#problem decomposition

[groupidea]

This was the original intro video on the Groupidea website from 2015, providing an overview of the vision to create a knowledge base on the web to identify or gather problems or goals, ways to address them, and effects or impact of doing so. It is a "throwback" post to complement the earlier post about the withdrawal of the Groupidea application from the web.

[mechahero]

//Pondering the possibility of how rigor mortis might come into play when it comes to Lambda and his decomposition process.

[facetsofthecloset]

Coming across maggot-infested food as a bug fearer: 😱🤢🤮😭

Coming across maggot-infested food as a bug lover: 😱🪱🥺🤢

(Being a janitor is great! Except for when it’s not. Listen it’s not the maggots’ fault they’re trying to help by getting rid of the rotting food. It’s the rotting food part I object to.

Thank you whatever apartment dweller does not know how to separate their trash and forced me to pick through a trash bag with maggots to pull out the recyclables bc the trash guys won’t take unsorted bags)

[straightlightyagami]

if a problem said decompose a matrix without specifying how, what would you assume?

[rainrot4me]

Return The Favor

Summary: Stumbling in on your neighbor’s chopped up body, an unlikely friendship forms between you and Toby. Striking a deal, you agree to help the killer and his friends, buying them necessary prescriptions. But when one visit turns to multiple, Toby becomes curious, finding a not so subtle love note hidden away.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mentions of death, explicit description of a dismembered body, decomposition, death, gore, obsession, vomit, throwing up, blood (non-sexual), blood (sexual), vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, vaginal, choking, gagging, somnophilia, rough, Toby literally goes insane about you, virginity kink, first time, desperation

Words: 9.4k

A/N: This shit long asl I'm so sorry... Characters in this story are not canonical!

It’s said that when there’s a dead body nearby, your body can sense it before your brain can. 

It’s almost like instinct, a survival nature programmed into your brain. It’ll start with goosebumps and chills running all over your body as if you were being watched, this uncomfortable sensation that you just can’t rationalize. Then the anxiety sets in, body aching and sweating for no apparent reason but it just knows there’s something wrong. 

Finally, when you’ve finally choked it up to just being your imagination, that’s when you’ll smell it. Throat instantly closing and nostrils flaring at the putrid stench of rot and gore. It’s incomparable, no amount of food poisoning or disease compares to the sickness you feel in your stomach at the smell of a human body decomposing. Every instinct in your body pleading and begging you to get out of there, run as far away until you can’t breathe anymore. 

You would know. And it seemed like the boy huddled in front of you did too. 

There was no real reason for you to even be in this house in the first place, but your all-too-good heart guilted you into it. You had just come home from work, mind tired and body sleepy as you unlocked your front door, tossing your bag onto the kitchen table inside. It was well past midnight, the diner you worked at closing way later than normal, but at least you made some good tips. 

Sliding into your bedroom, you changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your hair back before stepping into your kitchen. You gripped the tiny journal lying on the counter, cracking the worn pages open to where you left off, scribbling your thoughts onto the paper. It was your nightly routine, journaling things you saw or did, a coping mechanism suggested by your therapist. It wasn’t for anything intensive, just minor anxiety and self-image problems, always having negative thoughts about yourself. It helped. Glancing up, you looked through the tiny window above your sink, a clear view of your neighbor’s back porch, Mr. Higgs, an older man who made it very difficult to be friendly. He was a hateful guy, always nitpicking your choice of decorations or specific outfits he didn’t find appropriate. A real sweetheart, obviously. 

But compared to his usual eight PM lights out, the living room lamp was still bright, shining directly through his open back porch door. That was odd. As long as you had known this guy, it wasn’t like him to be up this late, let alone be outside. Every instinct told you to just clean up and go to bed, his angry ass probably scooting off a raccoon or something. But you just couldn’t pass up that nagging feeling, your kindheartedness overpowering you. So, sighing, you tossed a hoodie on and slid out your back door, stepping down the porch steps into the cool grass.

You flinched as a flash of brown passed your vision, small and thin against the dark grass. Cooing, you kneeled down, holding your fingers out as Mr. Higg’s old cat, Addy, sniffed the air around you, pressing against your bare legs as she purred. The man was way too protective of his cat. Something was definitely wrong.

Standing again, Addy pranced away, meowing loudly behind you as your bare feet became wet against the midnight dew, grass sticking to your ankles as you walked, arms hugging yourself against the cold. This would probably just end with you getting told to mind your business and stomping back to bed upset, but it was the thought that counted. Gripping onto the porch rail, you stepped up his creaky wooden porch, knocking against the wooden frame of the open door.

“Mr. Higgs? Everything alright?” You called into the room, refusing to go in. There was no response, you knocked again after a couple of seconds. Still nothing. You gulped, rubbing your arms against your sides, nerves wracking you. “Okay. I’m coming in. Don’t get mad 'cause you didn’t answer me.” You called again, pressing past the door and wiping your wet feet on the welcome mat. 

The house was quiet, the only light being the lamp sat on a coffee table adjacent to the old couch. All the furniture had an older look like something out of the eighties, it made you cringe. “Mr. Higgs, are you home?” You shouted down the dark hallway, all the doors shut except for one at the end which you assumed to be his room. Hugging yourself, your legs felt anxious, your mind racing with all the reasons you shouldn’t walk down there. There was no reason for it, this was all just probably some old guy who forgot to shut his door, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Taking a step down the hallway, that’s when it started. Those feelings, like your body can feel shouldn’t be there. The air suddenly grew thick, a nauseating feeling setting in against your chest, pressing down like a conscious weight. But you shook it off, telling yourself it was just you scaring yourself with all of those crime shows, but you should’ve known better.

The door was cracked, moonlight from the open shades pressing against the doorframe, your hand flat against the wood as you pushed the door open. Then came the smell. It was stout, a putrid funk that wafted against the walls, souring the room. The room was dark, pupils blown wide as they fought to see, hand sliding against the wall and searching for a light switch. Your body was tense, senses on high alert against the dark, breathing ragged against the awful stench filling your senses. Your eyes were beginning to water, wondering what in the hell could be stinking this terribly, until you felt the switch, flipping it on.

Your first instinct was to throw up, throat constricting and stomach tightening, but you just couldn’t move. You were petrified by the scene in front of you. Mr. Higgs was there, at least, what you could recognize of him. His head had been cleaved from his body, intensive amounts of blood staining his beige bedsheets. His cheeks were bloated, a gnarly purple color as his veins poked against his forehead, skin wrinkled and soaked in blood as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. They were yellow now, dark veins contrasting against the orbs as puss leaked from every hole on his expressionless face. The rest of his body was scattered, chunks of muscle shredded from his arms and hands like they had been cut off, legs more or less the same. His wide stomach was completely visible, his skin swollen and dark, bloated against the same liquids spilling from his pores. The blood was the worst part. It was just everywhere. Splattered on the sheets, the nightstand, even the walls, specks reaching the roof. You were so lost in your racing thoughts, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you gripped the door tightly, knuckles white on the frame. You could feel the cold sweat drip down your brow, utter fear chilling your body. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed the tall boy standing in the corner if he hadn’t flinched, eyes wide and locked on you. He was lanky, easily taller than you and pale. No, not pale, more gray. He had curly brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, his freckled cheeks flushed against the bandages across his jaw. A pair of goggles rested amongst his curls, a dark mask covering his nose and mouth. He wore dark wash jeans loose around his hips and a heavier brown hoodie that was stained with dark blood. Oh God. The boy didn’t look much older than you despite his bruise battered skin. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, he was just watching. 

His hands were behind his back, shoulders scrunched against the corner of the dark walls as you pressed back off the door frame, breathing ragged. “Who the hell are you?” You grimaced, tone coming across a lot more confident than you felt. The boy flinched, not out of fear, more like a bodily reaction. He refused to answer, eyes scanning around quickly until he pressed off the wall, sliding to the shuttered window and pinching the blinds open, scanning the night without explanation. That���s when you heard loud boots stepping up the porch steps, head spinning quickly down the hallway. “Shit.” You heard him, the boy’s voice panicked and rough, his boots stepping quickly across the hardwood and into your vicinity. Panic strained you, head spinning back quickly before your vision was filled with his arms wrapping around you, palm slapping over your mouth as he pressed you to his chest. 

You tried to fight back, mumbled pleas against his hand as you shouldered his arms, your back pressed firmly against him. He was dragging you into the room, your feet dragging as you struggled, clawing his arms away but he never budged, practically unaware of the scratches you were leaving on his hands. “F- Fuckin’ quit-” He growled quietly, pressing open the small closet doors and dragging you both in, quickly shutting the door as you heard the boots grow louder down the hallway. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, leaving you just enough room to see the gorey scene as you pressed off of him, his muscled arms refusing to let you go.

“Toby?” A scratchy voice called into the room, the figure stepping through the door frame and into your line of sight. At his appearance, you froze completely, your body tense against the boy behind you. His arms gripped tighter, bandaged fingers digging into your cheek as he kept you quiet. He was horrifying. 

This man was taller than the one in the closet with you, pasty skin a sharp contrast against his dark messy hair. His eyes were wide, pupils dark against his reddened scleras. He wore a white hoodie, dark jeans covered just the same with Mr. Higg’s blood. But the worst part, the part that made your heart pump in your throat, was his smile. It was etched in, flesh torn upwards into a mocked smile, teeth exposed from the side of his cheek. The area was mangled, seemingly unhealed as blood dried against the cut. He almost made Mr. Higgs seem not that bad.

“Twitch, come on,” He called again, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket as he strolled around the room, kicking Mr. Higg’s severed foot out of the way. “I’m gettin’ tired. This guy had some good beers and I’m tryna get back home and drink ‘em.” He snickered, turning back out of the room and back down the hallway, his loud boots stomping against the old floors. Who you presumed to be Toby didn’t let you go, arms just as tight around you as you gripping his hoodie’s sleeves tight. “Fine then! If you’re gonna play fuckin’ hide and seek then I’m leavin’ your ass here!” He called throughout the house, your body only untensing when you heard the back porch door slam shut, loud boots thunking down the porch and out of earshot. 

You both waited a couple of seconds, heart thudding in your ears as arms slowly released you, palm unclasping from your mouth. Panicked, you slammed out of the closet, turning around quickly and facing Toby, back pressed against the nearest wall as you searched for something to defend yourself with. “D- Dumbass.” He grit, pressing out of the cramped closet and facing you, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The stench of the room pressed harder than ever, making your head dizzy as you pressed out of the room and down the hallway, Toby quick on your heels. “Whoever the fuck you are, whatever the fuck you want, I’m sure Mr. Higgs didn’t have it. Why in God’s name is he in pieces in his bedroom?” You hissed, gagging as the image replayed in your mind, turning into his kitchen and wracking the cupboards. When you found a small plastic cup, you ran water in through the sink, chugging the stout liquid down as you calmed your breathing. Toby stayed in the doorframe, crossing his arms. You probably shouldn’t have let your guard down, knowing full and well what he had just down to your neighbor, but you figured if he was going to he would have already.

“It’s none of y- your business. I don’t k- kill innocents, so you s- shoulda just stayed home, m- missy.” He growled back, stuttering through the words. You tossed the cup in the sink, the plastic clattering against the metal as you turned to face him, running your hands through your hair. “Hard to when you guys so obviously left his door open. The bastards hounded me for years, you’d think I’d be happy about his death, but not fucking like that.” You hissed, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, bare feet cold against the porcelain tiles. “I mean, Jesus. And I mean, thanks and all for the save back there, but how is killing him and saving me any different? It’s just favoring one innocent over another.” Toby shook his head, sliding past you and tugging a drawer open, shovelling through old receipts until he found the stack he was searching for. He passed it to you, paper crinkling as you skimmed through, old pharmacy receipts for prescription medicine. 

“H- Had the old bastard bu- buying our meds. Paid h- him off and everything. Un- Until he started g- giving us coun- counterfeits, sellin’ u- us out. He h- had to pay u- up somehow…” He huffed, shoving his mask down off of his nose and under his chin, his thin lips chapped against the bandages hugging his cheeks. And of course, he was cute. 

“So he gets shredded?” You had to breathe through that sentence, throat tight with nausea. Toby nodded, a small smirk crooking at the corner of his lips. You grimaced, pressing off of the counter and through to the living room, the old furniture seeming a lot less homey now. You were going home, filing a police report, and praying to God these fuckers didn’t come back to get you instead. 

“U- Uh, might wa- wanna clean up, t- too,” Toby chuckled from behind you. You paused, confused as you looked around, stomach twisting as you looked down. Bloody footprints trekked through the kitchen behind you, a trail leading to your bare feet as you lift your knee, gagging at the sight of Mr. Higg’s blood coating your soles. Toby was laughing, the noise muffled against the ringing in your ears as you hunched over, stomach convulsing as you puked on the hardwood floors, your lunch from work coming back up. Head straining, you panted, wiping your lips. “Oh, s- shit, okay.” Toby hissed, sliding to your side and raising you up, hugging you close to his side. He drug you through the door, stomach still churning as you watched your footprints faintly appear beneath you, purposefully dragging them through the grass to get the blood off. You felt disgusting, giving no fight as Toby brought you to your porch steps, helping you up. He was so bipolar, angry and distasteful for one second, then cautious and endearing the next. It really was like you were dealing with a teenager. 

