her ears, echoing yet muffled as they sink down, down, into the deep, endless dark.

“You failed me sister! You let me die, sister! You are worthless, unloved! You should’ve died with us! Betrayer! Traitor! Unliving creature! Suffer! Suffer with us! You left us! You abandoned us!”

As black encompasses all save for the saint’s fury of her brother’s glowing eyes, one last word resounds.

“FAILURE!”

Issahbella Zeverani does not scream.

Not for pain, not for fear, not even for death.

And yet she wrenches from her nightmare, soaked in her own sweat, the shrieking wail that tears from her throat and rips through the villa so loud and harsh even the birds that sing at midday stop their song.

Knees pull up and arms curl around, and Issahbella grieves, mourns, pours out all the pain in the form of seemingly endless tears, soaking the sheets balled in her fists, heels of her palms pressed into her eyes.  

Anything it make it stop.

Anything, please.

Someone was certain to come investigate, though servant or her ever-present guest, curious at what could cause her such distress.

It didn’t matter.

Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.