#screaming into the void and all you know i'll be doing it until i die

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Without you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Summary: As the two of you navigate the mysterious and sometimes turbulent waters of falling in love, a devil in angel's clothing threatens your life, managing to keep you quiet. Until Daryl finds out...

@gunnerblue21: So cool! I just found your content yesterday and so far im loving what im reading so youre amazing in my books lol so, for my request, i was wondering if you could write a story where back in the prison era, daryls girl best friend is secretly being harassed by one of the guys from woodbury, he knows that reader and daryl have a friends with benefits relationship secretly and threatens to out the reader to everyone about their secret if she tells anyone about about his harassment. When the dude from woodbury takes it too far one day and beats up the reader for trying to run from his abuse, daryl finds out and finds reader, he deals with the harassment his own daryl way lol im sorry if its long, i just really love protective daryl energy especially when its someone he really loves.

A/N: I felt some nice things with this imagine, hehe Promise it's not THAT boring, but I do hope the person who asked for this like it at least a little. Sorry for saying your name! I generally don't like the "she's mine" thing, but with Daryl I can break that rule. A warning about the sexual harassment theme in this story! although it's not very explicit. To everyone who has been harassed in any way, I'm so sorry. I still don't know why we keep silent, feeling guilty about our weakness to speak up and defend ourselves, ultimately feeling like we deserve that experience. I hope everyone can recover from that. There are surely mistakes, but it's 3 am and I have a baptism tomorrow, so I'll correct them as soon as possible. Thanks as always!

Your breathing is soft, but almost nonexistent in the void of the silent prison after the night swallows the sun, so silent that it forces Daryl to slide an arm around your waist, breaking the distance he promised himself to keep with you, searching for your warm skin beneath your short–sleeved shirt, fingers tickling your flesh with just a touch to elicit a slight movement from you, always accompanied by a sigh, a proof that you're still alive.

Sleeping together was not part of the deal, but a rule he broke long ago when, amid a world fractured by thunderous noises (guns, screams, curses), the gentle sound of your breathing helped him sleep.

Far from being a romance, the bittersweet story between the two of you began when you appeared that sweltering afternoon in the city alley next to Glenn, aimless walkers wandering the world, ruling it, and yet, his petulant, sarcastic, and judgmental, though always alert gaze, matched his condescension and hopeless and even somewhat dark comments that day—real, you couldn't deny it—but unnecessary, until it all ended in an argument between the two of you (the first of several along the way), with his true belief that he knew best shining brighter than the scorching sun.

Blue eyes like an ocean too dangerous to swim in stared at you relentlessly, a clear warning not to come closer, infested with trauma like sharks in the water.

“Ya wanna die, woman?”

That was his response to your desire to rescue Glenn when he was kidnapped, underestimating the only thing you had at hand and within you: a weapon you barely knew how to use, and an insatiable desire to live and help people. Daryl wasn't selfish, you could see it in his deep gaze—along with a somewhat terrifying intensity—it was just his own fervent wish not to die with that sharp pain under the hands and teeth of the undead, and yet, that didn't prevent the feeling inside you. You hated Daryl so deeply you could taste it on the tip of your tongue, an almost metallic taste.

“There are worse fates than death.”

Your words echoed in him the entire time it took you all to return to the camp outside Atlanta, everyone finally safe, momentarily.

Losing his brother made him withdraw from the back—and—forth conversations, sometimes empty, never deep because everyone wanted to leave the past in the back of their heads when the present and future felt like stepping into a minefield, but Daryl was always ready for the hunt and feed the people, bringing in small animals (after losing that deer and taking out his frustration on that already–finished walker) leaving them quietly near Carol or Lori, before retreating to the solitude of his tent.

Yet you always ran into each other in that small space, by chance or when Rick started to lead the camp in his endless attempt to keep everyone alive. Arguments between such different people became normal, something routine, but you were one of the few who let him go off the deep end, with the annoying and loud way Daryl used to snap at others, highlighting their lack of survival skills, with you ending the pointless conversation with a whatever, leaving him incredulous, with a frown so deep it hurt and the incandescent desire to throw a curse at you that he swallowed.

A new life had begun when that new world arose, stained with the blood of those who perished along the way, and although Daryl was always calm and ready to survive—amid his short temper that sometimes put him at risk as well—the annoyance that settled in his chest when he saw you, laughed in his face, turning the table where his cold apathy rested.

You were beautiful to look at, and the way you wrinkled your nose before smiling caught him like a poor rabbit in a trap, falling into his own trap, turning him into a prey, pathetic, vulnerable, and weak, and Daryl hated you even more for it. He hated you because you made that gesture especially with Glenn, as if you could destroy all your walls around yourself when you were with the Chinese boy (even though Daryl knew he was Korean) only to build them up again when you were with him. Daryl didn't recognize it as jealousy, even though it was, in all its splendor.

Daryl Dixon wasn't used to calling people with sweet names (they were a punch to his masculinity), but he found himself calling you lil' bunny, using that false sweetness that carried all his sarcasm in that moment. And those words were a mockery of your entire existence, you knew it, as if you were weak. But with what would happen later, you managed to convince yourself that you were.

But your sass almost matched his own, turning you into a dream Daryl dreamed at night and a nightmare during the day, and yet, he began to look for you with his eyes when the day began, always making sure you were somewhere safe, always making sure you were in his line of sight. And maybe it was staring at you too much that made him think of you differently, almost sinfully, thoughts so shameless and impure that they made him blush or feel the heat on the tips of his ears and inside his pants.

Sometimes, just seeing you exist there in the middle of the woods made him feel things that were warm, and unpleasant, and totally foreign to him. Life had been a bitch to Daryl, so unfair that it was hard to believe those things had happened to a kid (like something out of fiction, out of the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he'd lived through built who he was—though he'd eventually put it all behind him. Daryl was hurt, both physically and emotionally, so battered and broken that he was unable to feel big, good things, keeping the wounds of war in the shadows after he'd barely escaped from that hostile place alive: his own home, ironically.

