#not yet corpses still we rot

[crowofjudgements-blog]

Not yet corpses, still we rot

Mother Mystra, what more do you want?

Based on John Everett Millais “The Martyr of Solway” and this INCREDIBLE piece https://www.tumblr.com/ecairnsart/740708512607485952/just-finished-up-this-bg3-commission-for please give them all the love you can!!!

Didn’t decide to post the fully coloured version of this but oh well, she looks statuesque anyways. I’m also obsessed with her big wet and sad kitty cat eyes, she’s literally all I’ve ever wanted

I have to break Gale’s heart soon in my current playthrough for the plot but it makes me CRY WHY CAN’T I TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT I JUST WANT TO APOLOGIZE BRO 😭😭

Luckily there’s a guiding star at camp to help pick up the pieces ♥️

Anyways, I will always stand by the fact that it’s the women and innocents who suffer the most when gods play with power, so that’s basically the thesis of her character- though she is chaotic good so she said ‘fuck the thesis’ 💀

Anyways, here’s the collage I made that set my artist heart off today.

Women need to cry more, may we drown those who sought our destruction in tears and blood.

[just-null]

YO, SUPER LATE SUPER LONG SUPER MESSY OCTOBER POST THAT I JUST SHOVED EVERYTHING INTO BC I DIDN'T WANT TO DO MULTIPLE. FUCK IT.

I forgot halfway that these were supposed to be costumes and not mini aus... SO REMEMBER IN MY PLACE, EVERYTHING IS HYPOTHETICAL. also. some have a bit of yandere elements to them bc its SO FITTING FOR NORITOSHI.

Happy late October, everyone. it's winter now. Let's get it, baby.

[Long rambles and doodles under the cut!]

Vampire!

I kept asking myself, "How sexy is too sexy.." and "How the fuck does a sexy vampire even look like without it being a shirtless guy w fangs or Edward Cullen....." I think I figured it out

Sure, sure, vampires are superhumans with sun allergies that can drink blood really hotly. They can also easily overpower you to feast and blah blah blah, but what if said vampire (Noritoshi) was too weak to do any of that? Not literally, but he craves your say. He wants not only your blood but your affection. He wants to get praised as he drinks you in. Are you comfortable? How much will you allow him to take? Do you want to get him back in return? Guidance with this makes him feel more at ease. It's still Noritoshi at the end of the day. He's going to find a way to be a little awkward about you because of his crush. He refuses to drink from anyone other than you, even if it causes his death. Therefore, he has to keep you healthy! For the rest of your lives..! Besides, he can't really go outside or else he'd.. y'know. So if you think about it, this is a very beneficial relationship for both of you!!

The only downside is that you're losing blood on the regular, and for some reason, more people are moving away... Probably nothing, right? Noritoshi is always there to keep you company and help you recover anyways.

Witch!

my attempts also bled into the witch design.... you got greedy with requesting two in one ask, but I'll spoil you this time bc I also wanted to see Noritoshi as a (sexy) vampire and witch. heh. AND I DIDNT REALIZE HED BE SO CUTE AS A WITCH..... WHAT THE FUCK?? rip momo, fight for your title of cute witch...

Noritoshi strikes me as one of those witches who'd rather be left to their own devices because they're running some important magic whatever in the background. though, he'll take some breaks and indulge you if you insist on having him around. Insist meaning you pass by and strike conversation, leaving him to neglect anything and everything to prioritize his time with you. He doesn't want to use magic on you unless it's beneficial for either you or both. Noritoshi likes a natural progression with you that he knows for a fact is true and not some product of some spell. Though it doesn't mean he wouldn't use charms and such to get you to interact with him more often to speed up the process!

Can't sleep? He has a remedy perfect for that! Bad luck? Oh no, take a charm. Nerves? A potion he perfected will help you ease your jitters. Annoying peers? With a snap of Noritoshi's fingers, they're gone! Just don't ask what happened. Enjoy yourself instead and come to him with any new issue. He's quick to resolve it.

Definitely has some sort of doll that looks suspiciously like you.. Noritoshi would probably talk to it and practice one liners that give you the strongest sense of nostalgia once he uses them. He's simultaneously giddy that the charm he put in the doll works but also a little annoyed that his hard work isn't surprising you, but leaving you with deja vu.

Idol!

i was crying the entire time bc what does an idol look like.... noritoshi is handsome enough to be an idol without actually being an idol... now i can confirm that idols are very well dressed though. thumbs up 100% but i had some thoughts...

[Idol]

Noritoshi would be the type to cherish his fans, but hold clear favoritism over you. he'd be those idols that look cold, but they talk, and they sound smug in a charming way. i don't know much about idols, but i know he'd be so fucking good.... he'd be the type of guy to sing to you amongst the hundreds in the crowd.... ahhh the interviews w these famous aus. they're just talking and acting like themselves. can you imagine Noritoshi getting asked the question if he has a lover or not? he can lie, im sure you're alright with that, but he doesn't want to!! he does have someone!!! someone he loves more than all his fans love for him combined!!! he just can't say it for the sake of your privacy and his career. so Noritoshi does what any charming guy who's good with their words does. he deflects the question. answering the question, but not really, that'd be something he's known for. fans online are split on why Noritoshi does this. some think he's trying to keep that side of his life private, others think he's trying to mess around, and others think he's hiding a secret lover!!! though the last one is usually seen as the outlandish one, sometimes it makes Noritoshi's heart drop bc they get some things right. "Having a lover is a complicated question hidden behind a simple disguise. If I had to answer, I'd say my lovers are my audience. they make sure i'm well cared for, some more than others." AND HIS FUCKING LITTLE SMIRK I CANT COUGHS UP BLOOD. IM A THEORIST TOO. SECRET LOVER. 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

ON THE FLIP SIDE....