Addy circled your ankles, her dense fur tickling your skin and making you jump, Toby gripping your arms tighter. “Oh, hi kitty.” You cooed, breathing deep as you kneeled down, scooping her up into your arms as Toby helped you up the rest of the steps. Without asking, he slid open your screen door, helping you both inside as Addy purred against your chest, Toby wary as he stared at her. You dropped her on the floor gently, Toby sliding the door shut as you hunched over your sink, cleaning your mouth and grabbing a rag for your feet. Toby still eyed Addy, fidgeting his nails as he followed her. “Ever seen a cat before? She was Mr. Higg’s.” You chuckled, cleaning the soles of your feet off and tossing the rag into the sink, still feeling unclean. Toby nodded, rubbing his arms nervously as he looked back at you, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. Us- Used to have one. T- They kinda sc- scare me now.” Smiling, you scooped Addy up again, petting her soft fur as you brought her close to the boy, his neck twitching nervously. 

How could this guy shred a man to pieces, but petting a cat was too frightening for him? You couldn’t understand. Digressing, you gripped his wrist, steadying the twitches as you placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently as Toby flinched, breathing quickly. Addy purred, unbothered by the action as he became more comfortable, fingers playing with her fur before he pulled his hand back, breathing deep.

You were too nice for your own good, too easy at giving the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you would find the redeemable traits in a murderer, heart hurting for this boy who was more or less the same as you. Groaning, you dropped Addy, crossing your arms. “Listen. What you did, it’s… For my own conscience, I can’t let it happen again.” You grit, circling your countertop and sitting on a stool, your journal tucked in front of you as you fidgeted with the pages. “If we can agree, I’ll buy your meds. I have a friend who can write me prescriptions, no questions asked. But I need you to understand, under no circumstances, are you allowed to harm me. I’ll call the cops.” Like the cops could stop these lunatics. But, you needed some type of leverage. 

Toby thought quietly, eyes narrowed as he flinched uncomfortably against Addy rubbing on his shins, purring loudly. If you could hold your end, there would be no trouble, but he had to know he could rely on you. “Th- The meds aren’t for m- me. My f- friends, they need ‘em to function, m- mentally… You g- gotta realize this is- is serious.” Even stuttering his voice was stern, arms crossed as he thought, contemplating. You nodded, brushing your hair from your face as you groaned, realizing how desperately you needed to learn to set boundaries. “I can get them. But you have to keep your end, too.” You hissed back, pinching your fingers nervously. Toby smiled, crossing his heart, literally. Rolling your eyes, you nodded, rubbing your face as you groaned. What the fuck were you even doing? 

“I’ll have them by the end of the week. Come later at night, cops’ll be swarming for weeks thanks to you.” Toby nodded, sliding over to the counter and gripping your journal, tearing a page out as he wrote the list of prescriptions you would need to get. It was a hefty list, some of that shit intense. “Abou- About that,” He slid his mask up over his nose, sliding the screen door open as he stepped out, chuckling. “Do- Don’t go outside. Gonna ma- make it look like a g- gas leak.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he shut the screen, sliding his hood over his head and peeling down the porch steps. Finally taking a deep breath, you stared at Addy, wondering what in the absolute fuck you were doing. Rest in hell, Mr. Higgs.

-

He made it look like a gas leak alright. The house was on fire in minutes, the bright orange flames lighting your room as you heard sirens in the distance, your other neighbors gathered outside their houses as you climbed into bed, groaning your displeasure. Cops and firefighters swarmed for days afterwards, investigating the area thoroughly, but never finding any remains of Mr. Higgs, his body buried somewhere far away. They eventually grew restless, the city quickly cleaned up the charred remains of the house and a new plan for construction was set in soon. It went over smoothly, no one even suspecting a thing. 

The days passed slowly, nervousness building as the end of the week grew closer, feet shuffling as you stood in line at the pharmacy. You got the doctor’s notes easily, already called in and waiting to be picked up as you were handed a small paper bag, the pharmacist eyeing you closely as you hurried out. Once in your car, you rummaged the sack, eyes wide as you read the dosage instructions on each little pill bottle. You read each bottle carefully, cringing at the names of the contents: Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, and even Aripiprazole. They were all high-end antipsychotics, the list of treatments for schizophrenia and mania, along with treatment-resistant depression. The last bottle caught your eye, a quick Google search told you it was for tourette's. So his twitching wasn’t just nervousness, huh. Shoveling the sack into your bag, you sped home, Toby well on his way as the sun set low.

The first week was easy, Toby in and out without so much as a hello, nodding his thanks as he bolted back into the woods, eyes dark and heavy. It was easy for you, moving along with your life despite the one night of the week. You felt easier, the boy quick about his stops with some chat, but never hanging around for too long, eyes always scanning the tree line nervously. 

As weeks passed, he grew more comfortable, you learned that he was quick about stopping due to his friends, their curiosity about you making him nervous about losing his ‘dealer.’ You learned to leave his meds on the counter, sometimes not even present when he would sneak in at the late hours of the night, your job taking precedence over your sleep schedule. But with all of this money being spent weekly on medicine, you had to pick up more time at work, everything being paid for out of pocket not to raise suspicion. You were sleeping more, journaling and your hobbies taking less importance until they were practically nonexistent. It was hard, your serving heart refusing to let you rest, making sure Toby got his medication is the most important thing. You were strained, to say the least. 

However, surprisingly, after a couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He had slid in like he always did, you sat at the counter eating your dinner as you scribbled through the pages of your notebook, summing up the previous days. You were exhausted, Toby making you jump slightly as he shut the screen door, rummaging through the paper sack. “G- Got any more?” He grinned shyly, sliding his mask and goggles off and tossing them onto the counter. You nodded to the fridge, an extra container of leftovers from the diner quickly opened in front of him as he shoveled it into his mouth. “It’s better heated up,” You laughed, shutting your journal as you slid off the stool, gripping the to-go container from him and popping it into the microwave. You both sat there awkwardly, Toby kneeling down to rub Addy’s back as she appeared beneath him, soft purrs echoing. He was still nervous, never petting her for too long before standing back up, the microwave beeping. The food came out steaming, sliding open a drawer and handing him a fork, Toby continued to shovel the food into his mouth. You hissed, holding his arm as the steaming food sizzled inside his mouth, it had to be burning him. “Oh. Y- Yeah, I don’t fe- feel pain. Th’s good, tho- though.” He grinned, slurping up more of the food. He acted like he hadn’t had warm food in forever, stuffing his face and barely giving himself time to chew. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he ate.

The stays became longer after that, his excuse being he was hungry, continuously raiding your fridge until you began to have food ready for him, prepping his meals along with your own. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, to two hours, and then eventually through the night. He would crash on your couch, Addy curled in his lap as the television blared some old movie. That was one of the only times you didn’t see him ticcing, the cat acting as an anchor against his restless body. He looked truly comfortable, using your blankets and pillows to his advantage, beginning to invite himself to stay the night after a while. 

You sat at the counter, Toby snoring loudly as he laid face first into the couch pillow, scribbling into your journal. It was the one thing you had time for, having to get up early for work as the soft glow of the kitchen light lit the pages. Toby was practically pushing himself into your life, his lack of manners and curious mannerisms leading him to take initiative. You were grateful for his friendliness, giving great detail of his missions with his friends and explaining that whole situation. Even still, you were wary. 

But against your better judgment, your relationship with the killer was becoming less transactional. He brought you things to make for dinner, talked with you through your mutual sleepiness, and even took care of Addy when you were too delusional after work. For lack of a better word, he was becoming a friend, showing up for more than just his medication, even sometimes forgetting the bag and having to chase him down. He was infesting your life, arriving earlier than he should and leaving later than you cared for. The end of the week was becoming optional, the screen of your porch door sliding open nearly every night of the week Toby didn’t have a mission. It was annoying but in a comforting way, like you both were becoming closer naturally despite your differences. 

As you heard his snores, you groaned, rubbing your tired eyes as you began to write, letting your pencil guide on the page numbly as you wrote your thoughts. It wasn’t directed at Toby on purpose, but the further you got down the page the further your heart sank, hand fisted in your hair as you rested your elbow on the cold marble counter. “Ah, Jesus…” You grit, scribbling the final few words as you lean back, rubbing your head. The words weren’t lies, more of a hard truth you weren’t willing to accept, chalking it up that you were just tired and desperate. The words could have been about Toby, or they could have been about anyone, you didn’t really care. Sighing, you tore the page out, folding it and shoving it into the back of the book, closing the pages quickly. Sleep sounded much easier as you flipped the kitchen light off, turning the volume of the television down as you trudged upstairs to your room, giving one last glance to the snoring boy and his matching cat.

-

Toby knew his mishaps with you, his moral compass long forgotten the more time he spent inside your home. He told himself it was just easier, food and shelter at his disposal whenever, but he knew better. It was so much more than just picking up medicine for Tim and Brian now, it was a solid relationship, a bond that was forming in his eyes. 

It had been almost four months since the unfortunate death of your neighbor, a smile creeping every time he saw the charred flecks of wood buried in the overgrown grass. You had begun to leave the back door unlocked, reasoning that someone breaking and entering would be less of a hassle than him. That was what Toby really hooked onto the most about you, your humor about everything. Despite your hardships and the emotions you had to overcome, you held a caring heart, compassion always lacing every action. He found it admirable, your humor through your busy life. And, likewise, he did feel bad for making you work so much, tired eyes always hurting his heart whenever you were around. But, it wasn’t like he could get a job, so he helped where he could, cleaning and learning to cook for your sake. He needed this medicine, for his friend’s and his own stability, even at your expense.

You were already nestled at your spot on the counter, writing your thoughts in that damn journal. You barely even looked up as he entered, diving for the fridge as he scooped up Addy with one arm, her purs a nice vibration against his shoulder. Popping the container in the microwave, he leaned in over your shoulder, trying to catch a glance at your scribbling before you shoved him off, closing the book quickly. “Ah, ah, mind yours.” You smiled, forking your own food into your mouth. “O- Oh come on, [Y/N], just a pe- peak.” He smiled back, gathering his food as he began to eat, sliding onto his familiar spot on the couch. It was routine now: where you sat, what he watched, what you both talked about. He explained his latest mission with Masky in more detail than you enjoyed, pushing your food away as you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You both laughed throughout the night before you whisked your food into the fridge, calling your goodnights before heading upstairs. 

Toby continued to watch the television, brushing Addy’s back with his bandaged fingers as he sat his empty container to the side. His curiosity nudging him, he raised up, tossing his trash before he slid to the counter, you all too confidently leaving your journal there. Slipping back onto the couch, he began to flip through the pages, listening closely for your footsteps as he read your entries, smiling as they dated all the way back to your high school years.

It seemed as though everything you thought spilt onto these lines, emotions erratic between every page as he realized just how much of a people pleaser you really were. All through your recent years, it was nothing but service, acting through the goodness of your soul until it felt sickening, fake almost. He cringed, flipping quickly through but finding nothing juicy, no deep dark secrets that he felt were interesting. Sighing, he closed the journal, standing to set it back onto the counter, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages. Smiling, Toby leaned down, arms twitching as he slid the journal back onto the counter, leaning against the marble as he flipped the paper open, reading carefully.

“Sometimes, when I think about it too hard, I get all emotional about myself. I know I put on a front, like everything I do I’m in charge of and can handle, always putting everyone around me first. But what if I wanted to be put first? I do so much for the sake of others but it never seems to be returned, never compensated for the mental strain. Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be loved like I see others, rough and real. I have no clue how I even would, I can barely handle touching myself before I'm overwhelmed. But I just want someone else to take the reins, show me that I don't have to work my brain so hard and can just numb out. That's not too much to ask, right? Just someone who can love me, not some creep or one night thing, someone who cares. If I never ask for anything again, that would be it. Someone who wants me for me.”

He could have died. The brunette’s cheeks dark as he re-read the crumbled page, excitement coursing through him. In his mind, he wanted to storm upstairs and just rattle you then, showing you how good he could treat you. It was like a bomb had gone off, Toby having to pretend like him having a crush on you wasn’t achingly obvious, convincing himself he just didn’t know how to act around women. But now it was clear, his mind racing with a million wants and needs, body spasming under the excitement. 

Convincing himself to leave, he slipped the note into his pocket, body buzzing with excitement as he slid out your door. He would be back, like always. But this time, he would show you what you truly needed, what only he could give you. 

-

Like always, Toby left a note for the medication you needed to pick up, it sometimes changing week to week. Everything looked normal, the usual combination of pills reading off. But as you scanned the bottom, you groaned, shoving the paper into your pocket. Trilafon, Saphris, and… Plan B. As if your desperation for some affection couldn’t have gotten much worse, your heart twisted, a lump growing. Whether it be for some girl he was laying or a girlfriend he already had, you didn’t care, all you wanted was to get the medicine and go. Crawling into your bed sounded like a much more exciting activity than dwelling on the brunette, heart saddened in all the way you knew it shouldn’t. 

To make your night even better, Toby didn’t show. It wasn’t unusual, for him sometimes not to show up for days due to extensive missions. But a part of you longed to see him, especially after today, just to help your mind with the whole morning-after pill situation. So now, instead of imagining him surrounded by his friends on a mission, you imagined him towering over a girl. Strong arms holding her, body contorting to fit against hers… You could’ve been sick, shaking your head as you ate quickly and pressed upstairs, barely petting Addy before you slinked into bed, hauling the covers over your head. 

It was lonely on nights without his presence in your house. But especially tonight, thoughts racing uncontrollably to the point of tears, thick droplets streaking down your face as your chest hurt, longing for a body, any body, to hold close to yours. Maybe you really were just a transactional thing. 

-

Toby smiled as he trekked through the familiar stretch of woods to your house, heart racing in his chest. He had it all planned out, exactly what he wanted to do, his cock already twitching in his jeans. 

He hadn’t shown up tonight on purpose, hanging back at the mansion to take the best shower he could, Ben teasing him about how good he smelled as he was leaving. You had to be well in bed by now, body tired after working all day just for him. He would take care of you, showing just how grateful he was for how much you were giving up just for his friends and him. Pressing past the tree line, he smiled, pulling his hood down as all the lights in your home were out, signaling your retirement. 