The iron blows of his parents' fists sank into his body and played cruel tricks on his mind until that little angel with blond hair and blue eyes had his tiny wings ripped off and he was convinced that heaven never existed, and that he deserved hell. So for Daryl, this new world was just a new kind of hell he knew how to live in.

Although he had also managed to chuckle a few times, a short, harsh sound, always accompanied by his usual sarcasm, like that day you two had to find a car to get back to camp when night fell, too dark and dangerous to walk.

The damned engine resisted, stubborner than a mule.

“Go ahead, give it some gas. Jus' a lil'.” You turned the key that was connected to the car, hearing a dry, harsh sound that Daryl tried to stop with a rap on the hood, his eyes finding yours between the slits. “Stop! I said a lil'!”

“That was a little.”

“No, that was too much.”

“How am I supposed to know when too much is too much, Daryl?”

“Ya listen, and if it sounds like too much, then s' too much.”

You frowned, confused and irritated.

“You're too much.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

A moment later, the car decided to cooperate, but when Daryl got in, slamming the door with a little too much force than necessary, your body tensed in the seat as he drove back, opening his stupid mouth to just snarl at you like a child. And as always, you let him talk until he shut up.

“Bite me, asshole.”

Though with all the dirty thoughts about you piling up in his mind, a pile so high he could no longer see the end of it, Daryl didn't know if that was an insult or an invitation.

His temper was a roller coaster that went up and down so violently that a crash seemed imminent, with you always feeling like it would all be over in a second, catastrophic, making you feel unstable. But among the things that could be salvaged about Daryl, it was his undeniable, indelible desire to protect people—his people. Behind his apparent apathy, there was a need to make sure everyone was safe.

You had seen it, you had felt it. Between the unspoken words and the stares that trapped each other, even between the layers of his false hatred for you, he would often stand in front of you at any sign of danger, when things felt deadly, one arm extended in the air to guide you behind him while Daryl used his own body as a shield for you at the same time.

By the time you all arrived at the CDC, the fake place that seemed like a fairy tale (too perfect to be real) gave you a false sense of security, and beneath four walls that promised a safe and even promising future, Daryl dared to do what he never thought he'd be capable of.

That night, when there was no one left, not a soul wandering the world, there was only him and you, and his hand that closed around your waist in the kitchen. With your back to him, your body tensed, his heat invading your senses until you were drunker, even after all the wine at dinner, but when you felt his breath on your hair and recognized his full presence, the confusion of pulling away and pressing yourself against his body, which was already too close, was so great that the line between them blurred.

“Tell me to stop. Please.” You closed your eyes as his calloused fingers, the result of a lifetime of working with them, pressed against your stomach, and it contracted every muscle in your body, awakening a scorching heat inside, right where he was touching and a little lower. “Can I keep goin'?”

You nodded. And the rest was history.

Daryl just needed to get you out of his system, give his body the answers to that question in his head: what would it feel like to touch you, to feel you pressed against him, naked? Part of him hoped to feel in his own body that your time together would be a disaster so he could move on, but the problem was, it wasn't at all.

Shit, you were passionate even in intimacy, your hands pressing his body against yours the entire time that night lasted. And like becoming addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world, he and you started looking for each other again after that, even after the explosion of that place, during the time at the farm. Being between your legs, doing something other than thinking, blocked out the outside world and all the dangers and sadness it brought. Daryl always started there, especially when the whole dysfunctional but close–knit family arrived at the prison and that gave you two a kinda decent bed instead of the floor of a tent, when time gave you all a break.

Then you started to think that the more you cared for someone, the more vulnerable you were to a broken heart. But between the way you started wrinkling your nose when Daryl actually said something that might have been funny (sometimes unintentionally because he had no sense of humor) he started to let his interest in you show, though only one person outside of the original group seemed to notice.

Among the people of Woodbury, existed someone who hid his empty heart beneath the facade of being a good boy, always willing to lend a hand. Like new lives in a new environment, everyone struggled to adapt to that kind of normalcy, trying to collaborate to ensure the well–being of others. You among them, because you were kind or tried to be, eager to build a true future for the adults and especially the children, until that person mistook your good wishes for weakness.

One night, dressed again and breathing more calmly, Daryl and you existed in silence because life was simpler that way, less lonely, side by side in bed, but not touching, leaving a small space between you two, until he took a small rock from his pants that seemed even smaller in his large hands. It had no sharp corners, only smooth, smoothed edges.

It seemed polished, soft against your fingers, a reminder that not all that is hard is rough.

He handed it to you silently.

“Are you proposing to me penguin–style?” You joked with him, laughing when Daryl scoffed to mask the feelings he’d genuinely tried to keep from growing too much, but that were already spilling over the edge of his soul.

And as you inspected the stone under the dim light of the candle on a nearby table, Daryl took in the profile of your face, the tip of your nose, the edge of your lips, the ones he used to press against his, a demanding hand on the back of your head to keep you in place, and that sparkle in your eyes that seemed to glimmer with the power of a star.

“Thank you.” You meant it, but when you turned your head to look at him, Daryl looked away again, his eyes lost in the space between the cracks in the ceiling. “I’m truly grateful for this, so I apologize for all the times I cursed you too loud.”

Daryl frowned, his gaze searching yours, brave enough to do anything when it wasn't about feelings.

"Yer not loud, yer quiet as shit."

"In my head, I've cursed you in every way possible, very loudly. So I’m sorry.”

Again, a scoff, almost accompanied by a roll of his eyes as he settled back onto the uncomfortable mattress, closing his eyes as the weight of sleep began to overcome him, an arm draped over his face.

"Whatever. Now shut up, I wanna sleep."

Confused, and slightly offended by his sweet personality, your eyebrows tried to knit together.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

There was no annoyance in your voice—so you weren't chasing him away.

"I don' wanna walk back to ma cell."

And even with his eyes closed, you could see a new kind of ocean in his eyes, safe, peaceful.