[Not an Idol]

An amusing thought where Noritoshi goes out in his casual clothes, and he's mistaken for an idol. No one knows who he is, but he just looks like he'd be one. bro's just trying to buy groceries, and now he has a fan group asking him to take pictures with them.. He'd tell them that he's just a guy, not an idol, but the group would still want a picture with him. it'd be a waste to pass by someone who's so naturally gorgeous, so with a sigh of defeat, he relents. It's just a photo, right? No harm done. Noritoshi'd go home and feel overwhelmed/embarrassed by the whole ordeal. later, he gets a call from someone in the kyoto group or you to inform him how he's all over social media, known as that handsome guy in the supermarket. HED BE COMPLETELY UNREACHABLE TO MEDIA OUTLETS BC NORITOSHI IS THAT GUY WHO DOESNT HAVE SOCIAL MEDIA.... he'd have to make one to make sure no one pretends to be him online. "Hello, I don't use social media, but I've been informed I've been getting attention online. To prevent anyone from being fooled by an impersonator, this is my official and only account. thank you." P.R. STATEMENT WRITING ASS.. his single post gets flooded with likes, comments, and DMs. it almost blows up his phone..... he was just buying bread, dude...... people try to dig up and find him through the other Kyoto group's social media.

[bonus] my second in command requested to put him in a fem idol outfit bc he thought it was funny. after frothing at the mouth and coughing out blood, I complied.

Doctor!

THIS IS SUCH A STRAIGHT FORWARD ASK BUT IT HAS SO MANY IMPLICATIONS. MY BELOVED CULT MEMBER.. THOSE EMOJIS GIVE ME A DIFFERENT IMPRESSION BUT IM NOT SURE.

Noritoshi as a doctor...... apple sales would plummet. his little clinic's business would skyrocket. sick cases would peak in his area. getting your heart checked by his stethoscope would be so fucking embarrassing bc all he'd hear is THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

LIKE IMAGINE IF THAT WAS YOUR DOCTOR? BRO.

COUGH COUGH HACK WHEEZE COUGH COUGH.

Noritoshi would probably own a small clinic that he wants to expand. That or he opened one after working for a hospital for a while. He's a great doctor who's most likely respected but a pain in the ass to work with. Among patients, he's gotten the hot doctor reputation. Most want to be treated by him, but he's so professional, any chance of trying to flirt goes down the drain. Yeah, he puts his hair up to avoid it in his face even though his eyes are closed classic lab safety procedures. He seems like the type to have a soothing but authoritative voice during examination, so he gets his message across. it's a bit difficult when dealing with patients for Noritoshi. If he sees them too often, he firstly scolds you for not taking care of yourself, then feels guilty for not giving you the proper care. Keep yourself safe and healthy, or else Noritoshi will clearly :( Putting him in a yandere setting would be dangerous. He'd have a lot of control over you, considering he can prescribe medication, shots, visits, and other things.... he'd have a ball.... nothing that would cause you any harm, of course. he's only looking out for you and doing what's best for you..!

Pirate!

my second in command wanted a pirate. pirates are so fucking cool and i know damn well if this guy were a pirate he'd have a bunch of battle scars under that fancy coat.

Noritoshi as a pirate would be more than a little odd, but also fitting. He looks like the type of guy who'd be well put together, yet he's willing to get his hands dirty. Like the guy who got into the pirate life because of some personal issue that couldn't be solved fast enough through conventional means. Even as a pirate, i imagine he holds everyone to high standards. They're still pirates though.. so his expected standards aren't even that high. He has more freedom here, so even he himself lets loose once or twice. Especially with you. He's even able to get away with more violent actions for you, the seas are unpredictable, after all. While taking some treasure, Noritoshi'd toss you a gem or golden coin, just so you can say you were the first to claim it. Just so he can see that happy glint in your eyes when getting your hands on treasure. God forbid anyone try to get their hands on your hard earned goods. They'd be met with a bullet to the foot or a sword at their neck. Everyone and their mother knows how you're his favorite, but Noritoshi downplays it. Its not a crime to help out someone from his crew is it? Not in the seven seas. He leans more into his cold ruthless killer side here. He has goals and people to help keep in line whether hes captain or not. Yet when around you, he's almost adorable in how he shows you a pearl so entrancing that it reminded him of you.

Corpse Bride!

my submission to my Noritoshi Halloween costume closet.. CORPSE BRIDE, THIS MOVIE FUCKS. esp w the yandere elements.

Noritoshi 100% made you recite the wedding vows to him before accepting the ring. If you fumbled up, he'd correct you with SO much attitude and expect you to start from the top until you got it perfectly.

Hypothetically, in the chalice scene towards the end..

Noritoshi is the type to never be fully relaxed unless he knows for sure you'll be eternally his. In this scenario, YOU proposed to HIM but have to die to continue being together. Not only that, but someone in the living world is also after your heart. Someone who bleeds. Someone who's the obvious choice. Someone who can give you the life that you deserve. Someone who will succeed in their pursuits if you. remain. alive. Noritoshi's life was cut short, yet he still managed to lose so much and be abandoned a considerable amount of times. When he meets you and finds out about the possibility of having to go through that again even in death, it finally clicks in his rotting mind. He realizes he's been doing something wrong to keep constantly failing. Noritoshi revises his methods to a more.. selfish course. Why should he care about anyone else's wants or how his actions hurt them? You were the only one who made him truly fulfilled, to make him feel alive. The only one who deserves anything and everything good that comes from this world. Destiny is never done toying with him when he realizes your marriage is invalid because of your pulse and his lack thereof no matter how hard he'd try, but the opportunity arises. of course, he's ecstatic to give you an afterlife worth much more than what a silly beating heart can achieve. "All people die eventually. If you miss your living family or friends, all it takes is patience, darling. I'll wait by your side in the meantime." He weighs the pros and cons of everything, but when it comes to swaying manipulating your thoughts he only highlights the ones that'll get you on his side. in this case, the pros of dying to be with him! Honestly, the answer was so obvious that Noritoshi didn't know why he was stressing about it before. It hurts him to see you in any type of pain, but he reassures both himself and you that it'll only be for a moment. Afterward, he'll have the rest of your afterlives to make it up to you!! What happened to Till Death Do Us Part? Noritoshi thinks it's insulting that something as shallow as that could be so widely accepted. If your love were true, it wouldn't stop just because the world decided to take them away. "Till death do us part? Darling, don't be silly. 'Not even death will do us part' feels much better, doesn't it?" 