Pressing up the steps, he slid the screen door open quietly, careful not to alert you as he clicked it shut. Stripping his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, Addy purring light against the cushions. It was warm in your house, black t-shirt hugging his arms as he untucked it from his jeans, climbing up the steps, his mask and goggles quick to come off next. 

He was too excited for his own good, boots stepping quietly against the old hardwood as he slinked to your door, fidgeting with the knob. A rush of your scent blew into his face, your perfume stout in your small bedroom, eyes searching around in the dark space for your bed. It wasn’t hard with your breathing, quiet snores making him smile as he leaned against your mattress, admiring your unawareness. You looked so peaceful, his bandaged fingers tracing your cheeks and brushing your hair from your face, your skin flinching under his touch. “Hi, baby…” He whispered, the pet name sounding right against his tongue as he referred to you, tugging the sheets down. 

Toby always knew how nice of a body you had, you sometimes sauntering around the house with shorts and a t-shirt and making his eyes trail just a little longer than normal. But now, under his cold hands, you were even more gorgeous. You were wearing an oversized shirt, a slight tug at the fabric revealing that you only had panties on underneath, you slightly stirring as his nails brushed your skin. The brunette was excitedly jittering, kicking his boots off as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at your curled body sound asleep. You shifted, rolling onto your back as you breathed deep, stretching your arms before settling back into yourself. Toby could have died, your legs stretching out to rest around him, his cock twitching with interest against your now visible panties. A quiet sigh breathed through your lips.

That was all the invitation he needed. Running his cold hands under your shirt, he felt your warm skin and goosebumps rising as you squirmed under them. Your brows scrunched but Toby pressed further, running his fingers along your waist and up to your tits, palming the mounds gently as he smiled. It was crazy to him just how soft your skin was, not weathered or bruised from missions or nature, perfectly smooth under his axe-calloused hands. Pushing your shirt up to your chest, he gasped at your round tits, the weight so perfect in his hands as he pinched at your nipples, rubbing the nubs gently. Toby was never very sure of anything, always brushing through life at the command of others. But the one thing he was sure about? His love for boobs, especially yours. 

Nudging closer between your legs, he rested your knees on his thighs, leaning down to your chest as he popped a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently. The nub was hard against his tongue, slowly circling as he massaged the opposite one in his palm, pinching your nipple gently. That’s when you began to stir, hands sliding against the bed and unconsciously searching for the cause of your sensitivity. Lazy hands pushed against his face, soft groans echoing in the boy’s ears as he popped off your nipple and moved to the next one. Your hands fingered through his hair, tugging lightly until your eyes were beginning to flutter, your mind slowly coming alive. Toby let off your tit, kissing along your chest and licking a stripe between your tits, humming as he watched your eyes slowly blink open, confusion rocking you. He kneaded your tits gently, tugging at your nipples as you realized what was happening, eyes slowly widening as you strained to sit up against him. “Toby? Wha-” Your voice was scratchy, ridden with exhaustion as the brunette kissed up your neck to your cheeks, pushing you back down as he slotted himself flush between your legs. Slowly realizing what was happening, your cheeks flushed dark, hands pressing against his chest as you squirmed, nervously babbling as your body was still half asleep. “Lay b- back, baby… You’re so ti- tired, let me take c- care of you…” Toby sighed, running his hands back down along your skin, relishing in the way your body nervously shook under him.

You physically could not believe what was happening. This had to be a dream, some sick trick your mind was playing as you felt cold fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down. Heavy eyes wide, you grabbed his arms, clenching your thighs together against his waist. “No- No, wait- I don’t even, I mean, I’ve never-” Toby was already shushing you, gripping your wrists together and kissing your palms before pushing them back down to your sides, resuming his tug down your thighs. “I’ve go- got you. Don- Don’t gotta worry about a- a thing…” He smiled, raising your legs up to slide your panties down the rest of the way, hooking them off of your raised ankles before pulling you down closer to him, pushing your shirt over your head. “Read y- your journal, you don- don't gotta act protective, ba- baby. I know this is what y- you want…” If you weren’t already panicking, you definitely were now. 

You wanted to hound him for snooping through your journal, mouth opening to tell him off. But as his fingers brushed against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds, you lost all train of thought. He was watching you, eyes excited in the darkness of your room as he swiped his thumb closer again, your thighs flinching shut. “Anyone else e- ever touched here before?” He mumbled, pressing his thumb against your plump lips and tugging them open, getting a nice look at the wetness that was already forming between your folds. Shaking your head, Toby lit up, cock pushing hard against his jeans as he had to adjust his position, using both hands to pull your lips apart, sighing at how pretty your cunt was. Just something about knowing that Toby was claiming his stake on you, imprinting his touch for the first time before anyone else could, made something deep inside of him burn. It wasn’t like the brunette got much play himself, hooking up with a girl here and there, but being your first? That already made this so much better than any other girl could even try. 

Sliding his fingers through your wetness, you gasped, hands clutching the pillow behind your head as he groaned, spreading your arousal across your lower abdomen. You whined, thighs begging to clench together as he purposefully slid your juices over your cunt, pressing his thumb down against your swollen clit and jolting your back off the mattress. You had only ever masturbated here and there, your body getting too overwhelmed after one orgasm and forcing you to stop, but would Toby stop? As he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth, you doubted his restraint.

“Please be gentle…” You warned, hands planting on the mattress as you sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched Toby bring his digits back down to your cunt. He rolled his eyes playfully, tugging your folds open with his opposite hand as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your entrance, pressing in slowly. “I’ll try…” He laughed, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as you watched his fingers sink in slow, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. His index and middle fingers screwed into your tight walls gently, twisting his wrist to draw a moan from your lips, digits spreading against your gummy walls and making your entrance ache. “Just i- imagine my dick in here…” He cooed, eyes darting between your nervous face and your pretty cunt fluttering around just his fingers, barely even handling them. 

Pressing his opposite thumb against your clit, he began to rub in small circles, dragging your hips further and further off of the mattress until you were practically rolling your hips against him. His fingers probed in and out of your cunt at a slow pace, just enough to make you comfortable with the unfamiliar intrusion, but his arms ached to go faster, curl his fingers until you spasmed. “Toby…” You sighed, his hands moving in time with other as he screwed his fingers inside of you, angling them just enough so they pressed against your tight walls. His name sounded like heaven against your aroused tongue, so quiet but so desperate, secretly drawling for more. “Tell me w- what you want, ba- baby…” The pet name made your face hot, your stomach fluttering as you pressed back into the pillows, running your hands down to your thighs and squeezing the flesh. “I want… more…” You sighed through your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around Toby’s cold fingers, sucking them back inside every time he drew them out. The brunette laughed, pushing his feet under him to push his hips up against your ass, your hips raising off the bed as he fingered down into you. You could feel his cock straining behind his jeans below your raised ass, twitching needily with every tug of his fingers and moan that whined from your throat. His size was overwhelming, making your heart pound as Toby began to curl his fingers, making your eyes shut quickly. 

His fingers pressed so deep in your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls and making your jaw hang, beginning to press against your walls at a steady rhythm. It was like a new fire had lit under Toby, fingers screwing in at a quicker pace and making your stomach clench, face screwing into an overwhelmed feeling. His fingers pumped in, knuckles sinking in through your wetness and gripped by your gummy walls, curling his fingertips just right as he got deep. It was so intense, so rough, just a mess of slick and your wet cunt sounding through the room with every squelch as he abused your clit, swiping left and right quickly. Your thighs twitched and ached with every curl, trying to close around his hand practically fucking you into sensitivity. Your hands wrapped around his forearm quickly, begging his wrists to stop curling abusively inside of you as you tugged your nails into his skin. Toby wouldn’t, continuing to pump his fingers as he stared at your flushed face, cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. “Just a l- little more… Co- Come on…” He groaned, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milked moans and whines out of you, his fingers glistening with your arousal every time he tugged them out. He couldn’t feel you clawing at his arms, loud groans begging him to let up as your cunt clenched, molding around his thick fingers. 

You could feel your orgasm rolling through you, Toby huffing as the veins in his arms popped, his shoulder muscles straining against his shirt as he watched your face carefully, picking up as your moans became louder. “Gonna come f- for me? Yeah?” He teased, clothed cock twitching against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart as he rutted against you. He curled his fingers quicker, mumbling his arousal as he watched your cunt swell around him, clit throbbing under his thumb. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, stomach tightening and forcing you to sit up, Toby was quick to let off your clit and wrap his arm around your back, holding you up as he pumped your through your cunt squelching, tightening around his digits. Your eyes rolled, teeth grit tight as he palmed your clit, slowing his pace to a slow thrust as you became undone against him. No orgasm of your own had ever compared to that, head light and chest heavy as you breathed quickly, gripping Toby’s shirt tight. 

Refusing to let you go, Toby leaned in, pressing kisses against your neck and licking at your sweat, relishing in the warmth around his digits. You whined, cunt sensitive as he tugged his fingers out, his skin raw and pruned against the wetness coating his digits. Your folds were absolutely drenched, Toby spreading his fingers through your lips and pushing his sopping fingers over your warm thighs wrapped around him. “God, y- you’re so wet-” He gasped, pressing his fingertips back against your clit as he laid you back, gripping your tit. Your mind panicked, cunt flashing with sensitivity as he began to rub against your clit, swiping left and right against the rub quickly. “Toby- Stop- Toby, please-” You cried, breath catching in your throat as your stomach clenched, his fingers pressing hard as he pinched your nipples, eyes trained on your wet pussy. “You e- ever squirt before?” He smiled, transitioning fast between digging his fingers into your cunt and pulling them back out to swipe against your clit. It was nauseating, cunt crying desperately for relief as he dug nails into your tits. Gasping loudly, you gripped his arms, knees screwing tight against his sides as you cried out, hips bucking up against his hands. 

Every time his fingers slipped into your entrance, they squelched loudly, fluttering around the intrusion before desperately aching as they tugged out and moved onto your clit. “Squirt li- like a whore, m- mkay? Quit fightin’.” He hissed, letting his hand off your tit and scooping under your left knee, pushing it back to open your cunt wider, spreading your legs further apart. Your head was dizzy, heart pounding as you gasped for air, panting at every push of his fingers. You were already quick to cumming, but it felt weird, not that normal clench you felt in your stomach, more of a strain against your cunt itself. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as he forced your pussy against his will, ruining you. 

As he swiped his fingertips down hard against your clit, your entrance clenched, mouth opening wide as you cried out, hips bucking up as you felt your cunt squirt, thighs trembling hard. There was literally nothing to compare it to, mind hazy as you sprayed onto his black shirt, his fingers digging into your entrance and pushing more juices out of your swollen folds. Toby was smiling, moaning his approval as he rubbed your clit softly, pushing the last of your orgasm out as you strained against the mattress. “Gunna fu- fuck you dumb, baby…” He growled, tugging the soaked shirt over his head and tossing it as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down and off his legs as his cock hung heavy against your drenched cunt. You couldn’t even react, head spinning as Toby gripped your hips, pushing you onto your side as he grabbed your ankle, pulling it onto his shoulder and straddling your other. 

Neck craning with excitement, he teased the tip of his swollen cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your ruined juices. “This is wh- what you wanted, is- isn’t it?” He smiled wildly, pressing his cock into your ruined cunt, groaning loudly as you swallowed him in, warmth gripping tight as he gripped your leg, other hand stable on your tit. You groaned, face turned into the pillow as he began to thrust deep, giving you no mercy as he tugged at your nipple, biting at your calf as he fucked into you. You felt so full, your body so exhausted already as stretched you further, your entrance burning against the sting of this new girth. You squeezed him so tight, cock forcing itself deeper with every tug of his hips as you began to cry, tears staining your pillowcase.

“Fuckin’ tal- alk to me, baby. Gunna mak- make me cum al- already.” He sighed, teeth chewing against the meat of your calf as he pressed your cunt wider, sweat dripping from his nose as his curls clung to his forehead. He let off your tit, left hand slinking up to grip your jaw and turn your face back to look at him, your eyes heavy as they blurred with tears. Toby looked so good right now, cheeks dark against his freckles as he towered above you, cock pushing against your gummy walls and making your mouth hang. “So pretty…” He smiled, slinking his hand down to your throat and squeezing, cock pulsing as your face tightened, mouth gasping out as he clamped tighter, refusing you air. There was something so orgasmic about cutting your airway, watching your body react as he fucked your virgin cunt, holding your life in his hands. He had to breathe deep to stop himself from cumming, his violent brain spasming out. 

He pushed your ankle over his head, pulling out roughly as he rolled you onto your stomach, you gasping from the wave of air hitting your lungs. Pushing himself against your ass, Toby swore, pushing his cock back into your cunt as he pushed your back down, making you arch against him. “Just a l- little more, m’kay?” He growled, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and squeezing hard, pressing your face down into the pillow. With a new pace, he fucked down into you wildly, hand kneading your ass hard as digging his nails into your skin, little welts forming across the soft flesh. Your muffled cries sounded against the pillow, head light and static filled as you gasped for air, Toby’s cock ramming down against your g-spot. “Never s- seen a bitch so willing, so des- desperate for my dick you’d gi- give it up so easily.” He teased, growling as he let off your neck, neck sore as he leaned down, pushing your hair off your neck. Toby hadn’t felt like this before, wanting to mark you, fucking you so desperately he wanted to carve his shape deep inside. He couldn’t let you go without knowing exactly who you craved, corrupting you, ruining you, molding you to fit only him. 