You shrugged even though he wasn't looking at you, putting the rock in your pocket for safekeeping before closing your eyes as well. But when reason stumbled for an instant, you knew it was stupid to fall for Daryl—the person at your side who could be as much of a jerk as he was handsome—with his long hair now and those damned arms exposed, clearly hard to the eye even when he wasn't flexing them.

Daryl was intimidating, walking silently with his steely gaze that made people fear and respect him at the same time. His imposing figure was scary, but none of that mattered when everyone noticed that he genuinely cared for all and for you, in a selfless way.

And all of that made someone truly hate him.

Sean was charming, the opposite of Daryl's exterior: smiling, falsely warm, so kind at first glance that he offered to entertain the children in the library to distract them a little from the reality on the other side of the gates. And that's when it happened for the first time: his hand pressed against your backside in the solitude of that hellish place, empty after everyone left, so violent it froze you there, like a little rabbit that knows it will be devoured in the cruelest way possible.

“What are you—?”

Your stuttering made him smile, laughing at your fear, which crushed you cruelly, like a blow to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of your body. You knew there were still bad, unscrupulous people, but you didn't expect to find one in that place. A sick desire shone in his green eyes, a feline that played with the mouse's body even after it was dead, because deep down, he enjoyed that macabre and perverse pleasure of knowing he'd ended a life and could continue to amuse himself with the remains, of knowing he could do whatever he wanted with his victim.

You were never a victim, but he turned you into one in a single second, silently, taking away pieces of your will to live little by little.

And the harassment began that night, and not gradually, but escalated with such brutality that it made you vomit. Why didn't you say anything? Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't; maybe it was all the reasons, and because you couldn't find any that made sense. The fear of speaking up and made him being kicked out of security burned in your stomach, a new kind of hell that screamed at you with anger and mockery how stupid you were being. Telling Daryl would be like unleashing the lion from its cage, the beast that would end everything, though you knew Sean's expulsion would be a godsend considering what Daryl would do to him.

There were no labels between the two of you; you were nothing more than a piece of silence when the world became heartbreaking, but there was something about Daryl that everyone knew, a truth they spoke only with their eyes. The difference between Daryl and Rick, or Glenn, or the rest, was that Rick seemed to be guided in his decision–making by the shadow of his morals that still lingered within him, a memory of his past life, a compass to stay on track, while Daryl seemed willing to have no morals at all if it ensured the safety of his family.

And his anger could easily overcome his morals, or make them disappear in an instant.

Unbridled, such was his love and his anger. Daryl fought, hurt, and even killed, and you didn't want another body to fall lifeless because of you and become another scar on his mind, another reason to feel guilty about still being alive.

Sean's harassment was just words piercing your insides, calling you names others would call you if they found out you were Daryl's whore, words that were just that, nothing more: a terrifying touch that, like the wind, came and went, until one night, his hand pressed so hard into your flesh it almost felt like a bone of your ribs would break.

And when all that torture of a few minutes was over, you sat in the prison's backyard, asking for some kind of guidance from whoever or whatever was on the other end of the call. A sign, a hint of what to do, how to stop keeping quiet, how to stop suffering and fearing, but with no answer, just the devastating emptiness that seemed to swallow you alive—only shining to tell you that maybe the only way out was a bullet in the head, in his or yours.

But shit, the beast was dragging you down to hell with him, and you let him do it.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath when someone sat behind you, but like the first time his body landed behind yours, it only took you a second to recognize him as you glanced over your shoulder. “You scared me.”

Daryl chuckled, his legs on either side of you.

“Whatcha doin' here? S' cold.”

Always hiding your feelings, you chuckled back.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Shut up.” He scoffed, wishing with all his might that it were true, that your feelings for him were as strong as his, but silently, always avoiding speaking about them, Daryl leaned forward until his chest was so close to your back that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even under his poncho. “Did ya have fun with the kids?”

He cared for everyone, without measure or any condition.

“Yeah. We read a lot today. I know it’s not your strong suit, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I can read, woman. I jus’ don’ like it.”

“Can you? Tell me the truth; I won’t tell anyone.”

It was an attack, but not an offense, and Daryl chuckled once more, that signature sound of his, before pressing himself against you, his hand cupping the spot where Sean had touched you without a hint of kindness, hand holding you with affection and a hint of teasing, his fingers almost cupping your breast.

"Hey." The tickle of his touch made you try to escape, but there was no way out when his other hand held you in place. "At least ask me out first."

He's screwed, always had been since that first afternoon together in the city, and now Daryl knew it clearly as he smiled softly against your hair, ignoring your fake protest as he tried to hide from his own feelings.

"Missed ya, bunny."

That same night, when he buried himself in you, you held him even closer, wanting to erase every touch Sean left on you, which still felt like fire burning your skin. But trauma, guilt, or shame—everything made you keep silent for the weeks that followed, which brought more damage, leaving you feeling more worn down every day, making your self–loathing grow, and even your desire to end it all.

And one day, it all turned into just pain, physical in every fiber of your being.

Sean had an unstable temper, quicker to anger and lose control than a little boy who didn't know how to manage his emotions, and hell, he did just that. In one moment, one of those distant moments now because you'd stopped going to the library alone, the devil disguised as an angel caught you in the emptiness of a hallway, his claws closing so tightly around your arm that it was easy for him to push you into an uninhabited room.

Don't cry, don't give him that pleasure. The only thing he won't be able to take away from you is that. Not one tear, not because of him. Fight, or at least die trying to be free, but he didn't give you the chance when his fist slammed into your belly, destabilizing your whole world, breaking something inside, just because in his eyes, as if you belonged to him, you dared not to listen to him, to try to run away from him. And when he felt he had nothing left to lose, Sean took advantage of every second of it. His anger was like those natural disasters that sweep away houses and people in their wake, leaving a stain of mud so big that covered the essence of your life and the hope to live that you always knew how to keep alive.

He didn't make a sound, and your body screamed without making the slightest sound either.