[palespawn]

for all the terror that was inflicted within it's halls, the szarr palace had a certain charming regality to it one might find fit for a king or queen. the gothic expanse was dimly lit with an array of enchanted candles, wicks that never extinguished, illuminating the crimson wallpapers and demonic oil paintings passed off as members of the szarr family, now long since gone. the guests that filled the ballroom were a miscellany of noble houses ranging from baldurian's, born and bred, to renowned visitors from far and wide. astarion observed with disdain as they admired the furnishings and idled around the buffet, grazing the refreshments he recalls a thrall being whipped over not hours before.

with a masquerade, however, unless identities were revealed after one too many glasses of wine or a mishap in secrecy, such titles were a moot point; guarded behind a decorative mask, some much more overt than others. his siblings were scattered throughout the gathering, a delicate murmur of mingling voices amidst the soft lighting and prelusive violin. his assignment: a duke, from where and of what renown? was apparently not for him to know. all but the design of his disguise― spotted in an instant, a deep blue adorned with gold. playing to his talents, overt and otherwise, astarion presented for the occasion: deep neckline embellished with embroidered silver on black, his mask to match and reminiscent of the winged mammal that was a touch too on the nose.

he wasn't to know his target would arrive with another until he made strides to introduce himself. astarion smiles despite the fact, his gaze, unmistakably blood red and iridescent, lingering a touch longer on the duke's companion by comparison. “ my, my. it would appear i've been beat. is this delicacy your consort? ” even with a mask, their beauty was apparent― yet in full, a mystery still. “ what a pity, here i thought you were fair game. ” @demonwebs ♡

[bestcadaverinthejujutsumorgue]

jujutsu kaisen would be much more thematically honest if it just came out there are let at least one character do necrophilia. instead we've got to hammer (haha, get it, "hammer", because only the power of the editors is keeping us from witnessing a zombie4zombie orgy the likes of which shonen has never witnessed before and godwilling will witness again) the corpse desecration Situation into the bloodstained ground in other ways.

[fragmcntedsouls]

@exitiumstarters ✦ cassian lancastor

"You know I can hear you, right?" Cassian grumbled, unimpressed by whatever poor attempts of tailing or avoidance the other was practicing. The day had been long and somehow, he felt as if the night was destined to be so much longer. OEA first and foremost, he was well equipped with weapons, but his fingers twitched, knowing that his magic would be all he really needed to stave of a threat. "Gonna come out, or should I just make you instead?"

[jarvislover]

I'm sorry lol

[txrks]

Tag Dump 1

[fragmcntedsouls]

Cassian rolled his eyes at the tortured dramatics, although even he had to admit that he was amused by the others antics. “Come on, chicks love that brooding, woe is me shit that you’ve got going on” he taunted, before waving a hand through the air, “whatever, I can’t take any more of this self fucking loathing. We’re going out tonight" anticipating protest he countered "don't bother fighting it, just make sure you shower and are ready by 11.” Matthias had grown to be family; Cassian’s bio family unit was fractured and that was putting it politely. From the moment their bromance had begun, he believed that there was nothing that could come between them – except now there was. Offering an exaggerated sigh, Cass threw himself back into his chair and quipped “not from where i’m sitting.” Whilst the question asked had been simple, Cassian felt as though his answer would be anything but. His shoulders rolled, one hand lifting to tug through his hair as his tongue pushed against his lower lip “different like – she’s all the fucking light in the world, you know?” he murmured, before awkwardly clearing his throat and forcing his attentions onto the other. “You’re such a jackass” eyes rolling “what, so you're not even going to try? Seriously, what have you got to lose? You never know, she might have disgustingly low standards and find that she actually tolerates you” he quipped with a grin.  

His words prompt a laugh. There was no planet on which Cas was way above his league. If anything, they were the two sides of the same coin. A good match. For the most part. "I date out of my league anyway. Hence why I'm perpetually alone. Shit's hard to find." it's light-hearted now, like somewhere along his line of jealousy and resentment he remembered Cas had stuck with him through more shit than most. From the moment he'd lost his real brother, the other had been the closest he'd ever gotten to a replacement. So he lets go of the sting, and the tension, Gabi was better off with Cas than she would be with him anyway. "I'm perfectly content with the stick up my ass. Does wonders for the posture." he'll take a sip of his cold beer, not really looking at the other as they spoke. Not even as he mentions Gabi being different, words that hit more than they should have, froze his blood for a split second, even though he'd already accepted defeat on the matter. It didn't make it easier. "Different how?" in between sarcasm and jokes, he manages a simple question. --- "I'll have you know, I have -- met a girl recently. Different. Most beautiful fucking person you could ever meet." no lie is told, and only half the truth revealed. "It could never work though. She and me. She's...perfect and I'm...well, me."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

A hand grips your shoulder. "We'll take care of them. Keep low and find a place for all of you to hide. Do not come out until we say."

His words blur together, but you manage to act accordingly, ignoring the pit in your stomach when he disappears around the truck. The concrete is covered in glass and rusted debris, so you keep low without letting your knees touch the ground and motion for the others to follow.

The closest place is an old café, the door closed with chains but the glass window shattered enough for you to crawl through. You pull the knife from your ankle as you move everyone behind the cash register, gripping the handle tight once you lean your back against it. The café is quiet. Still. No one else is here. You steady your breath. Staring at you are the double doors to the kitchen in the back, a thick waft of mold radiating, and behind you are tipped-over chairs and tables.

The noise outside has drifted. When you take a quick peek, you don't see anyone near the truck anymore. It is as if the three of them have followed whoever was shooting.

"Twix, I—"

You look back. Blue is holding her hand out, a shard of glass thrust in her palm.

Blood oozes.

You have no supplies on you, but you carefully pinch the glass between your thumb and forefinger. She bites her lip as it wriggles free, releasing another gush of blood. As if on cue, the kitchen doors burst open with ear-splintering screeches, and three Greys surge toward you.

Blue's bloodied hand reaches for her ankle knife as one tackles you, grinding your spine into the counter's edge. Two gunshots ring out over the snarling in your face. You thrust your arm against its throat, keeping the chomping jaws at bay, and with your other hand, stab the knife into its skull three times, until it whines like a dying animal.