He licked against your shoulder, sucking onto the skin before he pressed his teeth, digging both hands into your hips as he sunk them in, groaning at the pop as your blood soaked his teeth. You were crying, screaming into the pillow as your entire body begged for him, craving him, mind going blank as your blood dripped from his chin as he licked at the wound. He pressed on, nibbling into the crook of your neck and sucking revolting hickies into your skin, marking you like an animal. “Wan- Want you to come on m- my cock, baby. I got- gotta fill you full, want y- you ruined for everyone b- but me.” He mumbled quickly, cock begging to spill inside of your warm cunt as you reached around, gripping his hair as he sunk his teeth in again, walls fluttering around him. You pulled his hair, dragging his mouth off of your neck and to your lips, smashing your swollen, tear-stained lips against his as he groaned, kissing you roughly. 

You were cumming again, back arching onto Toby’s cock as you moaned into his mouth, walls holding him tight inside. He tried to move, to continue thrusting, but you were so tight all he could do was rutt his hips, begging for friction as his own seed spilt, his brows screwing tight as he came deep inside of you, warm cum seeping deep into your cunt. Your mind was blank, eyes rolled as you cried into his grasp, his nails digging into your hips until you were nearly bleeding. Your cunt squelched, milking his cock as he finally pulled from your lips, letting the last of your orgasms fizzle out before he pushed off of you, slowly tugging himself out as you whined. Looking back, his cock was soaked, glistening with your arousal and streaks of blood, Toby’s eyes wide. “Ah… Yo- You tore…” He hissed, wiping his soft cock with his shirt before pulling his boxers on, quickly trotting out of your room. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, cunt aching and body ruined as you sat in your sweat and each other’s cum, mind tired as you slowly blinked. 

Toby was back in seconds, a water bottle, a wet rag, and a small bag all in tow as he climbed back onto the bed, flipping your lazy body onto your back. You smiled, sipping the water bottle slowly as he began to clean you up, gently running the warm rag between your folds and against your thighs until he was satisfied, gently rubbing your skin. Finally, he grabbed the bag, your confusion evident as he tugged out the prescription bag, rummaging for the plan b he made you buy and popping one of the pills out, handing it to you as he smiled. Your chest welled, previous anxiety dissipating until you began to tear up, taking the small pill before reaching to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down next to you. Toby went easily, body cradling against yours as he kissed against the bruised spots on your neck, rubbing your bite mark gently.

As you began to doze, Toby mumbled something about your note, your mind too dizzy to hear the rest. The last thing you saw was a subtle flash behind your eyelids, sleep overtaking you as Toby held you close.

-

Morning came quickly, your body stirring, reaching for Toby but finding the bed empty. Confused, you sat up, eyes heavy and head still pounding but you pressed off the bed anyway, searching for the boy. Downstairs, on the countertop, laid his hoodie neatly folded, with a small piece of paper resting on top. Sauntering over, you reached for the top, sliding it over your head, it falling before your hips as you gripped the paper, reading its contents.

On a mission. Be back later tonight. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)

Flipping the paper over, you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth. A small picture was taped to the back, a polaroid-type photo of the two of you cradled together, your bare body pressed against his, bruises and sweat on full display. Smiling, you tucked it into his pocket, breathing the scent of his hoodie deep as Addy circled your ankles, begging for breakfast. 

Staring out your back porch door, you made sure it was unlocked, always open for him. Killer or not, that boy was yours now, accepting his every mishap the same way he did yours. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. 

Rest in Hell, Mr. Higgs.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[rocaillefox]

never really explained my url so heres the way i mean it:

corruption- reference to the corruption from tma. not like. political corruption or anything else. im not into tma anymore but the sociological implications of the corruption are both horrifying and semi relevant thematically; i think empathy and understanding for people warped by little changes over time they dont realize are happening, and for people struggling to work for love, are important. also the dissection of the definition of love, of what it means to love or be loved, is important as having a grounded sense of love can help identify when its being misused in your own life. also, horror theming.

rat- in reference to the domesticated animal, which is very social, friendly, relatively clean, and has also been representative of civilization in the past (or at least mice have). also in conjunction with 'corruption' is intended to evoke rat king imagery. tbh i chose this url when i still had pet rats so it was more of 'these creatures are adorable and so smart'. also im writing abt animal fiction series abt rats and, in general, they are excellent for death theming due to . many things

both of these things on their own or in combination can be interpreted as evoking like . 'dirty' aesthetic but absolutely Not my intent. tbh considering changing my url in part bc of that

[yourheart-inmyhands]

My brain is acting up again 😭

Yan! Diluc, Zhongli (I swear I love this man) and Dottore having a conversation with their darling and out of nowhere they spill facts about how to hide a body or make it decompose faster.

If they ask how they know they just chuckle and continue their conversation.

They got it from Reddit fr 💀

- Weird anon ✨

ah i am also obsessed with death and decomposition, with a good mix of anatomy, though i try to avoid just finding random facts, i buy textbooks and research books about the topics to further my knowledge on the subjects :3c

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including obsessive behaviors, mentions of violence, lots of talk about death and facts about death, creepy behavior, as well as other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Diluc:

He finds it amusing at first, not really commenting on it and simply letting it be. Soon enough though he starts sharing facts of his own, making minor corrections or suggestions to the ones you bring up. Sometimes he even adds on to what you already have, changing the course of the conversation momentarily.

It’s not talked about often but Diluc is no longer allowed in Snezhnaya for a reason, he’s seen more than his fair share of bloodshed and has no problem offering you better suggestions than what you previously thought to be best. 

He makes a little game out of it, even going as far as to offer to test your claims. Diluc doesn’t see the harm in it, if anything he’s merely indulging in your interests, bonding with you over it. Strange as it is, he thinks it’s fun.

“Did you know the main reason why corpses smell so bad is because when people die, their bladder empties out?” Diluc chuckles at your question, the conversation shifting from possible dinner options to that of death was nothing new to him, yet it never failed to amuse him. “I did. Did you know it’s because when you die every muscle in your body relaxes, which means anything in your bowels is emptied out, no longer held back?” A bit of a tangent never hurts, especially not when it comes to a topic you seem so sporadically fascinated with. Diluc could sit here and watch you talk about this endlessly, the way your face suddenly lights up as you blurt out a random, off-topic fact. It was like seeing a kid walk into a candy store.

Zhongli:

Zhongli takes it a bit too seriously, often correcting you on common misconceptions or myths. He’s still lighthearted about it, but he doesn’t want his beloved darling to be in the wrong about this kind of thing.

He’d hate to see your spirit crushed by someone else, their offense to the sudden topic change springing up as a rebuttal. He’s simply protecting you this way, making sure that no one can challenge anything you say.

All his knowledge doesn’t come from nowhere though, so do keep that in mind should you ever try to challenge him on anything. Not only has he lived far longer than you, but he and his spear have seen, and done, many things

“Zhongli! Did you know that after death, your hair and fingers still grow for a short period of time?” Pausing mid-explanation, Zhongli processes what you said before smiling fondly at you. “No, my gem, they do not. It is actually the skin shrinking back from loss of moisture. That movement of the skin gives the appearance of the nails and hair growing.” Zhongli doesn’t falter even the slightest in his correction, merely stating it as if it were common knowledge, which it ought to be. This is a fairly common occurrence, with your little interruptions being met with either encouragement from Zhongli, or simply corrections.

Dottore:

He’s probably the worst to bring this up around as he likes to make a competition out of it, going back and forth about gruesome facts until one or the other caves.

Not only has Dottore learned a lot about death, but he’s been responsible for just as many. His knowledge far extends past the random facts you collect.

It’s not surprising that Dottore knows more than you, he never holds it against you though. Every time he wins a little bit of the banter between the two of you he sees it as a win for both of you. You get more facts and he gets to assert his position of higher power over you.

“Rigor mortis occurs 6-12 hours after a death but can last 18-36 hours before the body returns to being soft and floppy.” Dottore doesn’t even falter as you shift the conversation, easily following your lead. “Suffocation is more than just a painful way to die. Oftentimes victims of suffocations will try to free or save themselves to no avail as their limbs will cease function, this is because their brain is trying to preserve oxygen which leads to them being unable to free themself and dying.” The smile on his face is only a few inches wider than normal, his eyes twinkling with the same challenging shine that always comes through when you bring up death. If you weren’t well aware of his affections for you, you’d almost believe he loved talking about death more than he loved you.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Living machines are essentially intensive, indoor artificial wetlands. Technical names for living machines include "advanced ecologically engineered systems" and "fixed-film ecology wastewater treatment systems." What they entail is mimicking natural processes of biological decomposition in a constructed aquatic environment. Simply put: dirty water goes in, passes through a series of self-contained aquatic ecosystems, and clean water comes out. The water is, in fact, so clean that it can be safely discharged into sensitive aquatic environments, like natural wetlands. And it does all of this without any of the usual chemical treatments or high-energy inputs of conventional wastewater treatment. Living machines produce such safe effluent because they achieve what is known as "tertiary treatment," meaning they successfully abate pollutants. How does a biological system do this? Simple: it uses them as inputs. Let me explain. The most common such pollutants are nitrogen and phosphorous. These happen to be the two nutrients whose out-of-whack flows have pushed us past a key planetary boundary. The biggest reason for this is industrial agriculture: it relies on synthetic nitrogen and mined phosphorous to exceed the carrying capacity of the ecosystems in which it operates. One of the big problems with industrial agriculture is that a great deal of the nitrogen and phosphorous applied isn't actually utilized by the food being produced: most of it runs off into waterways. This leads to far-reaching, ecologically catastrophic events ("eutrophication"). By constructing a complete food chain within the living machine, each step creates the food for the next step. Excess nutrients, like nitrogen and phosphorous, feed microorganisms which are then consumed by larger creatures and so on up the food chain, until we are left with harmless components and a great deal of life. The living machine converts pollution into biodiversity and clean water, instead of run-off and eutrophication. It's a prime example of true "regeneration."

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 4)

Link learns some things. And so do you.

Yet another for the ever growing pile of self-indulgent garbage refuse. Enjoy the process of decomposition with me for a while.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The yiga. A faction of Ganon worshipping traitors formerly of the Sheikah clan, whose main objective is to kill the Hero known as Link (in other words, himself). Known for their distinctive red body suits and white masks. And, strangely enough, their love of bananas.

They were also currently at the very top of Link's (until recently non-existent) shit list, because AM had deemed their threat level too great to allow them to meet each other freely. As Blue had told him, AM's profession placed them at greater danger than the average citizen to the assassins' blades. What that profession was, Link was not told (despite his pleading and intense stares and even one memorable attempt to bargain for the information), but it was deemed necessary to maintain distance because of this.

There were plenty of other useful things in the book too. Not a letter or a note or even a small bundle of documents. A book. An honest to Goddess book. Because there was nothing else the ridiculously thick, neatly piled collection of leather bound miscellaneous papers, maps, diagrams, notes and documents could be. It was the thickness of Link's hand for goodness sakes.

Thankfully, Blue had taken mercy on him (and his desire to get moving as soon as possible) and bookmarked the pages and maps that would be most useful to him. All while giving him that bland, graceful smile of hers and explaining that AM was a very proactive information gatherer, but that they didn't always consider that not everyone wanted to know the exact region Sneaky snails bred in or where the highest priced wheat could be found.

Link very deliberately didn't tell her that he did, in fact, find those very interesting topics to learn about (and that he would be reading through the entire book when he got the chance. later). Because he was still stung that she'd given him a condescending little smile (smirk, it was a damned smirk and Link knew it) when he'd tried to bargain with her for more information on AM.

In total, he'd spent three days in Hateno, gathering information (as though the book wasn't enough), gathering supplies (because as many as were in the slate, it didn't have everything a warrior would need to maintain his gear. Blue's words, not his) and getting to know the people around the area.

Also, armor. Costume fitted (Link didn't think too hard about how Blue had gotten his measurements) as to AM's specifications before they'd left town. The order arrived a little later due to his (apparently) small size causing complications with some of the straps.

Honestly, it felt good. It felt familiar with a hazy kind of comfort that spoke of his body's remembrance of such armor resting upon it often. And suddenly, in that moment, the thought that he had once been a knight didn't feel so far off, despite having no memory of it and very little desire to become as such again.

Ready to go (finally) he put on his boots, tightened the straps of his new (fitted. maybe he'd see about getting his Sheikah armor fitted as well if he was in the area) hyrulian armor set, and took one last shot before departing.

"Where can I get more bananas?" Link tried, going for casual but coming off far too intense for it to be anything but prying. "For the Yiga problem."

Blue just smiled (small and condescending, and so frustrating) before replying evenly. "AM has that well in hand I'd imagine." The knowing glint in Blue's eyes put a pout on Link's face. "It's best you focus on your mission, Courageous One." Then she smiled genuinely. Just a bit, but enough to ease Link's heart as she continued. "Fear naught for your beloved AM. No harm shall befall them while my sister haunts their shadow."

Link believed her. And with that little bit of reassurance, the Hero of Hyrule set out into the world once more. With courage in his heart and his goal ever at the forefront of his mind.

Defeat the Calamity guy. Meet AM. Travel this vast, wondrous world with them for the rest of their days. Or, maybe one day settle down more permanently in Hateno and open a food stand.

Anywhere life took them. Whatever you wanted. This was the beginning of his new life after all, and he was so eager to spend it with you.

---

You stared up at the quickly growing pile of bright yellow fruit with something like regret stabbing at your heart. Just thinking about how much rupees you were about to drop on this one purchase alone was enough to put a hitch in your throat. It was enough to have you contemplating a long walk off that equally long (absurdly long) wooden bridge just next to the stable.