But life and pain became one when you were told it was your turn to go on a supply run, just you and Daryl because the chosen neighborhood was remote and small, enough territory for only two people to go. You were good, you were careful, meticulous about not letting walkers see you, but Sean had exposed you to so much pain that your vision blurred at the edges of your eyes, obscuring your gaze to the point where you didn't see the walker who pushed you against the wall of that kitchen in that abandoned house.

Maybe it was the sound of his fist in your ear that kept you from hearing death.

Life passed in a second, like the worst things that end quickly because they don't deserve to have freedom in the world, almost dying when you took too long to press the knife against his skull, the sharp edge finally sinking into what remained of his rotting flesh at the same time as an arrow.

The lifeless body fell to the ground, as heavy as your breath.

Every day that you had to leave the protection of the prison, it was like a blow to his chest, or so it felt to Daryl, with no air in his lungs until you finally returned, always worried that something would happen to you, that you wouldn't come back to wrinkle your nose in sarcasm or happiness, but in that moment, when death's hands truly almost closed around your body, Daryl could swear he saw life laughing at him as it played with yours.

You were there, but the next second you could not be.

And Daryl lost control.

"Are ya stupid?!"

Yes, you were, but not for the reasons he thought.

He shouted a few cruel words, and you listened silently, missing another chance to tell the truth, lowering your gaze for the first time in your life, but holding your head as high as you could, somewhat exhausted. For Daryl, the thought of you vanishing from his life was terrifying, but in that moment, that possibility became devastating and unbearable.

The drive back to the prison was so silent it stunned you.

The afternoon fell, heavy and lonely as you sank into your cell, lying on your side and face against the wall, wanting to disappear so far that not a trace of your existence would remain in the world. With your body aching, your muscles begging for mercy, and a mind screaming into the void to let it sleep until the end of days, you fell asleep. You had fought hard for the hope of living even in that world dictated by Sean's selfishness, always without conscience, eager to see blood, but not spilling it like the coward he was, enjoying sending you tumbling off the cliff only to catch you a second before hitting the ground, repeating the action over and over again.

Always on the verge, but never allowed to truly die.

That night, late when the icy wind chilled him to the bone and let him think, Daryl entered your cell, leaving dinner on a plastic plate on the only table.

“(Y/N)?” He sat on the edge of the bed, his heartbeat blocking his throat and any attempt at an apology Daryl was ready to utter. “Hey—”

“Leave me alone.”

“Bunny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your indifference hurt more than your anger, more than the blows he’d received in his childhood and in that life. So many years of abuse in the place that should have been the safest for him—his house, not a home—and yet, Daryl would much rather have to face that hell again, as a child, than have to feel the cold of your heart.

“M' sorry.”

“I don’t wanna hear you.”

Daryl swallowed, hard.

“Can I stay here at least?”

His voice was low, deep, but terrified, like the child silently begging his mother to love him, even after feeling her hatred.

“Do whatever you want.”

It felt like the entire prison was collapsing on his chest, crushing him underneath.

Daryl feigned courage, refusing to accept the idea that this was the end of both of you, and he lay down, on his side even though his view of you was your back, the space between you feeling wider than an abyss. And again, as the minutes or a couple of hours passed, your breathing slowed, hiding behind the silence of the place. You had forbidden him any access to your body, losing that right himself with his stupidity and his actions, with his outburst, with his fear of losing you that Daryl didn't know how to begin to explain, but the idea of ​​feeling your lifeless body, in any sense, in the most brutal or the simplest way (like simply stopping breathing, an unnecessary fact that Hershel had dropped one afternoon long ago) made him cross the boundaries you silently drew, reaching out his nervous hand to tickle you as he had been doing so many times that he had lost count.

Just a touch, so light you wouldn't feel it. Yet when his fingers lifted a fraction of your long–sleeved shirt, a whimper of pain seeped between your closed lips. Daryl frowned, for you'd never done that in your life together, and then, a red bruise glowed almost imperceptibly in the light of the candle that was a few nights away from burning out.

His calloused fingers slid over your skin to expose you even more, just as the pain made you wake with a gasp.

"Stop."

"The fuck happened to ya?"

Your words and his collided, a mess scattering around the room as you turned, sitting up with a pain you held prisoner between your still closed lips as he sat up as well, and your confused, dazed, and anger–filled expressions met, face to face. There was no place to hide your surprise anymore.

“Daryl—”

“Who?” His voice grew thicker, more dangerous with the full weight of his rage. “Ain't gonna ask ya again, (Y/N). But m' gonna beat the shit outta every single person in this whole fuckin’ place 'til I find out who it was if ya don’ tell me who did that to ya.”

He was threatening you… not you, but there it was, the moment looming when he would lose control, reaching the point of no return. Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, feeling the fear in every corner of your being, as if you were made of nothing but that.

“Daryl—” His jaw was so tight it hurt, you could see it, every muscle that contracted, but he didn't ask again, true to his promise. “Please, no, it's not worth it.”

And then he saw it clearly, the pain in your eyes that hurt more than that bruise on your skin, the misguided idea that, somehow, you were the one who wasn't worth it, that the person who hurt you wasn't worth hurting. And that was more painful for him, for the man who took other people's pain as his own, especially if it came from the person he loved the most. And between the small spaces of his anger, Daryl felt his gaze water as he approached you as he could, pulling you close, until his demanding hand cupped the back of your head, once again to look you in the eyes.

“M'sorry, m' so sorry.” His deep voice cracked on the last word, but it was all or nothing, to love you completely or not to love you at all. “M'sorry I yelled at ya, m'sorry I was such a jerk. I swear I only did it 'cause m' terrified of losin' ya. I love ya so much that I know I can’t live in a world without ya. I’d die for ya, ya know that, but I hope I don’ have to 'cause I want a future with ya. An' to do that, I need to keep ya alive.”

Daryl pulled away, playing his part.

“Tell me the name. I’ll do the rest.”

Then, you said his name out loud, for the first time. And Daryl nodded, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, short kiss before he left, without another word. Unable to speak, you knew it was either you or Sean; you couldn’t save both of you: and he didn’t deserve to be saved either.