When you shove the corpse to the tile floor, you see the two others on the ground. Blue is pulling her knife from one skull, and Ari has a gun in his hand.

"I only have one more bullet," he pants, double-checking the barrel.

"Someone could've heard the gunshots," Nereida whispers frantically.

"Then we find somewhere else to hide. Come on." Your eyes land on a graffitied door on the side wall. It leads into an alleyway that smells putrid. You motion for Ari to give you the gun as you lead the way, sandwiched between brick walls. You can still hear rounds firing from the street. They stutter in sync with your heartbeat.

You shove a rusted crate that blocks the path. You catch sight of movement, and something scurries between your boots. Blue squeaks and grips Ari's arm, your hand tightening on the gun—but it's only a raccoon.

"There."

You spot a sizable dumpster around the corner, where the narrow alley widens enough for cars to pass behind the buildings. Nereida helps you shove off the debris on top and heave open the lid. A thick waft of rot rises, along with a buzz of fruit flies. The dumpster is half-filled with blackened garbage and charred bones, but no Greys. You don't have time to find another spot as two male voices echo from down the alley.

"I heard it over here!"

"Let's check, come on."

Shit.

You lace your fingers for Blue to step on them. "Quick, get in."

Once the kids are inside, Nereida grabs the edge and hoists herself up. You glance back, stomach coiling as two shadows approach the corner. Quickly, you close the lid after her, scatter the debris back on top, and scurry behind a nearby crate, palm sweaty around the gun.

A fevered study of the shadows reveals two healthy, fit men. One bullet. Something in the second one's gait seems slightly off. You make a split-second decision, peek over the crate, and aim for the first man's chest, doubting your ability to land a headshot.

He falls dead with a thud and then you are launching blindly at the second man with your knife, but you fail to pierce flesh when a strong grip snatches your wrist. The man's rifle skids across the ground and your back is slammed against the wall, your skull colliding with the brick hard enough to make stars dance across your vision. A muscled forearm presses into your neck, effectively cutting off your air.

"Fucking bitch."

Even through the blood rushing between your ears, the growl in your face is—familiar.

You blink up at a man swallowed by a massive burn scar.

The tip of his nose is gone, with eyelashes and scalp burnt away, revealing poorly healed ripples of flesh.

One eyelid fails to open properly, the skin too scarred.

The recognition unfurls your eyes.

He presses harder. "I know you, don't I?" Anger cuts through his gaze. "Ah. That's right—a thief and a killer. You're full of surprises, sweetheart." The curl on his burnt lips makes you flinch, but there is nowhere to go. "I guess you found new friends."

"I guess—I guess you did... too..." Short gasps leave your mouth.

"Shut up," he growls. "I don't want to hear a word from a stuck-up bitch like you who thinks her tits and her cunt are worth more than my goddam face." He is yelling now, spit flying in your eyes. "Don't you dare look away from it! What, not proud of your handiwork?" He breathes hard and looks you over with a snigger. "Finding you is just my luck. I was going to go easy the first time, but now I think I'll kill you then enjoy you. How's that sound? Your corpse being passed around? Hope your cunt is as good when you're dead—"

White-hot anger ripples through your veins and you snarl before hurling a wad of saliva in his face, using the brief distraction to drive your knee into his groin. He staggers back enough for you to escape his hold and push away from the wall.

Gulps of air feel painful down your throat. You back away, readjusting the hold on your knife while he rubs his eyes furiously. 

"You're sick," you growl, voice hoarse and low. 

"And you're not, princess?"

"I'm not a goddamn rapist."

"You ruined my fucking face," he retorts, stalking you down the alley. At least you are drawing him away from their hiding place—you make an unnoticed glance at the dumpster to ensure no one else has approached, relieved to see the lid unmoved. When your eyes flick back to him, a sick curl twitches on his lips. "You're not innocent here. You're damned like everyone else. That ride of yours now has a shot tire, and that boat—" he chuckles, "—what? Thought you were gonna get out of this hell? We made sure to put a hole in that, too."

His words sink in. 

For a moment, horror grips you.

But you channel it through your veins as something useful—rage—and launch at him without abandon. He anticipates an attempt to stab his side again, so he blocks there, but instead, you reach for his marred face and claw the unhealed wounds, reopening them. He howls like an animal, stumbling back and cradling his cheek as blood seeps between his fingers. 

"I'm going to kill you, bitch—"

He blindly reaches for the rifle on the ground but you are quick to kick it away. You jump on him, this time bringing him to the concrete, which scrapes against your exposed skin as you wrestle to come out on top. But he is stronger. Heavier. For the second time you become pinned, he tries to dig his hands into your throat. The lack of oxygen threatens to turn the world black, but you slap a hand back on his face and rip off his scarred eyelid before it can.

He roars.

You spit in his face.

Your knife—you lost it in the midst.

As blood pours from his eye, you outstretch an arm and feel for the handle.

The leather is in your palm.

You stab his side.

You shove at his shoulder to get him off.

Then you pin him down, and plunge the knife over and over into every piece of him you find. Neck, chest, cheek, shoulder.

Again and again.

A slashed jugular. Ripped arteries.

Your vision is consumed by blood. You let yourself drown in it. Hot, thick—

Arms grab you by the waist and lift you into the air.

You attempt to wriggle free and dig your knife in them, but the person is quick to disarm you.

"Twix." 

A skull face stares down at you. Your bloodied fingers wrap around Ghost's shirt as you pant heavily. It's him. He's here. 

"Where are they?" he shouts over the ringing in your ears.

He sets you down, gripping your shoulders to steady you. It takes a moment to gather your senses, to comprehend his words. Your hands, shirt, and face are drenched in blood. Your head throbs with weight. Slowly, the world snaps back into focus. You glance around, spotting Kyle and Price standing behind him.

"There," you finally breathe out. "The dumpster. They're...they're in there. Safe. They're safe."

His eyes flick over the length of you, perhaps to ensure all of the blood is not yours, before the three of them thrash off the debris and lift the lid to the dumpster around the corner. They help out Nereida, Ari, and Blue. 