When you'd stopped at Lakeside Stable for the night and told Adino you'd pay him market price for any bananas he brought back to you before you left. You hadn't expected him to take that as a challenge. You hadn't expected Skims to get involved in it as well. And you most certainly had not expected Red to show up out of nowhere with a pile rivaling (and maybe even surpassing) Adino's.

And thus, within the span of a few short hours, you were suddenly several thousand rupees poorer (not that that pantry amount even scratched the surface of your accumulated wealth, but you digress) and many, many bananas richer.

At least they tasted good.

"Not that I'm against your presence. But why are you here, Red?" You asked the red clad woman after (with a heavy heart) passing out everyone's pay for the bananas they'd brought you. (Skims and Red didn't even have the grace to look ashamed for muscling in on the quick profit either, the jerks.)

She didn't even pause from where she'd been fingering through her newly acquired (ill gotten) gains when she hummed playfully. "Oh. Gran thought it'd be wise to send along a little extra protection to ensure The Hero's benefactor remained unmolested during these most crucial of times."

The look on your face must have been confused enough to spur Red to explain. "Gran told us to keep you in the dark about our motivations, but I like you. So I'll tell you the truth, since you seem like the reasonable sort." She finally put the rupees down and turned to face you, eyes hardening into a serious shade of near black as she explained.

"The Hero is without his memory, and until recently, was without motivation to see his mission through with the urgency it requires. Had he been as he was before, just the mention of the Princess would have been enough to send the guy running, if you believe the rambling of nostalgic old gossip crows." Her lips twisted into something too complicated to decipher before it was neutral again.

"But he's not the man he used to be. He's not the princess's knight anymore for all his destiny would push him to be. And so, he needed a new motivation to get him moving." She gave you a smile, but it wasn't a nice one (it was one full of spite and pity, though only the pitying part was directed at you). "That's you. The guy loves you already. Call it situational stockholm or just that damned knightly instincts of his, but you are the apple of his eye." She tried to soften her smile into something humorous, but it fell short.

"Bottom line. You're the replacement motivation. Just until he gets enough of his memories back to get invested in the Princess' wellbeing." She flicked a rupee off the stump she'd gathered them on, expression very closed off as she continued.

"Whenever Mr. hero gets a little too comfortable playing house, we're supposed to dangle you in his face and get him interested again. That you seem invested in his success was just a bonus. Be it the Will of Hylia or just simple coincidence, doesn't matter. You're useful, and if it gets the Princess out of that Hell, we're willing to use that."

Another smile, sharp but honest. "It's our duty after all, to serve the royal family. I'm sure you understand." Despite the way the information settled sourly in your stomach you nodded, keeping your expression as even as possible.

She noticed though, and suddenly her hand was on yours (you hadn't noticed it tightening into a fist). "Don't fret, Apples." She smiled again, softer this time. Eyes lighted with a compassion that held such raw honesty despite her earlier words. "My sister and I are not going to let the elders use you like that. You might have asked yourself why Bluey isn't here instead, since, you know-" She smirked, side-eyeing Adino who'd gone some distance off to try to find more bananas (to take more of your rupees, the little bastard).

"We will fulfill our duties. For the protection of Hyrule and everything we love. But not at your's or your dear Hero's expense. At least, not like that. You see, Bluey has something I do not, and that is a gentle touch. She'll take care of the Hero in the way he needs, not the way that'll get the fastest results." Her smirk widened. "And she's got more of a rebellious streak than me too. Trust in her. She'll protect your dear Hero. Even if she has to spit in the elders' eyes to do it. She never could put her heart aside for the sake of duty."

You were silent for a time, digesting her words with the weight and attention they deserved, before looking back to her. A smile on your lips, and your hand out before her in the gesture of a shake.

"I look forward to doing business with you then, Red." You began, letting the edge of your resolve sharpen your eyes and embolden your words. "Let's do our best to protect Link and save Zelda. We'll give it everything we've got."

Red grinned, full and bright and smug (so unbearably smug, like she had won the lottery. which they didn't have here, and you were not interested in introducing any time soon either). "I knew you were gonna understand. The Goddess wouldn't choose just anyone to guard her chosen's heart."

You blinked. "What?"

Red picked up another rupee, flicking it at you. "What~?"

---

Now, off to work! And then the shadows to rest.

[hismourningflower]

YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HER | genshin impact fanfiction. zhongli x gn!reader — angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, gagging, death, decomposition, dealing with grief and guilt. not proofread or edited.

idle chatter. this is also a reupload from my old blog... i'm such a thief gasp <3 library waiting list. @lovingluxury @dumbificat @starryshinyskies @ryuryuryuyurboat @ainescribe @bfjax @soleillunne @sangoqueenkoko

aventurine's addition. "alexi will forget if i don't remind her - here is the link to 'you're not her,' the first part of this angst."

the scene haunts him vividly. it creeps into every crevice of his mind, every nerve that has harboured all the knowledge he could ever acquire over these past centuries; it affects his psyche. in the darkness behind his eyelids - should he be brave enough to dare let his eyelashes sink shut - he sees every detail left of his beloved - you.

the guilt eats at him, nagging at his bones and tearing at his flesh, leaving only remnants of searing pains when he can't help but blame himself that he let it get this far - that he even let it happen. it was something so simple that he could avoided, at least that's what he tells himself. zhongli isn't stupid, not when he's walked teyvat this long and seeked enough knowledge for his own curiosity - albeit never comparable to that of the dendro archon. he knows it couldn't have been avoided, for that is why the guilt rips him apart so brutally.

but yet there is one simple way it could have been avoided. he should have never fell in love with you. the thought aches his heart and he finds his grip tightening around the tea cup in his hands, paled knuckles concealed by his oh-so-familiar gloves. amber eyes resembling the cor lapis native to his own country close shut and the horrific scenes creep back in.

the man admits to oversleeping that morning, the comfort of familiar bedsheets drowning him in a warmth incomparable to anything else. his routine with you was a simple one; he was always the last to bed but always the first to rise. zhongli used it as an excuse for you to never see his bare skin, the dark tones that cover his large hands and fade up his arms, decorated in veins of golds and oranges. he would get up and dressed, pulling black gloves over his hands before your eyelashes could even flutter open.

that was the way your relationship had ticked for the months it had been ongoing. that was the way zhongli kept his deepest secrets locked away, thinking it was for the best; it wouldn't cause problems if you knew, you was a mortal. zhongli knew he was facing the sandglass of time when it came to your life in the first place. is that what shattered the sandglass so soon? ending your life with a severed tie that happened too early, taking you from him when he was least prepared?

the bed was empty by the time zhongli awoke. the first fleeting thought that crossed the geo archon's mind was his secrets, his hidden gems - had you seen it all? had you left him? the second thought to cross his mind was in regards to your safety. he was certainly no fool, he knew he had enemies even with the lack of people who knew his true identity. you never rose before him and at least he would have expected you to wake him.

zhongli has traced the corridors and winding paths of your shared house many times. he's taken the stairs so much they're worn from the use of you both - and your guests, when the likes of xiao, hu tao or your friends come to visit. in every footstep, the man has memorised every inch of the house; every painting, every vase, every floorboard and in these steps he takes routinely, he knows the house is never this silent however there's no proof of a break-in. there's no distress, no signs of damage or disruption.

the earth has taken your body for its own in the span of a few hours, vines creeping across your body as if to tie you to the ground. celestia forbid someone tried to give you a proper burial, your clothes and skin stained in a dark red as the blood that flooded out of your mouth hours ago begins to oxidise. it paints the grass surrounding you and in the summer heat of the liyue sun, it creates a foul stench that suffocates the garden you'd spent so much of your time in.

there are flowers beginning to bloom on the vines tethering you to the earth, in shades of white so pure, it pales in comparison to the glaze lilies that had damaged your internal organs so ferociously. the sweet floral scents create a bitter tang in the air mixed with the metallic waft of blood and the unforgettable smell of the unavoidable rot your body was going through in the heat. this is what undeniably lead him to find you.

it makes him gag, turning his head away the second he steps outside into what is usually the clean air of liyue's countryside. his eyes fall to the pile of wilted glaze lilies you'd compiled in the far corner, hidden behind an apple tree you'd been growing. it's beginning to finally bear its fruits. zhongli notes that you will never see your apple tree's first harvest.

it feels as if he's stabbed in the chest when he finally musters the courage to look at you - or rather, what he thinks is you. your cheeks are sunken and your skin is beginning to tighten against muscles and bone, this isn't the you he remembers kissing goodnight last night. this isn't the you that would pepper kisses on his face when he expresses how tired he is after his shifts at the wangsheng funeral parlour.

this isn't who he fell in love with. this wasn't the human he should have never fell in love with because by gods, if there was anyone zhongli should have known to trust the least, it should have been celestia. he was a fool for thinking he could ever get away with loving a mortal, even after faking his death and attempting to step away from the title of the geo archon. he was still immortal up until his eventual erosion. he had still seen centuries past and people die around him.

was this celestia's curse upon you for his own regretful actions? the things he shouldn't have done and most certainly shouldn't have said? the sultry whispers and lingering touches that he knew was wrong from the start? but he loved you. he knew he loved you.

the scene of sharp branches coated in blood twisting and turning out of your mouth is unpleasant and the grass surrounding you is a distasteful red as he falls limp to his knees beside your growth - your corpse. his hands, free from their gloves, fumble with leaves and vines, attempting to pull them clear from your face in his shaking grasp as his thumbs gently wipe under your closed eyes, caked with dry blood.

your name falls from his parted lips when bitter tears sting his eyes for the first time in centuries. there's a raw emotion ripping him to the shreds and that was long buried in the depths of his very being - grief. it swallows him, forcing a choked sob from him as he hunches over what was his lover. he closes his eyes, holding his breath to keep from breathing in that sickening, overwhelming stench as he tries to remember your face from last night.

those distinct features he'd fell in love with, the glitter of your eyes and that smile he loved oh so much - he recalls the times hu tao managed to draw that smile onto your face with her mere presence. zhongli gags at the thought of having to tell her and the others about your death. does he lie again? you passed away in your sleep - but where has lying got him in the past? here.

why hadn't you told him? had baizhu been behind this too? after all this time he assumed the doctor could be classed as a loyal friend, zhongli realises that he was wrong. if he hadn't of kept it a secret, could zhongli have saved your life? the archon grimaces. this is not the time to be doubting the security of the relationships he has with the people around him. even as he contemplates the reasons you kept your disease secret from him, he runs over every thought of loving you.

to him, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved you. nothing could ever be comparable to his love for you; not even after all these centuries of aimlessly wandering teyvat and not even for all the future centuries that he would continue to walk, heartbroken and grief-stricken without you by his side for even a few more years.

you should have been her.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[https-furina]

✎ you should have been her. ft. zhongli x fem!reader content. angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, gagging, death, decomposition, dealing with grief and guilt. not proofread or edited. w.c. tba

archon's decree. a second part to my first zhongli hanahaki disease angst. i've started to write gn!reader a lot more in my works however the first part was fem!reader so for this particular angst it'll be labelled as fem!reader - it passes as gn!reader though! i don't explicitly label any gender. taglist - open, send an ask to be added! @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne @rainswept @heiayen @tigerpriestess (i'm tagging you dear because you're the person who mentioned zhongli's reaction on the original!)

the scene haunts him vividly. it creeps into every crevice of his mind, every nerve that has harboured all the knowledge he could ever acquire over these past centuries; it affects his psyche. in the darkness behind his eyelids - should he be brave enough to dare let his eyelashes sink shut - he sees every detail left of his beloved - you.

the guilt eats at him, nagging at his bones and tearing at his flesh, leaving only remnants of searing pains when he can't help but blame himself that he let it get this far - that he even let it happen. it was something so simple that he could avoided, at least that's what he tells himself. zhongli isn't stupid, not when he's walked teyvat this long and seeked enough knowledge for his own curiosity - albeit never comparable to that of the dendro archon. he knows it couldn't have been avoided, for that is why the guilt rips him apart so brutally.

but yet there is one simple way it could have been avoided. he should have never fell in love with you. the thought aches his heart and he finds his grip tightening around the tea cup in his hands, paled knuckles concealed by his oh-so-familiar gloves. amber eyes resembling the cor lapis native to his own country close shut and the horrific scenes creep back in.

the man admits to oversleeping that morning, the comfort of familiar bedsheets drowning him in a warmth incomparable to anything else. his routine with you was a simple one; he was always the last to bed but always the first to rise. zhongli used it as an excuse for you to never see his bare skin, the dark tones that cover his large hands and fade up his arms, decorated in veins of golds and oranges. he would get up and dressed, pulling black gloves over his hands before your eyelashes could even flutter open.

that was the way your relationship had ticked for the months it had been ongoing. that was the way zhongli kept his deepest secrets locked away, thinking it was for the best; it wouldn't cause problems if you knew, you was a mortal. zhongli knew he was facing the sandglass of time when it came to your life in the first place. is that what shattered the sandglass so soon? ending your life with a severed tie that happened too early, taking you from him when he was least prepared?

the bed was empty by the time zhongli awoke. the first fleeting thought that crossed the geo archon's mind was his secrets, his hidden gems - had you seen it all? had you left him? the second thought to cross his mind was in regards to your safety. he was certainly no fool, he knew he had enemies even with the lack of people who knew his true identity. you never rose before him and at least he would have expected you to wake him.

zhongli has traced the corridors and winding paths of your shared house many times. he's taken the stairs so much they're worn from the use of you both - and your guests, when the likes of xiao, hu tao or your friends come to visit. in every footstep, the man has memorised every inch of the house; every painting, every vase, every floorboard and in these steps he takes routinely, he knows the house is never this silent however there's no proof of a break-in. there's no distress, no signs of damage or disruption.