And it all made sense to Daryl in that moment, the way you stopped going to the library alone, the way you started jumping in fright whenever he touched you, an act that began when that boy came into his own home, daring to destroy it, not knowing how far someone like Daryl Dixon would go for you. Sanity faded into the shadows, terrified of fighting a nearly savage man, a man who lived so much in the wild that he adopted the instincts of an animal: fight to dead to live, to protect.

He clenched his fists, so tight the skin seemed to stretch to the point of breaking. Daryl needed nothing more than his own hands, hard and rough after using them to fight for his own life. And though his mind was clouded with only one murderous thought, his near–perfect memory led him seamlessly through the prison until he found Sean's cell.

The bars creaked slightly when he opened them, but the peacefully sleeping boy didn't feel it until Daryl's hand closed around his neck, with no trace of gentleness until he pushed Sean to the ground, though his fingers itched to break it right there. It was like forcing a dormant volcano to awaken, a force of nature that not human could stop.

Sean whined, scared, feeling the fear of being prey in his body. He looked so small compared to Daryl that Daryl felt a throb of pity, one that disappeared instantly.

"Out."

"What?"

“Get the fuck outta this prison 'fore I step on yer neck. An' if ya cry for help like the lil' bitch ya are, I'll break it 'fore ya say a word.”

He knew Daryl would do it, without any guilt. There was a blankness in his gaze, but somehow, all his composure was gathered there, and that was even more terrifying to Sean. Daryl wasn't completely blinded by his anger, but rather used it almost strategically, calculatingly. So he did it. Sean walked down death row in silence, feeling his heart pounding in his prickles, his mind so messed up that he couldn't even imagine how it would all end, but knowing it would.

The cold air hit him in the face, as hard as a punch.

"Listen, man, I don't know what's going on, but I swear you're wrong." Daryl's expression remained flat, emotionless, even though they were all over his body, noisy, buzzing in his ears, so loud that they blocked out the sound of the walkers' growling on the other side. And when Sean saw that his words didn't make even the slightest change on his face, he feigned dementia even more. "I don't know what (Y/N) told you, but she's crazy. She threw herself at me."

There it was, the typical excuse, absolving himself of all blame only to throw it at you.

Which only made his blood boil.

"Yeah, she kinda is. (Y/N) is wild, but she's good, one of the best people in this fuckin' place an' in this fuckin' world, an' ya dared to hurt what's mine even though ya knew I'd kill ya."

“I don’t—” Sean choked on his terror, so latent it made his body shake even more, like a tiny leaf. “I’m sorry, I swear. Please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die.”

And it was funny how Daryl remembered what you said to him that first day.

“There are worse fates than death, but by the time m' done with ya, yer gon' beg me to kill ya.”

Like fire on gunpowder, everything was strident even when there wasn’t a deafening sound. Time stretched each time Daryl gave him a break, a pause just to make him feel the pain of each blow more, for his body to register it even after his mind shut down when it could no longer take so much damage, his system shutting down as well, leaving Sean on the edge of the precipice until morning came.

The exact trace of time was lost long ago, but when Daryl returned to your cell, you were still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath you, the other on the floor as if everything had frozen, until you looked up and your gaze regained a little life, a promise that everything would soon be all right.

“Lie down.”

You did, silently and painfully. Daryl lay down with you, closing the space between you for the first time, as if it had never existed.

[wolverineluvr]

Yandere Satosugu x reader

TW: Gore, murder of a child(readers son), Geto and Gojo r unhinged, angst, age gap(reader is 25-35 and SatoSugu r like 18-19), Geto didn't defect, fem!reader.

You scream and cry as Satoru bats your son, Hikaru, around as though he's a ball of yarn and Satoru's a cat. "Please- I'm sorry!" You sob. Your stomach twists until there's nothing but a knot and turns as Hikaru falls to the floor with a thud and a weak call out for you. "It's all gonna be okay, don't worry. We'll give you a new kid real soon." Suguru coos into your ear. His arms are hooked under your armpits, forcing you to just stand and watch as Satoru grins and shuffles around in his pocket.

He fishes out a knife. "Sugu'...How should I finish him off? Knife, or unlimited void?" Satoru asks in a tone that indicates he's clearly proud of something. "Let's let her choose," Suguru responds and you can hear the smile on his face. "and you can't choose neither cus then we're just gonna do both, got it?"

You don't know what to do. What the fuck is an unlimited void anyways? "She's taking too long so I'm gonna give her a timer." Satoru sighs, but there's still that stupid grin on his face you wish you could wipe off his face. Satoru raises one of his hands, the fingers extended and he puts down one as he counts slowly, like he's not counting down for the death of your 6 year old son.

One.

You look down at the bloodied face of your child, his nose is bleeding and there's dirt on his cheek—his crying smudges the red blood and the dirt, making a small patch of mud along the way. Knife or unlimited void?

Two.

You look back up at Satoru��he's looming over Hikaru like a snake and a mouse—his eyes are gleaming with sick and twisted joy. He looks up at you, his expression asking you: the knife or unlimited void?

Three.

What do you choose? What if the plan with the knife is to give him an easy and quick death, stabbing Hikaru's brain or something like that? Would that even be an easy death? You don't know. What if the plan is to just cut him open while he's still alive and rip out his organs, or to just stab him over and over again? Knife or unlimited void?

Four.

What even is unlimited void? Is it the name of his car or gun or something? What does it mean? Is this even happening? It can't be, can it? It was just a normal day before all this, and now you're debating the better option of what your son should die from? And one of them is something you don't even know? Knife or unlimited void?

Five.

You can hear Satoru's voice becoming absolutely giddy as he sits on the back of Hikaru, making sure he stays in place as Hikaru weakly calls out for you again. You don't want to choose. You don't want to watch your son die. Why is this even happening? Knife or unlimited void?

Six.