"Ghost." You try to swallow, but the pain hums with each attempt. His eyes snap to yours just as he checks over Blue. "He... They've shot a tire."

"I know. I've got a spare."

"The kayak, too. How are we—"

"We figure that out later. We need to leave." Price slings the rifle over his shoulder and grabs his wife by the arm. "Those fucks are going to be drawn straight to us now."

Blood. Right. 

You push through the ache in your head and run after them back to the truck. The absence of gunfire signifies everyone else has been taken care of, but just as predicted, a chorus of moans begins to filter through the buildings. From windows, underneath cars, and benches—Greys begin to crawl out. The faster ones are quickly shot by either Kyle's handgun or Ghost's rifle. Price helps everyone into the car and slams the door shut as Ghost and Kyle continue firing.

"Wipe yourself, quick. And change inside." Price throws a rag at you. Your backpack.

You get into the passenger seat, wiping your face and hair with a splash of water from Blue's canteen, then toss the stained rag out onto the street.

You don't care if anyone can see as you slip off your shirt, throwing it out the window, and slipping on a clean one.

Outside, Price and Kyle shoot away any Greys that approach as you suspect Ghost is changing the blown out tire, because you can't see him even in the side mirror. 

Within ten minutes, he flings open the door and takes seat behind the wheel. This time Price and Kyle hop in the truck bed with their guns as Ghost starts the ignition with a loud rumble, veering sharply back onto the road. 

Time has been stolen. It is high afternoon, the sky a clear blue even though the streets you leave behind in Halstead are tainted red.

Now the map is in your hands, but Ghost seems to know the way from here.

"How long can the spare go for?"

"Long enough." His words are clipped. "But the kayak we need to figure out."

"It can't be fixed, can it?"

His silence is your response.

Your mind races.

Minutes blur. Behind you, Nereida quietly helps wrap Blue's hand.

Colchester whirls by without obstructions, but you keep looking out the window and squinting, paranoid. You make it to the coast within an hour. The buildings turn into colorful, seafaring cottages and the streets turn to uneven cobblestone. Seashell chimes dance in store fronts that are plastered with old signs reading KEEP OUT IF INFECTED. Ghost makes a sharp right down a narrow street and parks the truck in front of a lone, blue cottage that seems remote enough to be safe. Even if the kayak was fine, you'd have to stop for the night in order to get out on the water at the start of morning.

A flock of oystercatchers scatters as the truck doors slam open and close. The air, thick with salt and spume, is cooler here, the breeze tugging at your tangled hair, where bits of dried blood still clings. The view of the sandy shore and rocky pier would be beautiful, if your mind weren't elsewhere, if the day hadn't been marked by panic.

Ghost circles around to look at the kayak. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," Price mutters.

He helps him pull it out. 

Blue and Ari sit on the steps to of the cottage's porch and listen in silence. 

Nereida watches from beside you, tucking a sweater on against the chill.

Ghost flips the kayak, revealing a bullet hole that goes through one end and out the other. Anger radiates from his tense shoulders. "Christ."

"We can't patch it like we did the raft, can we?" Kyle asks, bending on his knees to look at the damage.

Price raps his knuckles against the hollow sides. "No, it's hard plastic. It would need welding to fix holes like that."

The understanding lingers in the air as you cross arms over your chest. "I'll stay behind, then," you speak up. Nails cutting your palms. You're damned like everyone else. Nereida looks at you with wide eyes, touching your arm. "If we can't fix it, then all we have is the raft and it only fits six. You guys take it in the morning and I will stay behind here—"

"No one is staying behind," Ghost grits fiercely. He gestures at the truck bed. "It doesn't even matter if we got rid of a person. The supplies have to fit, too. Even if we make it across, we're dead without the ammo and food."

Price trails his thumb over the hole in the plastic. "Two would have to stay behind in order for us to fit all the supplies." Your breath hitches as you watch him calmly stand up. "Or... two would have to swim."

"Swim?" you repeat. "You can't just swim it. I mean—it's open water."

"Nothing we haven't swam in before." Kyle leans against the side of the truck, crossing his arms. "But it's further across than the strait. Jesus, what is it? A 40, 50 kilometer swim?"

"Then we take turns," Price says. "Two of us at a time."

"I can take a turn," Nereida offers. "I used to swim in college. I mean, it can't be so bad if we go in intervals, and hold onto the raft."

You breathe deep, looking at the water that crashes upon the shore in the distance and then at Ghost, who is already staring at you. "I can take a turn, too."

"The three of us will start it off. If we need you two to cover, then you'll be ready to go. The kids stay in the raft."

You swallow. "It's not just about getting tired, we need plenty of water to drink. You can still get quickly dehydrated, and the temperature of the water—I mean, hypothermia can set in fast even it is warm."

"We load up on clean water tonight and have blankets and towels ready to go," Kyle says.

You glance back at Ghost. The rise and fall of his chest turns more steady as he nods his head in resignation.

"That's our only choice, then."

The evening is thick with silence.

No one has the energy for conversation, only exchanging brief requests or simple instructions. Starting a fire is risky even here, but you need clean water. A freshwater creek lies a few kilometers back, so Price and Ghost take the truck while the rest of you work on inflating the raft for tomorrow. Whatever happened between you and Kyle goes unspoken, both of you focused on the task at hand, taking turns pumping and checking the seams for anymore holes. When the two return, you help boil the water over a small wood-burning stove in the cottage, praying the smoke rising from the chimney isn’t too noticeable in the growing breeze as the sun sets.

The cottage is mostly bare, with only a dining table, a knocked-over chair, and a stripped bed frame in one of the rooms. The bathroom is quaint, its sea star wallpaper faded, and a warped mirror hangs above the sink. You stare at your reflection while the others lay out sleeping bags on the dusty floor, turning in early to conserve energy for the new plan to cross the channel. Ghost has taken first watch, sitting out on the porch with a rifle.

You listen to their soft murmurs outside the bathroom door as you work on getting out the rest of the blood in your hair. There is a red mark on your throat that is sore to the touch, and the back of your head still feels like someone has taken a hammer to it. Your eyes seem darker than the last time you saw them. You take another rag, wet it, and wipe it all over your skin. Then, you pad back out where the last lamp has been turned off and only moonlight through the boarded windows is left.