the earth has taken your body for its own in the span of a few hours, vines creeping across your body as if to tie you to the ground. celestia forbid someone tried to give you a proper burial, your clothes and skin stained in a dark red as the blood that flooded out of your mouth hours ago begins to oxidise. it paints the grass surrounding you and in the summer heat of the liyue sun, it creates a foul stench that suffocates the garden you'd spent so much of your time in.

there are flowers beginning to bloom on the vines tethering you to the earth, in shades of white so pure, it pales in comparison to the glaze lilies that had damaged your internal organs so ferociously. the sweet floral scents create a bitter tang in the air mixed with the metallic waft of blood and the unforgettable smell of the unavoidable rot your body was going through in the heat. this is what undeniably lead him to find you.

it makes him gag, turning his head away the second he steps outside into what is usually the clean air of liyue's countryside. his eyes fall to the pile of wilted glaze lilies you'd compiled in the far corner, hidden behind an apple tree you'd been growing. it's beginning to finally bear its fruits. zhongli notes that you will never see your apple tree's first harvest.

it feels as if he's stabbed in the chest when he finally musters the courage to look at you - or rather, what he thinks is you. your cheeks are sunken and your skin is beginning to tighten against muscles and bone, this isn't the you he remembers kissing goodnight last night. this isn't the you that would pepper kisses on his face when he expresses how tired he is after his shifts at the wangsheng funeral parlour.

this isn't who he fell in love with. this wasn't the human he should have never fell in love with because by gods, if there was anyone zhongli should have known to trust the least, it should have been celestia. he was a fool for thinking he could ever get away with loving a mortal, even after faking his death and attempting to step away from the title of the geo archon. he was still immortal up until his eventual erosion. he had still seen centuries past and people die around him.

was this celestia's curse upon you for his own regretful actions? the things he shouldn't have done and most certainly shouldn't have said? the sultry whispers and lingering touches that he knew was wrong from the start? but he loved you. he knew he loved you.

the scene of sharp branches coated in blood twisting and turning out of your mouth is unpleasant and the grass surrounding you is a distasteful red as he falls limp to his knees beside your growth - your corpse. his hands, free from their gloves, fumble with leaves and vines, attempting to pull them clear from your face in his shaking grasp as his thumbs gently wipe under your closed eyes, caked with dry blood.

your name falls from his parted lips when bitter tears sting his eyes for the first time in centuries. there's a raw emotion ripping him to the shreds and that was long buried in the depths of his very being - grief. it swallows him, forcing a choked sob from him as he hunches over what was his lover. he closes his eyes, holding his breath to keep from breathing in that sickening, overwhelming stench as he tries to remember your face from last night.

those distinct features he'd fell in love with, the glitter of your eyes and that smile he loved oh so much - he recalls the times hu tao managed to draw that smile onto your face with her mere presence. zhongli gags at the thought of having to tell her and the others about your death. does he lie again? you passed away in your sleep - but where has lying got him in the past? here.

why hadn't you told him? had baizhu been behind this too? after all this time he assumed the doctor could be classed as a loyal friend, zhongli realises that he was wrong. if he hadn't of kept it a secret, could zhongli have saved your life? the archon grimaces. this is not the time to be doubting the security of the relationships he has with the people around him. even as he contemplates the reasons you kept your disease secret from him, he runs over every thought of loving you.

to him, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved you. nothing could ever be comparable to his love for you; not even after all these centuries of aimlessly wandering teyvat and not even for all the future centuries that he would continue to walk, heartbroken and grief-stricken without you by his side for even a few more years.

you should have been her.

© https-furina 2023.

[positively-knotted]

Some Basic Combinatorics Via Not-So-Basic Topology

Proposition. Let P(r; n,k) be the number of partitions of an integer r into n non-negative integers less than or equal to k. Then P(r; n,k) = P(r; k,n).

This is very easy to see with Young diagrams (count columns vs rows). It's also very difficult to see with topology, but that's more fun. This is probably going to be a bit long, but I think the pay-off is worth it.

The standard construction of (real) projective space Pⁿ is to call it the space of 1-dimensional subspaces of Rⁿ⁺¹. This generalises pretty naturally to the "Grassmann manifold" Gr(n; n+k) of n-dimensional subspaces of Rⁿ⁺ᵏ, so Pⁿ = Gr(1; n+1). Hopefully you believe that Gr(n; n+k) is still a compact nk-manifold. If you want, it's also the quotient O(n+k)/O(n) x O(k).

As well as being a manifold, this is naturally a CW complex. Let's think about how. For each point in Gr(n; n+k) (that is, n-dimensional subspace), it has a unique orthonormal basis where the final non-zero coordinate of each basis vector is positive (easy linalg exercise). Taking this basis, we let d_1,...,d_n be the the "dimension" of the basis vectors (i.e. the position of their final non-zero coordinate, so that (-1,2,0) is 2-"dimensional"). We can assume these are strictly increasing by permuting them. Thus, to each point in Gr(n; n+k), we are associating a unique list of n increasing integers between 1 and n+k.

Let e(d_1,...,d_n) be the subset of Gr(n; n+k) which give those integers. This is actually an open disc of dimension Σ(d_i-i)! Why? To choose the first basis vector, we can pick any unit vector in the upper half-space of dimension d_1. That is, we have a choice in the hemisphere=disc of dimension d_1-1. To choose the ith, we have a choice in a hemisphere=disc of dimension d_i-1, but we have to be orthogonal to the i-1 vectors we have already chosen, giving a choice in a disc of dimension d_i-i. A product of discs is a disc, and we're done!

Checking that this is actually a CW decomposition is kinda tricky, but also unenlightening, it just is true. So let's count how many cells of each dimension it has. An r-cell corresponds to a choice of partition r = Σ(d_i-i), where 1 ≤ d_1 < ... < d_n ≤ n+k. Equivalently, it is a choice of partition r = Σe-i, with 0 ≤ e_1 ≤ ... ≤ e_n ≤ k, by setting e_i = d_i-i. So the number of r-cells is exactly P(r; n,k)!

We're getting close! The final observation is this. Choosing a n-dimensional subspace is equivalent to choosing its orthogonal complement. That is, the map V → V^⊥ is a natural diffeomorphism between Gr(n; n+k) and Gr(k; n+k), and also a CW-isomorphism. (True because everything is naturally defined; slightly tedious to check.) In particular, it has to match up the number of r-cells, so P(r; n,k) = P(r; k,n)! No Young diagrams necessary.

I think this is kinda neat. It's also weird because these Grassmann manifolds completely classify vector bundles on compact manifolds and are how you define characteristic classes, so secretly under all of that differential topology there's really hard partition problems going on.

[howtofightwrite]

What's gonna happen if someone gets shoot in the head? Will flesh and blood go all over the place, or will it be a small entry and exit, or will it be something else? Tryna write a zombie story rn and I'm not sure 😭

Usually, they die.

How much damage the head suffers will depend on what was fired. Specific cartridges result in different wound patterns, and if you have a forensic background, you may even be able to identify the bullet used based on the entrance and exit wound. Smaller handgun rounds are likely to result in less tissue disruption. Rifle rounds are more likely to cause serious structural damage, and shotgun shells (particularly buckshot) are likely to cause serious tissue disruption. But, there's another consideration, the more the decomposed the target, the more a round is likely to do. This one's honestly pretty hard to assess in generalities, because there are a lot of factors for decomposition.

This also leads into a far more difficult question, “what happens if you shoot a zombie in the head?” The answer might be, “nothing.”

So, there's two groups of zombies in popular fiction, and the answer to the above question hinges on which one you're examining. Zombies can either be infected with rabies or actual undead, and the latter are far more uncommon in modern pop culture.

A lot of popular zombies are, technically, alive, but cognitively functioning on a more animal level. In many cases, their symptoms are fairly similar to a sever rabies infection (though, the 28 Days Later series is one of the rare cases where the infection is, explicitly, a variant of rabies.) This also includes cases where the infection is from a parasite (many of the later Resident Evil games and of course The Last of Us are examples of this.) In these cases, destroying the brain stem (and, for that matter, destroying the brain) should be effective. The zombie is still propelled by using their nervous system. There's a bit of an exception in cases where the infection creates a second, parallel, nervous system in the victim, which can operate independently of the victim's original.

Living zombies became more popular in the 90s, and were extremely frequent in the mid-2000s. Most horror films that try to downplay the supernatural component, or look to play up the bio-hazardous nature of zombies, is likely to use some variant of these. (As mentioned earlier, a lot of these tend to behave like mutant strains of rabies. And, while it might sound like I'm being flippant here, rabies is a pretty terrifying virus.)

Living zombie apocalypses are, basically, impossible. There's the usual problem of asking how did the zombies actually get to critical mass? But even beyond that, eventually the infected would simply start dropping as their bodies decayed and the victims died. They'd still be a bio-hazard, but you wouldn't see waves of the undead pressing against the defenders' barricades.

If you want a much more detailed breakdown of the biology of various critters in pop culture (including a lot of zombies), Roanoke Gaming on YouTube is an excellent reference.

The other variety of zombie are far more rare in pop culture, and these are the actual revenants. Either they've been raised by some necromancer, or they're returning due to some other factor. Critically, these zombies are, truly, undead. Shooting them in the head might take it apart, but it's also quite likely that won't put them (back) down, as they're not actually using their original nervous system for anything meaningful. These kinds of zombies are far more threatening. In theory, things like extreme cold would cause further damage to these, but if the necromantic forces animating them don't care about the condition of the zombie, then having fingers or toes freeze off in cold weather, or setting them on fire, might not have the desired effects. You may need to resort to fully dismembering the corpses to get them to stop trying to kill you. (Note that these don't have to be, strictly, supernatural. The Dead Space series remains an excellent example of a non-magical zombie apocalypse of this variety, with some extremely “creative” uses of dead biomass.)

In the case of reanimated zombies, firearms are not a particularly great option for putting them down in general. The damage they inflict simply isn't relevant to destroying the undead. Firearms are designed to poke holes in people and get their body to spring a leak, but if something is already dead, that's probably not going to matter unless you're using the gun to deliver some other kind of payload.

-Starke

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[rewrittenwrongs]

Whumptober day 7: Only For Emergencies

Read on Ao3 (registered users only) | day 6 | day 8 coming soon | Whumptober masterpost

TW: grave robbing I think, uhh contemplation of what a rotting corpse might look like

My first time writing Billy Batson, of course it had to be in whumptober.

“Tonight’s the night.”

Tim froze, then turned his head to look at him. He set down his book. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

Tim grinned, relieved. “Good. It’s all been arranged?”

Billy tilted his hand in a ‘so so’ gesture. “Everything is arranged on their end. There’s just a few loose ends we need to tie up.”

“Like what?” Tim put his book on his nightstand and crossed his legs, leaning against the bed’s headrest.

Billy sat on the foot of the bed and mirrored him. “Well, first of all, you have to be the one to actually do it.”

Tim’s expression didn’t change, but he went very carefully still. He blinked slowly. “What?”

“You have to go—“

“I thought you would be the one to do it? Since you’re the one she owes the favour to?”

“It’s kinda complicated, actually.” Billy tilted back his head and tried to remember the explanation he’d been given. “I have to stay on this side, because digging through six feet of dirt and a layer of wood is more physically taxing than it sounds. I’ll have to use Hercules’ and Atlas’ gifts to do it. But I also need to do the part down there; Persephone and Hecate can only conclude the deal if I seal it in person, which makes this pretty difficult. But I think Solomon came up with a solution: I’ll lend you Achilles.”

Tim’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Apparently in the past, especially times of war, champions could share their powers or lend their sponsors to allies. I can give you Achilles’ Courage for a day which will make you my representative, basically, giving you the power to do the difficult part.”

Tim nodded with a look of wonder. “I’m… going to the Underworld.”

“Yup.”

“Tonight.”

“Yup.”

“To talk to Persephone… and bring Robin back to life.”

“Yup.” Billy was still sad he couldn’t bring back his parents. But Persephone only owed the Champion of Magic one favour, and neither of his parents ended up in the Greek afterlife, so it couldn’t be done anyhow.

Tim put his head in his hands. “Cool. Okay. Why is my part the difficult part? Shouldn’t I just be signing paperwork or something?”

“Uh, the paperwork’s already handled.” Billy winced. “…Have you ever heard of Orpheus?”

Tim lifted his head and stared at him. “Billy.”

“That’s why I’m lending you Courage, that should make it way easier to not look back.”

“Billy.”

“Listen, it was either that or not bring him back at all. The Underworld is ninety-percent rules!”

“Hmph. What will you be doing, aside from defacing a grave?”

“I think this is classified as grave robbing,” Billy corrected. He drew a bottle out of his hoodie pocket, a swirling purple and gold potion with a leather encasing, faintly glowing a colour no one could quite place. “I need to pour this down Jason’s throat. Hecate made it as part of the favour, it will undo all the decomposition and injuries.”

Tim winced. “Right.” Rotting was one of the problems they decided to ignore for now, when they were first hatching this crazy idea of theirs. “How does the spirit reenter the body?”

“Persephone told me it will just happen,” Billy said, shrugging. “Once the body is healed and the spirit is close enough, the spirit will disappear and the person will wake up.”

“Just like that, huh?” Tim nodded thoughtfully. “How long do I need to stop myself from looking back?”

“Until you both reach the surface. I’d wait an extra minute or two before looking back, to be safe.”

“Where will I emerge on the surface?”

“At the edge of the graveyard, it should be.”

Tim exhaled slowly. “Okay. Alright. And if it doesn’t work? If I look back?”

Billy’s face went serious—moreso than before. “That won’t happen. We only get one chance at this.”