Satoru puts down up one of the five down fingers, still counting. Suguru sighs behind you as he feels your heartbeat quicken and race like you're running a marathon, "you don't have to look" you hear Suguru murmur. But that doesn't help. Closing your eyes won't help. You'll still hear his cries and sobs for help. You'll still feel the insane guilt of doing nothing while your son is crying out for you. Knife or unlimited void?

Seven.

"I'll cover your ears" Suguru offers. You can't do anything but sob and continue to struggle in his grasp. He knows it's not your fault you had a kid. You didn't know you belonged to them yet. He presses a small kiss to the spot behind your ear, sending unpleasant shivers down your spine. But the same question is going through your mind, knife or unlimited void?

Eight.

You try to plead with Satoru, offering that you'll do anything for him to stop. He just shakes his head, though you notice a slight change in his face. He seems a little more..sorry. But he doesn't let up, still sitting on top of Hikaru's back and gripping the knife in his hands. Knife or unlimited void?

Nine.

You feel nauseous. This isn't real. It can't be. You don't know what to do. Why? Why? Why? You hate Satoru and Suguru with everything inside of you. ..Knife or unlimited void?

Ten.

Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or-

"Please.." You sob and Satoru just shakes his head. "Choose, now." Suguru demands into your ear. "K-knife.." Your voice is trembling as you speak, hoping, begging, praying, that the knife was the better option.

But as you watch Satoru sink the knife into the back of Hikaru's hand, you know that's not true. "Mom-my-" Hikaru weeps out, his voice weak and clearly in pain. "Oh, you're crying out to your mommy? That's too bad, 'cus your mom belongs to me and Suguru okay? She doesn't love you anymore." Satoru mockingly coos as he leans more down towards Hikaru's head.

Hikaru just cries and screams as Satoru takes the knife from his hand before getting off of him, turning Hikaru over and onto his back. Satoru quickly starts to stab Hikaru's stomach over and over and over and over and over again. His shrieks and wails are drowned out by your own. They don't say anything, but Suguru moves and wraps his arms around you in a hug like this is hurting him more than it hurts you.

"It's okay." Suguru murmurs into your ear, as you see Satoru take the knife out of Hikaru's limp body once more, before pulling up his shirt, revealing the many stab wounds in his small torso. He takes the top of the knife into Hikaru's chest and begins to cut a line down, making a rectangle from the middle of Hikaru's chest down to his abdomen.

Your wailing has stopped and now only weak weeps are escaping your wet lips as you watch Satoru rip off the skin of the rectangle he made in Hikaru's torso. His organs have been revealed and Satoru starts to dig through them, making his fingers and palms messy and bloody.

The wet and horrible noises of Satoru ripping out Hikaru's small intestines and setting them aside don't register in your ears, all you can hear is ringing. He continues to dig, taking out all of the organs that he doesn't want before maneuvering his hands up and swiftly ripping out Hikaru's heart. Satoru stands, picking up Hikaru's intestines and he begins to walk towards you. Your eyes and cheeks are wet with your tears, snot bubbling at your nose, all of the mucus makes it hard to breath through your nose, so your mouth is open.

You're shaking as Satoru stands in front of you, your vision blurry as you stare at the organs that belong to your son in Satoru's hands. And the tears start flowing again. Your voice cracks as you loudly wail, your throat sore from crying so much already.

"It's gonna be okay, don't worry. You'll forget allll about him. Right Sugu'?" He smiles as he looks away from your face and at Suguru's. The long haired man nods, smiling back as Satoru moves and puts Hikaru's intestines on Suguru's shoulders like a morbid necklace. He then moves and grabs your hands, pressing the heart of your little boy in-between them and wrapping his hands around yours.

"We'll give you all the kids you want."

Notes: Sorryyy I haven't been posting as much!!!! I haven't had much motivation to write but I am trying to expand the types of things I write <33

[axcel-lucci]

Death will never keep us apart.

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Note: established relationship, also... Slight... Angst?

"You can do it, (y/n)!" Bepo encouraged as he held her hand

It reassured her through deep pushes just to push their son out of her body.

"(Y/n)! One more, I promise this'll all be over soon!" Law said as he was the one aiding her.

"If fucking 47 hours in labour is 'soon', I'm fucked!" She yelled as she basically death gripped on Bepo's paw making the poor bear cry a little on the inside.

After all that, the baby was safely delivered.

She could could feel herself slowly getting weaker as she breathes I'm air.

"Hey..." Law called as he pulled of his gloves and his mask, "you did great..."

He kissed her forehead, "don't worry... They're taking care of the baby, cleaning him up and feeding him... Bepo, can you go and get the other bed ready?" Law said as he held her hand in which she weakly gripped unto.

The bear nodded and left, but not without taking a peak of the cute baby boy.

"Hey" he called, more sternly now, "are you alright?" He asked, worryingly as he checked her pulse.

Her pulse was gradually starting to get weaker, and weaker as she breathes heavily.

"(Y/n)..." He called, no response.

He called again, still no response until he felt the pulse suddenly disappear

"(Y/n)! No!" He yelled before holding unto her tight, "please...!"

...

"What... Where...?" (Y/n) muttered before looking around to a white void she found herself waking up at.

She remembers giving birth and...

"Am I..."

"Yes, you are dead." Someone with a smooth voice said behind her as she turned around to see an angel smiling down softly at her

"What... No. No! I can't!"

...

"(Y/n)! Please, please, please wake up!" Law begged as he did all procedures he can think of just to have her heart beat right back.

The crew held on to the now sleeping baby in their arms, afraid that if they handed him the baby... He'd lose himself.

....

"What do you mean? Your life has come to an end, is it not?" The angel smiles with its voice, "is it not enough rat you have successfully delivered a baby boy, changed his father's life for the better, and found a family...?"

"No. It's not enough. I grew up without a mother, I... Don't even know who my mother is... I don't want to come a time when... Even my own child doesn't know who I am. And Law... My husband... He... He lost so many... I promised him I'd stay by him until the end-"

"This is the end." The angel said, almost annoyingly, "your end, that is"

She frowned, "no. Bring me back. Now." She demanded, "my baby... My husband..." She grumbled, "I can't leave them. I don't want to leave them."