You slip into the empty sleeping bag next to Blue and stare at the ceiling. It is impossible to sleep—to even close your eyes for longer than a few seconds. Your heart refuses to even its pace, furiously pumping blood through your veins.

After an hour of lying still, the itch becomes intolerable. You slip silently from the sleeping bag, grab your backpack, and creep to the back door by the kitchen. It opens to a patch of overgrown grass. The cold air raises gooseflesh on your arms, but after emptying your bag, saving only the clothes, and tying it up on a branch, your blood runs hotter. Teeth gritted, you pound your fists into the makeshift punching bag, breathing hard through your nose to keep the noise to a minimum. 

You hit it until your lungs burn cold, and take a pause only to grab the backpack, close your eyes, and lean your forehead against it while breathing deeply. 

"I would say you can't sleep because you're excited for a swim tomorrow, but I know better."

His voice is just behind you, a rough murmur over the distant lapping sea.

You don't turn around. "I'm thrilled for it, actually."

A pause. Then, "Quite heroic of you. Offering to stay behind."

"I wasn't trying to be a hero. It just made the most sense."

You let out one last huff and then settle back into your stance, reopening your eyes to take another swing, but a hand on your wrist wretches you away. You glare up at him as he holds both of your closed fists, peering down at the raw, reddened knuckles.

You’re ready to argue—to tell him to leave you alone and let you hurt your own hands if you want to—but instead, he surprises you by letting go and stepping back. He chucks off his jacket and tosses it to the ground, unrivaled strength evident in the width of his bare, inked biceps. His feet widen, and his fists rise, silently beckoning you.

It’s been over a week since your last sparring session, but as soon as your fists are raised, the familiar rhythm takes over. He doesn’t hold back—not here, not ever. You abandon strategy, driven by the primal satisfaction of ramming your knuckles into his ribs. The adrenaline surge becomes the perfect distraction, each punch feeding your hunger for more. Your breath quickens, harsh and ragged, as you throw punch after punch. Most of your hits are deflected with effortless grace. He mirrors your every step, matching your intensity with his own.

He sweeps his leg out, sending you to your hands and knees. A growl escapes your lips as you spring back up.

He circles you like a vulture.

"I saw his face."

Cold sweat trickles down your bruised neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was burned. Well, what was left of it. You fucked him up more than necessary." He lowers his fists, eyes locking onto yours with an intense scrutiny. Your nostrils flare as you aim a swipe at his jaw, but he catches your forearm, yanking you close until your chest is pressed against his. With a firm grip on your chin, he tilts your face upward, forcing your narrowed gaze to meet his."You can't hide, Twix. Not from me."

"He was the one who almost raped me, is that what you want to hear?" You dig your free hand into his chest. "And I killed him."

The shade of his irises darkens. "You did what you had to do—what I knew you could do when I left you. You protected yourself and the others."

"I enjoyed it. I wanted to kill him, and I have never wanted that before." You swallow through your sore throat and feel a subtle tremor up your spine as the fresh images brandish your mind. "I wanted to feel his blood on my hands, and if you hadn't stopped me, I would've kept going."

"He deserved it ten times over. I would've done the same."

"And what do I deserve?"

His voice is harsh. "You deserve to cross the channel tomorrow, and keep going. It was life or death. He got death, and you got life."

"And how much longer do I get it? Until the next time people start attacking us? The next horde of Greys? Even if we make it there alive, it will never be a normal life. I can never be a normal person again. Never. I feel like...like there is something broken and rotten inside of me, a-and maybe it was always there, like you said. But only now can I truly feel it."

By the last word, your voice has quieted to a harsh whisper. You avoid the stare bearing down at you by turning your chin. You failed to realize how close your faces have become. Your gaze drifts to the arm still holding you, prominent veins trailing beneath the inked skin, and you swear you can see a pulse in them as fast as your own. Heated breaths pass between your bodies in silence before you look back up at him.

"You murdered someone, didn't you?" you breathe out. "Before shit happened. Outside of the military. Actual murder."

His jaw ticks. "Yes. I did."

The blunt admission doesn't surprise you, nor does it frighten you.

He lowers his face a bit, enough for his exhalation to leave gooseflesh across your cheeks. "Ask me if I enjoyed it. Go on."

"Did you?"

"Very much so."

You swallow hard. "I guess you haven't been normal for a long time."

"No. I guess not," he murmurs.

The air feels thick between you. He studies you intently, fingers uncomfortably tight around your wrist, when the tip of his masked nose nudges tentatively—experimentally—against yours. Your breath hitches at the top of your throat. Your fingers absentmindedly slip under the hem of his mask on their own accord, peeling it up his neck to reveal a stubbled, scarred chin and full, pink mouth.

He doesn't move to stop you.  

You study the sight before you—one you didn't see so close up even when he broke his nose.

Then—the last thin thread of sanity within you snaps. With a surge of abandon, you firmly close your lips over his.

Heat instantly spreads through your mouth, through your limbs, and down to your socked toes. It is enough to flood you with the raw need to taste more of it. Your hands lower to twist tightly in the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer, and for a moment, those warm lips move slowly against yours. Then, he firmly presses on your shoulder and breaks away with a thin thread of saliva joining your mouths.

"Ghost." You pant raggedly, eyes darting across his face. Humiliation is ready to sink in at his rejection, but he growls under his breath and kisses you again—harder this time, drawing you in with a hand to your jaw.

It quickly turns into a clumsy, greedy mess of clanking teeth. One of your hands curls around the short hair at the nape of his neck. It is difficult to comprehend that it is his tongue, hot and demanding at the seam of your mouth, pushing in once you part it open. It is his hand moving from your jaw to your hair, fisting it to the point of pain, while his other grips your hip and backs you into the tree.

Your spine presses roughly against the bark. The heat and solidity of his chest against your breasts makes your mind go numb. You can't think about anything, not the day behind you or the one ahead, only feel. Blood courses through your veins with the same heat as when you fight him, but instead of growling in anger, you release a throaty sound of desperation, moving your hands to the backs of his shoulders and digging your nails into the flexed muscle. It encourages him to grind his hips against yours with a low groan, striking an unfamiliar wave of warmth between your legs.