“And we’re doing it tonight, you said?”

“We set off at sunset.”

-

“Okay, I’m dressed for cold weather just like you said.” Tim adjusted the hood of his red parka. “I’m wearing the amulet, so ghosts won’t notice me, and the mask so Jason won’t recognise me. I have Achilles. And it’s almost sunset.”

Tim turned his gaze to the horizon, where gold and pink was slowly bleeding into the pale cerulean of the sky.

“Do I have a time limit?” Tim checked.

Billy shrugged. “Sunrise. Don’t necessarily take your time, but you don’t need to rush. Just focus on not looking back, no matter what.”

Tim nodded again, rocking in place with a mix of anxiety and excitement. He pulled the bandana covering his face higher up his nose.

Billy nudged him encouragingly. “Listen to Achilles, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“All you have to do is keep walking.”

Tim nodded again and adjusted his wool gloves. “How long until Hermes picks me up?”

Billy squinted at the setting sun. “I think… three.”

“Minutes?”

“Two.”

“Oh, shit.”

“One.”

The last second passed, then another, and then someone was floating above the ground in front of them. Hermes: wearing a yellow and white cloak with tasseled edges, loose clothes that draped across him like robes, simple gold bracers, and a gold helmet covering his eyes; with a red plume and white wings sprouting from either side. A leather satchel hung from his shoulder and many pouches were strung across his waist. He was bare-chested and barefoot, with little white wings sprouting from his ankles. He held his caduceus in one hand and waved with the other.

“I believe it’s the one in red I’m here to pick up?” he asked. His voice was smooth and melodious, accented.

Billy nodded. The look Tim sent him was both ecstatic and worried. They only made eye contact for a second before Hermes said, “Alright, away we go, then,” and they both were a blur in the air. Billy didn’t bother trying to track them with his eyes.

Instead, he steeled himself, double checked the enchantment he placed on himself was still active, and headed towards Wayne property. The Wayne and Drake estates weren’t divided by fences or walls, there was no visible line defining the two properties, just legal documents and some cameras. There was a large lake that spanned across both properties; most of it belonged to the Wayne’s. Tim and Billy had been waiting at their family’s portion of it, and now Billy used the shoreline as a landmark.

It was five minutes before he caught the blinking, tiny red light of a camera. Billy had cast a spell an hour ago that would make him undetectable to all forms of digital surveillance, for the next twelve hours. Still, it was odd staring straight at it when he was actively breaking the law.

“We’ve made it across the property line,” Billy announced. No one but the gods in his head could hear him, but it was comforting speaking aloud. “Tim said the graveyard is to the east, on a hill ‘round the back of the manor…” Tim had said it could be seen from the lake. Seeing how thick the trees were, Billy wasn’t so sure anymore, but he was still at least fifteen minutes away.

It grew dark quickly. Billy wasn’t scared of the dark, but it was a little different being in a forest. The chorus of frogs and mosquitoes and grasshoppers was unnervingly unfamiliar. The stars winked from between leaves like malevolent eyes. The branches stretched towards him like skeletal hands. He walked into a spiderweb after a few minutes and spent the rest of the journey intermittently brushing at his face and hair, in that way you only do when paranoid there’s a spider on you. At one point he heard the squeal of some rodent being turned into a meal.

Solomon counted how long he walked for. When he reached fifteen minutes Billy stopped and looked around. He could tell the trees were thinner, but it was too dark to make out any family graveyards.

He squinted at the beat-up copper compass Tim lent him. It was too dark to read it, of course, so Billy put a tree between himself and where he thought the graveyard was, and turned on his flashlight. He really hoped there weren’t any cameras pointed at him—he knew he was invisible to them, but he wasn’t sure the light would be. He read the compass quickly and reoriented himself—the hill should be just over there. He turned off the flashlight.

The walk up the hill was perhaps the most nerve-racking part of the trip. It was hitting him, with startling morbidity, that he was about to deface the grave of a kid only a few years older than Tim and him. He was literally here to dig up a body. To bring him back to life, sure, but he was still dead right now. He had been for, what, six months now? He would be rotten and decomposing, still sporting the injuries that killed him, now also the aftermath of an AUTOPSY.

Speaking of which. Hecate said most morticians put all the organs inside a plastic bag before burial. Which meant he would have to check for any plastic inside Jason’s chest, then remove it, and PUT HIS ROTTING ORGANS BACK INSIDE HIS BODY.

Billy had to stop walking for a moment to fight off the urge to throw up. He was suddenly very glad Tim insisted they wear gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. He might’ve appreciated some nose-clips, too. Oh gods.

While he was hunched over the ground fighting furiously with his gag reflex, he became aware of a quiet noise. A sort of distressed sound, rough and gaspy, faint as if far-off.

Billy took several deep breaths and continued his journey. He reached the fence closing off the cemetery, at which point he stopped in his tracks again, because he could hear someone talking. Oh. The noise was them sobbing.

At first he thought it was two someones, because of the tone of the dialog he overheard, but then he remembered where he was. And then he recognised the voice.

Dick Grayson.

Dick Grayson was sobbing over his dead little brother’s grave and talking to him, asking questions and pleading with him to come back, to crack one last joke, give one last hug.

It very abruptly hit Billy on the head that Nightwing had been in space when his brother died. And when the funeral was held. And he only got back barely three months ago.

Shit.

-

Billy, obviously, left the pair of them alone. He marched back to the treeline not just because he didn’t want Dick to find him, but also because holy-shit-he’s-sobbing-over-his-brother’s-grave-and-trying-to-speak-to-his-ghost. That was too personal for Billy to even THINK about listening in.

He still heard more than he wanted.

It, thankfully, reinforced his believe that he and Tim were doing the right thing. Not that it was previously much of a question. Ever since Robin died Batman had been brutal. He put everyone, every single criminal no matter how petty the crime, in the ICU. There hasn’t been an Arkham breakout, or activity from the rogues still free, in months thanks to how scared they were of the dark knight. Countless people had received lifelong disabilities. Seven had been put in medically induced comas. One was declared brain dead. Two later died due to complications with their injuries.

They weren’t just bringing Jason back to reel in Batman’s darkness, though. Robin was light and hope and mischief and joy. He made children happy, made Crime Alley a safer place, had saved countless lives, and kept doing so until the end.

He didn’t deserve to die.

And Billy had the power to fix that, so why wouldn’t he?

The next step in bring Jason Todd back to life was waiting for his brother to leave his grave. Billy saw Dick’s flashlight turn on and head away after fifteen or so minutes, but he stayed hidden for another ten or so to be safe. Then he jumped the fence and shone his flashlight through his fingers until he located the right grave.

Then he got out the shovel and began to dig.

Hercules and Atlas swiftly provided their aid. They made it infinitely easier to tote piles of dirt out of the growing ditch. The ground was surprisingly tough, behaving more like clay and rocks than normal dirt, but with Hercules that wasn’t an issue. It took about an hour to finish digging, and he was left with some insanely huge piles of dirt, and a too-small coffin at the bottom of a six foot ditch. He didn’t risk moving it.

Once he was done Billy crawled back up the side of the ditch, set down his shovel, and settled in to wait.

They had come to the conclusion that Batman was absolutely paranoid enough to put sensors inside his dead son’s grave. Because they almost certainly wouldn’t be sensing for foreign personnel, but rather external forces messing with the casket, they would almost certainly go off despite the spell. They planned for Billy to wait until Tim was in sight before breaking open the lid. Then he could do a cursory check of Jason’s autopsy aftermath, remove any unwanted plastic, and pour Hecate’s potion into his mouth. It should only take a couple seconds to take effect.

After maybe ten minutes he started playing tic tac toe with Zeus and, later, Atlas. After thirty minutes he got Zeus to tell him stories, then swiftly asked him to stop because he had no concept of PG13. Then all his sponsors, all the ones present, worked together to retell him some adventures a past champion went on.

After maybe four hours of that he felt a chill in the air.

He sat up stiffly and his eyes were drawn to the graveyard’s gate. He could just barely make out the figure of a boy a bit older and taller than Billy, walking out of the woods and into the Wayne family cemetery. A shimmer in the air followed behind him, an absence of light.

Billy nodded to himself, and slid down the side of the ditch. “It’s go time.”

With that, he dug his fingers into the coffin lid, and pulled back with the strength of Hercules.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

So like I’m taking that,,, Blanche doesn’t take betrayal lightly like,, at all,, givrn how he has killed all of his ex friends, so like would he kill reader if they actually betrayed him like the others?? Like Yves would be there no matter what, you could try to kill him and he would still stick beside you, but with Blanche, I feel like he would ACTUALLY go there given the old “friends” he killed 😭

Tw; murder and death, angst? yandere themes obviously

Unlikely, because he did say that you are his one true friend. So you are special and the only exemption from the rule. He already knew his ex "friends" were playing the slow game to try and use him, it's only when they took a step too far and actually carried out their plan of hurting him (I.e., literally cyberbullying him, stealing his money, using him as a maid and still being an asshole to him), he brings out the brass knuckles and compost bucket.

None of them ever proved themselves to be trustworthy or truly kind from the get-go. Blanche is Yves's brother and that fuckery is genetically passed on, of course his deductive skills will immediately weed out the bad ones no matter how discrete they're trying to be. But instead of nipping the problem in the bud like how his brother would, Blanche would just let it be until it grows and grows to an unbearable degree: it gives him an excuse to pulverize them.

If you were to betray Blanche, you wouldn't get killed at first. Because he's now damn delusional, thinking that you're just so young and naive, you didn't know that this is hurting him. Blanche must guide you through life as an elder, you need him as your eyes, you need him. You still love him and he loves you too, so he would have you sit down and have a serious talk as to why it isn't okay to try and poison the cake he worked so hard on. Or why it isn't okay to just hit him unprovoked until his eye is swollen shut.

Perhaps you're sick? A wormy parasite attacking your brain and causing you to be this unrecognizable monster? It's alright, Blanche will cure you with his herbs and natural remedies. Everything will return to normal and you will enjoy his hugs and kisses again. But that wouldn't be the case most of the time...

Blanche then would start begging, kneeling, clasping, and shaking his hands in front of you as he wept. Pleading you to stop being so cruel towards him, to love him again. What did he do wrong? Why are you doing this to him? All he ever wanted was to be your companion. Please stop, please stop hitting him. Please stop saying all those horrible, horrible things to him. He is so desperate to be loved again, to have your gentle strokes instead of your harsh strikes, Blanche would do anything for you as long as he gets an iota of positive or at least, neutral attention from you.

He would take a good amount of abuse until he became fed up, tired of waiting for you to grow up and stop with your immature behavior. Blanche will be drugging you with one of his herbs, just enough to keep you pliant, but not enough to remove your consciousness. After that, he will show you exactly the fate of his ex friends who hurt him. He will bring you to the rot shed, where you will smell the stench of decomposition and misery.

Blanche will scold and berate with tears rolling down his face. Threatening to turn you into compost if you kept hurting him like this. He didn't want to traumatize you, but you left him no choice. He has to save his beloved friend from themselves, you have to realize that whatever you're doing has consequences.

And if you choose to ignore his final warning... well.

Let's hope you wouldn't mind being preserved into a doll that will never decompose. 'You' would spend eternity in his cottage, eating, cuddling, dancing and sleeping. Just like the good ol' days.

Blanche may have empty eyes and a hollow heart as he held your pristine, lifeless body in his arms as he knitted another sweater for you; he didn't like how you're always so cold to him, literally. But at least you stopped hitting him and calling him hurtful names.

[murmiss]

Insane and brain-dead.

pairing-Simon 'Ghost' Riley/You. Very little John 'Soap' MacTavish/You

Chapter WARNING- Description of blood, cruelty, tin.swearing, partial description of decomposition, mention of suicide. My vision of the characters

Summary - 'There is no love'-that's what Simon thinks. BUT what if two traumatized and mentally wounded people meet in a hellish apocalypse and find solace in each other?Hundred what if what happens to them connects them?.

(the end will be good)

This is the first, introductory chapter.

Part one.

It is no secret that viruses and bacteria mutate at an amazing rate, either changing their genetic code and causing mutations, or changing so much that there is already a problem of a new strain. Today, viral mutation is a common phenomenon that does not scare people in the least. Many people do not even think that someday this microorganism can cause harm, ignoring all those stories of fatalities, great and terrible epidemics that have happened to mankind, naively believing that if it happened a thousand years ago, it certainly will not affect you.

How many people know about the Antonine Plague? Although, by the way, it was the most horrifying epidemic in history, which killed more than 5 million people, and according to records, killed 2 thousand Romans a day.And the bubonic plague? It's frightening when you think of the descriptions in books: fever, nausea, hallucinations, pus-filled buboes, death, and people in bird masks. So what? That's right, nothing. Remember when the coronavirus wasn't taken seriously? A lot of people thought it wouldn't reach the regions, states and cities, but it did.

Just like this time, no one took it seriously when dozens of reports were projected from a small town about a sudden outbreak of "rabies", forcing the sick to die in hellish agony within minutes, and then rising up like stereotypical zombies to bite everyone they came across, succumbing to the virus' natural call to multiply.

Really, who'd believe it? And for nothing. After the first newscasts, a wave of memes and jokes started among the schoolchildren, while the adults, lost in the cycle of work, family, and household chores, paid no attention as the small town of Corrins struggled to cope with the sudden and unknown threat. The town government was going crazy-people were refusing to work, refusing to go outside, and even the patrolmen were going on strike. But the infected were unstoppable. Even a hundred people were already tangible, and where there were a hundred, there were a thousand people, and where there were a thousand, there were two.The city was slowly dying until no one took it seriously. Why didn't anyone move out? The answer was simply that they couldn't. Corrins was quarantined, a total lockdown, no entry or exit. When did that ever work? There's not even a movie where a flimsy gate and guards stopped a horde of infected.