"But this is your fate, the fate that our creator has written for us..." The angel reasoned

"No. I do not accept this creator. I do not accept whatever fictional stories they're writing. I do NOT accept whatever they do. What, are we all just a doll to them??" She questioned

"That's not-"

"Shut. Up. We are not dolls, I am a mother and a wife. You are an angel. Not puppets and specially not dolls." She growled, "either you bring me back or you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming to the depths of hell"

"Angels don't go to hell..." The angel cried a bit before sighing deeply; "you know... When the creator said you'd be resisting... I didn't expect them to mean... This..."

"Well guess what, I won't be resisting if you bring me back. My husband is waiting for me, he cannot raise a child because he himself is an inner child... And it's my job to protect my children." She huffed

The angel just stared before sighing, "you seriously are a crazy woman... Most, if not all, the people that die come willingly... But you... You're different... I guess that's a mother's love... Huh?"

She just stomped her foot, "bring me back or I will seriously inflict irreversible damage to you and your piece of shit morals."

"Woah! No need to get so verbal...!" The angel gasped, "okay...! Okay...! I'll... I'll send you back..."

"That's what I thought."

"Gosh... The creator is so gonna scold me..."

...

"(Y/n), please...!" Law yelled as he kept giving her CPR

"Captain..." Shachi said, "I think it's.."

"No! She's not dead...! I know it!" He yelled before turnin to his crew, will visible hurt and anger in his eyes but tears kept spilling out, "get me a fucking blood bag instead! And make sure it's her blood type!"

"Y-yes sir...!" The crew nodded as Ikkaku held on to the sweet baby boy, unaware of what's happening around him.

He turned back to (y/n) only to slowly cup her cheeks with his hands, they were shivering... Trembling...

One would think a surgeon's hand would be steady and precise but...

His hands were shaking as he cupped her cheeks and desperately called out to her in almost a ragged whisper, "please... (Y/n)... Come back... I can't raise him alone... I can't raise our baby alone... I can't... I can't live without you... Please..." He begged while softly yet shakily kissing her in hopes that she wakes up, "... Please" his voice quivered.

He slowly starts to lose hope and accept her death, "please... Just... One more time... Please..." He cried.

The stoic and cold demeanour washed away by the fountains and rivers of his continuous tears.

Law kissed her lips, softly yet shakily before one of his hand hold hers in a tight grip, "please..." He muttered, "please wake up..."

A few moments later and he felt her hand twitch making him gasp and stand up straight, he could feel her hand grip his again as she tried her best to open her eyes only to close them back up from exhaustion.

One of his crew finally came back with a blood bag and law immediately hooked it to her, "(y/n)...!" He slowly smiled before she lifted a hand to his face.

Her hand missed when she tried to hold his face due to the haziness of her vision, "Law..."

"Rest up, my love..." He said before wiping away his tears, "and as soon as you wake up, you can see little Cora." He smiled before kissing her forehead

"Law... You bastard..." She laughed weakly, "I still don't appreciate the literal hours of my labour."

"I know... My love... I promise, I'll take good care of you and the baby forever. Just tell me what you need, I'll give them to you"

She smiled, "give me a kiss... Please?"

"Yes..." He smiled before kissing her.

...

She slowly woke up to the smell of isopropyl alcohol and anesthesia as it slowly wears off.

She ground before lifting a hand to rub her eyes open.

"Dear...! You're finally awake" he smiled brightly as he stood beside her bed and helped her sit up

"Ow... Ow..." She groaned, "is this fucking normal?" She frowned as he massaged her body

"Yes... It is."

"Dammit... I'm so not having another child." She huffed while crossing her arms

"Aww... But I want three children..." He pouts cutely making her huff

"Yeah yeah... Me too" she grumbled, "wait...! What happened to baby Cora?!"

"Shh... Here..." He smiled and motioned to a small hospital bed meant for babies beside him.

He slowly took the baby to his arms, supporting the places he knew needed to be supported and hands it over to her.

She gladly took the baby into her arms as he sleeps peacefully in a blanket Klione knitted for him.

"Oh... Law..." She smiled as she stared at the literal "copy, paste" of law and his child, "I'm upset how he looks so much like you and yet I'm the one who almost died"

"Come now..." He muttered and hugged her waist, "I'm sure he has your traits." He smiled before kissing her shoulder, "and... Thank you"

"For what?" She looked at him with a small smile

"For staying... I thought you were gonna die, too..." He mumbled

"Law..." She smiled before kissing his cheek, "fun fact, I grilled that angel right open as he tried dragging me off to the afterlife"

Law laughed softly, "so... Even death won't keep us apart, no?" He smiled.

"I guess it is..." She chuckled, "also... It hurts like literal hell, law... Can I have at least some pain meds??"

Law chuckled before nodding, "but you can take them later after eating..." He kissed her forehead, "I love you so much..."

"I love you more..." She smiled and kissed him.

He smiled before kissing back.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| In A Week ||

frank castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: sad, angsty, reader is um... dead, Frank is not dealing well, implied sort-of suicide attempt/lack of care.

I recommend reading the short fic Seeya first if you want to amp up the sadness! 😜

It's been a while since he's been here, usually it was almost everyday without fail but lately…

When he places his hand on the earth it feels warm, but only from the waning afternoon sun. The sky is that heavy, stormy yellow-grey colour now, and as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes he can feel the pressure change in the muggy air. 

You loved storms. Told him countless times there was magic in them but damn, he'd swear the magic was all you as you had dragged him out on the balcony and kissed him stupid in the pouring rain. 

And then, not long after, God had said no. There would be no more dancing in the storms, no dinners out, no weekend adventures, no more sleepy mornings wrapped up in each other. No more anything for you, for his girl. 

Whatever purpose this God had in mind for you, it was done, but he wasn't yet done with Frank.

take me you motherfucking coward, take me.