You try to recreate the satisfying friction, greedily bucking into him, but it's difficult with the standing position. The mess of emotions inside you is impossible to sift through, but one certainty stands out: you need more of this, whatever it is.

You attempt to lift your legs and lock your ankles around him, biting his lip as a demand for him to help you, but his hand suddenly releases its hold on your hip and he rips away from your mouth, breathing hard through his bitten lips.

"That's enough," he says roughly, stepping away.

What?

It doesn't feel like even close to enough.

Before you can reach for him, he gives you his back and leaves you there, trying to regain your breath. 

[secretlovezz]

Kiss Me

Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: while you and Daryl are out on a run feelings are disruptively revealed

Warnings: killing of walkers (duh), Daryl is implied to be older than reader, kissing (of course), just fluff, let me know if I've missed anything

Word count: 1299 (Think that's the most I've ever written on here lol)

Not Proofread

"Watch it."

Daryl's arm swings up lazily with his pointer finger aiming in a direction to the left of you where a walker slowly makes its way closer, stumbling and tripping over the dead plant life and its decaying limbs. You meet it halfway and its milky eyes meet yours, for a split second you let yourself wonder what kind of life this creature- no this woman- lived before the world went to shit, you take notice of the wedding ring on the ring finger of her left hand before her groans and growling got louder; your knife sinks its way into the shambling and rotting skull of the corpse and the body drops to the ground.

Up ahead a few feet Daryl watches you, your movements, your eyes and lips, your hands, he watches it all and he notices that look the one of sadness and empathy.

Before he and his group came to Alexandria you had yet to truly experience the outside world; the unrealistic safety of walls had kept you naive and unprepared for the dangers of the dead.

Though you are no longer naive to the world you still have your moments, moments where Daryl would remind you albeit a little harshly that there was nothing you could do to help these things- these "people".

When you catch up with him you smile in an attempt to convince him that you weren't thinking about what he knew you were. His brow raises at you and your eyes roll dramatically in return. You hit his arm playfully and smile again, somehow this one is brighter than the one before, "Let's keep going Dar' this food isn't gonna find itself ya' know." The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smirk when you look away from him to continue walking he can't look away even as he makes his way back to you and you seem to have no idea the effect you have on him.

《----------♡

The two of you come across what seems like a small town with few houses and stores, a town that's probably already been raided for its supplies but Alexandra's desperation for food and medicine prompts you and Daryl to double-check- just in case.

Your eyes wander around admiring the once nice country houses as you walk down one of the streets-you forget the name of it already- and once again let your mind float away to life before. Would you have lived in a house like this if you got the chance, to live a married life with children running around if it was possible? Would the man you'd have married be a man like Daryl?

Your cheeks heat just at the thought of a domestic life with him. Is he the type of man to kiss your forehead when the two of you wake up together in bed as the sun shines through the bedroom window? You wonder if he would be the type to kiss and tickle the kids to make them laugh. Would he want a life like that or would he laugh at the idea?

You don't realize it but your legs have stopped moving, you stare at one of the houses wishing and reminiscing on what could have been but can no longer be.

Daryl watched you again but this time in confusion, this is the first time he hasn't known what you were thinking.

"What is it? Seen somethin'?" He asked walking back over to where you were to peer into the windows of the house.

Your head whips over to him eyes widening and cheeks heating even hotter in embarrassment.

Your fingers hastily move to fidget with the straps of your backpack, "I- uh- we should... let's just keep going." You keep your head down in shame at your thoughts though they weren't lewd as you make your way past him. He wants so badly to grab your arm- to have his skin gently against yours in concern as you speedily go by but he restrains himself fingers twitching against his crossbow and he clears his throat to continue after you.

《----------♡

After thoroughly searching through a hand full of buildings that included, gas stations, houses, supermarkets, and pharmacies neither of your bags were full having over found a few bottles of not too important medicines and a couple of tools.

When the two of you found a house, and cleared it of threats, to hunker down in for the night after a day of disappointments you settled in the living room upset and tired- understandably so. Worrying about the ignominy you'd feel returning home with practically nothing you let out a sigh from deep within your chest and moved your hands so the the palm of them would dig roughly into the sockets of your eyes.

Daryl let out a similar deep sigh as he settled closely next to you. His head falls back and his eyes drift to you letting a gaze so intense that you could feel it fall onto you.

You look back at him and try to let a grin form on your face but its tight lipped and almost fatigued.

The older man lets his eyes travel your face for what feels like the millionth time basking in your unreal beauty and like always their destination is your lips, though cracked they looked soft. He realizes he's ogling too late but still tries to fixates his stare back to your eyes before you notice.

You'd noticed though.

You debate asking him about it no longer worried about the lack of supplies you guys hadn't found but about whether or not you had imagined Daryl Dixon staring at your lips with a yearning you'd only seen in movies before the dead rose.

"Do you-um-" Talking about something as simple as feeling was more complex than they made it seem in movies though and you'd already stuttered over yourself an embarrassing amount of times today.

You leaned your face a little closer to his and his breath hitched. "Do you... like me? Like- do you want to kiss...me?" This was humiliating, you felt like a teenager, like you were fifteen and talking to your crush. Well, you were talking to your crush but you weren't fifteen anymore.

Daryl softly nodded letting out a gruff hum of agreement and you almost melted at the sound.

He leaned in a little closer just close enough so the tip of his nose could just barely brush against yours, "Do ya' want me to kiss ya'?"

"Please." You whispered.

His lips quirk upwards for a split second, "Please what?"

Your lips brush against his desperately, "Kiss me."

Daryl surges forward to capture your lips with his, you let out a sound on impact. The kiss is needy and filled with a want you both had been holding in for what feels like forever. Daryl's hands find your hips and grips them tightly using the strength he's built over the years to move you into his lap. You straddle him and shift you hands to rake through his hair before clasping them to the side of his head.

When you finally part for air you let your forehead rest against his, both of you panting heavily while staring into each others eyes. The smile on your face is wide and you giggle at the flushness on his cheeks- you did that to him.