The infected huddled together, roaming the streets like mindless, attacking anyone they could catch.

The virus was spreading as fast as anyone could have imagined, and seemingly in ways never before recorded in history. In just a week, the city of Corrins had fallen into oblivion, along with three other towns in the vicinity, followed by the entire region.

Dim light shone through the thick navy-colored curtains, softly illuminating the room. Simon Riley, a former British mercenary who had just awakened from another night of nightmares, sat in the kitchen chair, leaning back casually, foot on foot and hand under his head, staring into the void. For the third time he was dreaming episodes from his past. Dreams about his goat father no longer frightened him, no longer made him nervous like the dreams about the team that Simon had grown accustomed to during his ten years on the job. Now, after the severe injuries, the difficult and sometimes deadly missions, the adrenaline that bubbled in his blood day and night, life in retirement seemed like hell. For the first few days he, like his guys, was in a depressed mood, not understanding why they were forced to retire so early, but none of the superiors explained anything, giving a completely stupid answer that was the same for everyone: "We changed priorities". That day was hard for everyone. but, nevertheless, the guys did not forget each other. Living in the same city, they often gathered in the bar "Ricky and Mickey", discussed personal matters, tried to rebuild their lives on a new way. And for Riley, worrying about what to cook, trying to build relationships, job hunting, and constantly changing activities were hated, so his thoughts often returned to the days when he and John and the guys worked together. When adrenaline was bubbling in his blood and his brain was working on emergency decisions and tactics. Being on the rope gave life an unrealistic drive, helping him forget the horrors of his childhood. Sometimes, however, he was afraid - those were the rare occasions when things didn't go according to plan and his companions could get hurt. Simon wasn't afraid for himself, he wasn't afraid of bleeding out on the battlefield, getting shot, or even losing a leg or an arm, but the image of a bleeding comrade made him shudder inwardly, still vivid in his mind's eye: He'd been shot in the head-unfortunate and nearly fatal, if it hadn't been for the plate in his skull-the miracle that had saved Johnny from certain death in this cold and filthy place.

That day Simon Riley almost died for the third time. The first time Riley had experienced such deep emotions was in his childhood, when his father, an alcoholic and deeply addicted to drugs, had mocked him. The image of his father with a viper in his hand and the devil-like image of his older brother would haunt Simon's dreams and visions for a long time. The second time it was the image of his mother. The fragile woman who was pulling the whole family on her own back, tolerating her abuser of a husband day after day, humbly going to hard work, trying to earn at least some pennies, couldn't stand it and put a bullet in her temple. She lay on the old and creaky couch for almost twenty-four hours before her husband paid attention. Simon remembers like yesterday her small, thin body lying stiff and stiff on the couch, with a humble face like a painting of The Death of the Virgin Mary by the artist Caravaggio. She was dressed in her pale pink robe, and her thin hand rested on her breast. Mrs. Riley tried her best to hold on for little Simon's sake, but she could not endure her eldest son's abuse and her husband's hatred, killing herself and finally achieving the peace and quiet she so desired. Little Simon sat with her all day, trying his best to wake the lying woman, covering her face with a damp cloth, gently stroking her icy hands. He was only six years old then, when he stood over the pit where the old wooden coffin containing the body of his beloved mother lay.

And then, when Johnny had been injured, Simon felt again like he did then at six years old, next to his mother. He, lost in emotion, grabbed Johnny's head, his hands trying to cover the bullet wound, roughly grasping like a child trying to help as best he could. The ghost doesn't remember Price dragging him away from Johnny's unconscious body, giving room for the paramedics to arrive.

John 'Soap' MacTavish was taken to the medical unit and underwent emergency surgery, Sitting in the dark and empty corridor, Ghost was out of breath as Gaz and Price tried to support him. "John's a tough guy, he'll get over it." And the this jerk turned out to be fucking resilient. And lucky too.

After that the band didn't last long-quite a couple months later they were dismissed, without reason or much explanation, taking them out of their positions. Of course no one expected it, but what was to be done?

Simon picked up his phone, checking messages, secretly hoping for another invitation to a bar, just to avoid the domestic routine, but instead of the pleasant words "let's go for a cognac," he came across a sweet and sweet message from Amanda, the girl Ghost had tried to meet at his leisure, when Soap was once again blowing his mind about the need for a relationship.Amanda was undeniably beautiful-blonde curls, blue eyes, and charmingly pouty lips, but the problem was that as soon as she opened her mouth, everyone wanted to shut her up. Amanda Hess was a meticulous Shopping Fanatic, and "miss fucking amazing ideas." In places, undoubtedly, the idea of going to fuck in the park at one o'clock in the morning excited Simon, but frankly, he lacked enthusiasm, and for the fifth time, hearing an unusual idea, his eyes involuntarily rolled with stupidity.

Simon and Amanda had been talking for about three months now, and he didn't know if he liked her or if he liked her ass, or if he even needed these dates.

"Honey, can you pick me up at eight pm?" -said the message, and attached to it was a nude photo of a girl sitting on the edge of a bed with her feet up and taking a picture of herself through a mirror, wearing only black lace lingerie. Beautiful, but unimpressive. When you see the same tits and hear the same things, you get used to it and the panties photo is no longer arousing. Inwardly Simon wished for soulfulness and some kind of domestic affection, maybe a cozy lady dressed in his huge warm sweater and striped socks, making hot chocolate.

"I'm busy," Simon answered rudely but habitually, but no sooner had he sent a message back than someone slammed the front door, forcing him to look up and away from the phone.

"Fuck," Soap said, panting and trying to catch his breath, leaning his hands on the walls. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the scowling lieutenant and finally seeing his comrade, Johnny rushed over to him, speaking quickly and nervously. "Hey L.T., did you see what the fuck is going on? We're fucked, we're fucked up a bloody fucking ass that can't be compared to Makarov's ugly face."

Simon grinned wryly as he listened to MacTavish and sat just as casually in the kitchen chair, watching Mr. Mohawk walk around his kitchen, looking for the TV remote and finally finding it, turning it on as he continued to mutter-"Fucking lunatics flooding the streets! I thought I'd never bloody get to you-the police are shutting down the city, ambulances everywhere!"

And as John spoke, Simon lowered his gaze to the phone again, wistfully noting that Amanda's message was from yesterday and apparently he hadn't noticed it. Soap snatched the phone out of Simon's hands, carelessly tucking it away on the table, speaking seriously, frowning his bushy eyebrows. "Buddy, can you hear me? I'm dead serious right now."

"You can't be serious about piles of zombies roaming the street," Riley replied, looking up at his friend again. Behind him, while no one was paying attention, the coffee was frothing, running off and dirtying the stove, leaving a bitter burnt odor that Simon sensed and immediately moved the coffee pot. "Bloody hell, John."

"Leave your fucking coffee, this isn't a joke, Lieutenant," John shrieked, finally turning his attention back to Simon.

On TV, a slender girl in a business suit with a serious face and a monotonous voice was giving an interview; in the background, behind her were several police cars, ambulances, and even a SWAT team flashed in the frame. Somewhere very far away there were shouts of people, special forces, passing information to each other. The girl's voice was steady and didn't even shake as she broadcast almost robot-like.

"Today, around six o'clock this morning, a group of unknown assailants attacked the locals. It's probably an outbreak of rabies. The patients have pale skin, cloudy eyes with red spots and gritted teeth, some cases of hemoptysis, poor coordination and slurred speech. If you find such symptoms in yourself or your relatives, call the number 'xxx-xx-xx-xxx'. We urge all citizens to stay in their homes until the next announcement. You are also reminded to lock your windows and doors and do not let anyone suspicious in."

"You heard her, it's just an outbreak of rage," Simon waved his hand nonchalantly, to which John, eyes wide, shouted again, trying to reason with his colleague.

"You don't fucking understand." -MacTavish clutched the remote tighter, rewinding the videotape of the interview to the very end.

"I don't understand what?" -Ghost raised his eyebrows skeevily.

"She's dead"-John said sharply, including the very end of the video, where a man in an ambulance corpsman's uniform comes at the journalist from behind. He sinks his teeth into her neck, biting off a large chunk almost immediately, his bloody hands grasping her shoulders as the girl screams frantically. Simon's eyes slowly open as his brain's mechanisms process the information. It's as if he believes it, but the other half of him screams "It's all a lie, a joke. April 1." Unconsciously he looks at his phone, checking the date and realizing to his horror that the first of April is long gone and it was June. The information and realization pressed on his brain, causing goosebumps to crawl across his skin. A slight fear bubbled in his stomach as he watched Soap's actions as if mesmerized. John frantically opened every drawer in the kitchen, looking for any canned goods and bars.

"Shit, LT, what are you eating? Don't you have any?!" exclaimed Soap, panic-rushing through the rooms while Simon came to his senses.

"Bottom drawer on the right"-as Riley answered mesmerized. John, opening the cabinet and seeing five cans of canned chicken and pork, exhaled, immediately pulling them out and placing them on the table.

"Don't delay, Ghost, get the damn things together. I was able to get a hold of Price, he and Gaz will be waiting for us on the outskirts of town at the cottage plots. Price is trying to contact Laswell and the department." Soap rummaged through the drawers, pulling out matches, knives, and anything else he thought might come in handy. Recovering and hearing shouts outside the door, Simon jumped up and immediately began grabbing his belongings and dumping them at speed into his hiking backpack. The screams were getting closer and it seemed like the entire apartment building was shaking with people running, panicking and screaming. Simon's apartment was right in the middle of the building, on the fifth floor, and it was damned inconvenient.

At last, Ghost jerked the curtains aside carelessly, peering out the window and watching in horror at the sheer chaos. He had never seen anything like this even in the army. From the neighboring apartment building, people were falling from the balconies, one was already infected, and the other, Simon's acquaintance, Edgar, a man with three loans and perpetually bawdy jokes, had thrown himself out of the window, not wanting to fight, nor to be infected and converted. Unwittingly, Simon remembered how they'd sat at the bar and the jerk with the black, curly beard would see any girl off with a meow, stretching out his catchphrase, "Your pussy's in danger next to me." Then, for Riley, it was a show, at the end of which Edgar was guaranteed to get slapped by some extravagant girl.Now he was dead. In the sky we could see helicopters crashing one after another, one of them crashing right into the house, partially destroying the building. The wreckage flies down where the crowds are, and at first glance it's hard to see what the crush is all about: screams and heartbreaking cries from everywhere, and the special forces are trying to get everyone out of the way, but they, too, the men in uniform and ammunition, suffer the same fate as the civilians - to be bitten. Suddenly Simon is yanked away from the window. Jonny, hearing something going on outside the apartment, realizes it's time to run. - "Damn! We're all going to die in here!"

The ghost followed Soap, and as the other opened the door, the growling grew louder. At the end of the corridor was a small flock of zombies - apparently residents of neighboring apartments that were infected.Without thinking long, the Comrades rushed to the stairs-an escape route. Suddenly, the door swings open in their faces and an older woman falls out into the hallway with a loud hiss. John reflexively shoves the old woman away from him, and Ghost reflexively hits her with the bat he'd brought just in case. "Oh bloody hell, I'm sorry Mrs. Ruzzet," Simon says nervously as he hurries forward, almost flying down the stairs, missing the steps. The zombie old lady lets out another clanking of teeth as she tries to crawl after them, but they've already broken away. Floor after floor flies by at speed, with only a door ahead. John pushes that one open, but it's like it turns out to be locked. "The fucking lock's jammed, Simon, help!" The sounds of zombies are coming closer, and Riley could swear she can hear them dragging their feet on the floor. Strike one. Nothing happens. Second strike. The smell of stinking zombies is getting closer and old Ruzzie is already sliding down the stairs with broken legs, dragging herself with her arms. Third strike. Simon stands behind Soap with bat in hand, the wooden handle cracking from his grip. Four. The door opens and John reflexively grabs Simon by the collar of his shirt, pulling him outside.

It's fucked.The smell of burning, blood and decomposition was everywhere, the dead trying to get to the last survivors who dared to go outside. A girl ran past Simon, clacking her high heels with a loud squeal while three well-fed zombies with bloody mouths with blood dripping from them, staining their clothes, almost ran after her. John rushed towards the cars, picking his way through them with a slight ducking, while Ghost followed behind him, looking back and keeping an eye out for single zombies. The path through the yard was relatively clear, if it weren't for a pack of zombies in suits crouching over a corpse and ripping apart their once office colleague. "That's what 'eating the boss's brains out' means," John grinned grimly, and Simon only chuckled.

"We can walk along the edge and hope the bastards are too focused on their coworker," Simon suggested, and John nodded, slouching, hunching over and almost pressing himself against the wall. The zombies, too focused on their food, wouldn't have noticed him if it hadn't been for John's sudden cry of, "Fuck!" With a snarl, they turned their heads toward the living humans, slowly rising, moving their hollow-headed bodies forward. Simon turned to John, who was swearing to himself as he tried to kill the crawling zombie: it was half a body, the upper half, and from the stomach on up, there was nothing, just part of the spine, but it was tough. Hurriedly, Simon grabbed his friend by the wrist and swiftly dragged him away from the alley.

They made their way to the outskirts of the city, but they couldn't stop there because all the neighborhoods were crawling with zombies.

"I'm damn glad your attraction to life on the outskirts cut us a hell of a lot of slack. It wasn't as shitty when I got to you as it is now," John tried to catch his breath. How many kilometers had they run? It wasn't clear, but it was a lot, though they were used to long runs, and their goal was to get to Price's country house as fast as possible, even if it was a hell of a long way.