The man you sit on top of doesn't know why your laughing, "Wha'?"

Relocating your head to press into the crook of his neck your smile widens and the fingers on one of your hands tangle and play with his hair, "Nothin' just... happy."

Daryl's smile is one that your sure you'll remember in every life time.

[palespawn]

fraygo's flophouse was becoming a frequent haunt, he was realising much too late. arousing the innkeeper's suspicion was to be expected, however, recklessly abandoning the tell-tale signs of wandering eyes and meticulous patron intake was definitely a step in the wrong direction. he still bore the marks of his last blunder, foolish of him to hold onto the hope of manumission. that thread was thinning with each passing year. poor, weak, wretched little thing.

the man he approached now was only one of many: a handsome illusion of dreams and ambition. it felt a cruelty still, after all these years, to rob innocents or idiots, or innocent idiots, of their freedom purely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. it felt selfish to hold onto that paper thin thread of hope that if he accumulated enough for his master, his own freedom would be rewarded to him. that @fjaorhamr could possibly be his last. he had to be selfish, no one else would be for him.

doubtful. stupid. foolish, astarion.

“  i much prefer blingdenstone's blush, if i may be so bold. there's something particularly ... pleasurable in the intimation of cherry. it's exquisite, ” astarion rests his arm along the bartop, glancing from the bottles of wine and liqueur on show to the mark before him. his roguish smile is practiced and perfect to match the rest of him. “  ... or am i projecting? ha, apologies. i'm sure a handsome thing like you is just full of surprises. ”

[fragmcntedsouls]

Shrugging, Cassian quipped "didn't fancy you becoming collateral damage to my winning streak." Technically he was off duty and blood didn't have to be spilled this evening, he wouldn't be the one spilling it. "Fuck it" he sighed, holding out the dart towards her "do you play? the prizes suck, but I don't say no to a little competition."

haven blinked at the other when he spoke to her. she looked around and saw that she had in fact walked in front of a game of darts. "oh," she said, blushing in embarrassment. "i'm so sorry," she muttered, walking out of the way. "yeah that would make sense. sorry again."

[fragmcntedsouls]

@exitiumstarters ✦ cassian lancastor

Life between pacifying the coven, searching for his sister and keeping the OEA in his sights, didn't seem to exist. Day after day, he practiced, he trained and he slept before he'd wake and repeat. Honestly, that cycle was beginning to wear a little thin.

'I already told you -- when I find her, i'll bring her back. How many times do I have to repeat that before you hear me?'

His conversation was cut short however, disgruntled to sense the presence of another as they approached "here's a tip, try less obnoxious footsteps next time if you don't want to be heard."

[laurrelise]

there’s something so haunting about watching scenes with five when he’s actually thirteen.

like, the flashbacks to before he time-traveled or when he was freshly dropped into the apocalypse.

the entire series, he’s supposed to look like that same damaged but not yet broken thirteen year-old, but he’s not. he’s the traumatized, lonely old man that we know and love. we don’t really know young five.

we know things about him. we know he was extremely stubborn and intelligent. we know he was distant but considerate, and that he wanted to prove himself to reginald more than anything.

but we never really learned who he was. and neither did five.

sometimes i wonder if he mourns the loss of his youth. of his curiosity. of his naivety and convenient stubbornness.

how could a kid grow into a stable man in a crumbling, apocalyptic hellscape?

the answer is, he can’t. so he never did.

he may look like he knows what he’s doing, like he’s got it all figured out, but he’s more lost than anyone in the series. he’s never had a moment to breathe. he never got to figure out who he was or wanted to be.

so he carries his young self around in his head like a rotted corpse, pretending it’s not there in an effort to stay focused in a situation that calls for urgency.

but his young self never escapes him. he may have physically gotten older. he can still feel the scratchiness of his mustache and hear the sloshing of water as innocent blood runs off of his body and into his drain. he may have had more wrinkles and scratches and scars to count, but he’s still the same naive child who disappeared out of spite.

he knows he is, and he hates himself for it.

he hates the stupid, senseless kid who ran off without a plan or the brains to make sure he knew how to handle his abilities before throwing caution to the wind. he started hating himself the moment he smelled charred bodies and burning buildings for the first time, the moment he knew that smell would never fully leave him.

and it doesn’t.

and neither does the thirteen year-old runaway.

[k1ru-https]

Not yet corpses. Still, we rot.

[palespawn]

“  me? ” he flinches at her rage suddenly, the rattle of her chains causing him to stumble back a step or two. she's too loud. astarion looks frantically over his shoulder, the cold, familiar rush of fear flowing through him at the mere thought of being found out. even on his best behaviour he would be whipped and tortured. to be caught here, even by accident, would likely be enough cause for his master to flay him alive. no doubt with a smile on his face.

“  shh! shut up! ” he hisses, panicked, palms raised in a bid to quell her furious outburst. on his behalf? she hardly knew him. he most certainly didn't know her. he can't even remember how he found this place― although, cazador did so enjoy his illusions. “  if you keep causing such a racket, we'll both be punished. do you hear me? ” he snaps, amidst his fear and frustration, was a sense of desperation. of course he wanted to leave this place. of course, he had considered ever so briefly that she might be of some use to him, were her words to be believed. but. “  you can't escape this place. no one can. you might as well make yourself comfortable. ”

SHOULDERS DROOPED AT HIS FIRST WORDS . he wouldn’t let her out ? wouldn’t allow her to escape ? why ? maybe he thought that she’d be the only one to escape ? did he think she’d leave him behind ? oh no no ! he could come with her ! they could be escape buddies ! —- wait ! maybe he was scared ? that could be it ! he could be scared to escape ! their master was a mean one and he —

eyes widened , brows rising closer to her hairline as she realized something . the words he spoke . indeed they were ones said out of fear … but the amount of fear she could scent … ❝ did he … hurt you ? … ❞

cruel their master was . she wouldn’t put it past him . she had been around for far too long . she could see all the signs — every little bit of body language . brows furrowed and sharp enamels were bared . he may be scared of their master , but she was simply angry . ❝ how dare he ! ❞ she pulled against her restraints , the chains reaching their limit , where they were attached the wall groaned in protest .