He wishes so hard that it was the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears instead of the fading of your final breath. He tries picturing the brightness of your eyes and the warmth of your smile, but all he can see is the jolting of your  vulnerable body as the bullets ripped through and took you from him.

I'm so sorry, baby. Should've done better by you. It should've been me.

He's not asking for forgiveness as he whispers those words into the soft wind. If you could reach across the void he'd eagerly listen for your punishment, he'd beg you to tell him exactly how to suffer, because he'd do it a million times over and it still wouldn't be enough. It can't ever be enough.

One minute you were there, smiling, laughing, screaming, loving him, and then you just… weren't. 

It's okay, I'll see you…

He didn't understand, despite the myriad of lives he's taken he couldn't get his head around how this had happened. How he'd let it. It wasn't supposed to happen to you, you were meant to be different, separate to all of that, untouchable.

He hunches over, his fingers digging hard into the wet soil like you'd just reach up through it and he could bring you back. Or that you'd pull him under with you.

But you don't. His throat closes up, his body shakes but his sobs are muted by the thunder, and tears are lost in the rain.

He presses his fingers first to his lips, then to the letters of your name carved in the headstone.

Seeya.

He leans up against it as comfortably as he can with the way he's bleeding out. 

It's over. It won't be that long until he's with you again.

Things are just starting to get murky and go dark when he feels his body being lifted up.

Stop fighting me Frank, I'm trying to help

no… 

A weak murmur at first, then louder as he regains consciousness.

"NO! Leave me here, let me be with her! Let me be with her!" Even in his weakened state he's roaring, furious desperation cracking his voice as he's pulled further away from you.

"You know I can't do that."

So then, this was his punishment, to be dragged back into a living hell by the devil. To suffer a life without you in it.

"I'm gonna… kill you," Frank rasps, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, Red."

The devil wasn't for listening, hoisting him over his shoulders and staggering up the hill. "Yeah okay, but later. Gotta get you to a hospital first."

"Just let me fuckin' go Red, let me die. I'm done."

~

The incessant steady beep of the heart monitor was mocking him. The holes in him now stitched and taped up, proof of life soaking through the stark white dressings.

"Hey." Red says from the corner of the room.

Frank winces. Goddamn fucking self-righteous prick was always interfering. Taking his choice from him. He wanted to wring his neck but the fight in him was quickly draining away as he remembered just why they were here.

"I- I can't, can't do this without her." Frank's voice was quiet and hoarse as it broke. He didn't give a fuck if Red could smell his fucking tears or whatever, he was just full on crying rivers now. It was one thing at least that had been getting easier.

Matt comes closer to the side of the bed.

"She'd want you to live for her, you know that Frank. You're strong, you can survive."

Frank scoffs and shakes his head before wiping tears away. "Sh-she was it for me, made me strong… an' I don't know… she was everything."

Matt's hand is gentle on his shoulder.

"And that's why you have to keep on going, for her. Ask me how I know."

Frank didn't need to, he knew what Red had gone through, brought to a low place he almost hadn't come back from. 

Matt sighs, remembering. "It's not easy. It takes time, but you're not alone, and you've got help if you need it."

Frank's in a daze, doesn't know if it's the blood loss or what but he just keeps on shaking his head. "I dunno Red, I dunno."

I'm lost. I'm so lost.

"It's alright, we'll figure it out."

Frank feels gutted out, vacant. Memories of you like they happened yesterday reel through his mind and sting the backs of his eyes like someone has jammed fucking razorblades in there.

Sure, whatever you say Red. 

"Yeah, yeah."

[hourousha-chu]

Killers React to a Drunk Survivor- The Trickster (Ji-Woon Hak)

How were you supposed to know that the Entity planned on snatching you for a trial soon as you hit the bottle? All you wanted was to take the edge off. Granted, it seemed to work as everything was much more of a blur now. You stumbled through Ormond with nary a shiver, the booze keeping you nice and warm inside. Who said this wasn't a perk in itself?

Soon, the telltale lullaby of a killer sent your heart racing. But your inhibitions were out the window, and you gravitated towards the familiar melody.

Oh, the look on The Trickster's face when a darling little survivor ran not away from his blades, but right into his chest.

"Ji-SWOON cutie! Haven't seen you in foreverrrr! I missed youuuu!"

He didn't know whether to be annoyed, flabbergasted, or flattered. Actually, yeah, go with all three. All he could do for a moment was stare dumbly at you, mouth slightly agape, as you nuzzled against him without shame, arms securely wrapped around his torso.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around to ensure no one was watching. "Someone was too eager for an encore, hm? I'm touched, honey." He hesitated before awkwardly patting your head while trying to push you away. No such luck. The contact only made you push your head against his hand like a cat, practically begging for more. Did you have to giggle so sweetly like that?

It was obvious you were out of sorts. One glance at your extra rosy cheeks confirmed that you had to be drunk. Had you been drinking in the trial grounds? There was technically a bar here, but he couldn't imagine it was stocked. Now that he thought of it, he didn't remember anything like this happening before. Survivors were supposed to be coherent and have basic self-preservation instincts at the very least.

The Trickster clicked his tongue and sighed. He lifted you onto his shoulder with no resistance, earning a delighted squeal. "Yaaaay! Hook me, daddy!"

You were going to be the death of him. "You're not mentally fit for a trial right now." He ignored your protests as he carried you upstairs to one of the bedrooms in the lodge. Setting you down onto a cot, he turned briskly to leave you. "Go find the Hatch once I've finished the others."

His shoulders tensed when he heard you sniffle. Against his better judgment, he turned to see your eyes watering.

"D-do ya not like me?" you blubbered. "I thought you liked my screams 'n stuff…"

Entity help him. "Would you rather I took advantage of you instead?" he muttered.

You really looked like you were considering it for a second before you shook your head. "No, it's just…I'm so lonely…"

The Trickster ran a hand through his hair and exhaled through his nose. "Look. If you set a trap for a rabbit, but the rabbit is watching eagerly, ready to jump into it, it's not a hunt. No chase or challenge or satisfaction." Sure, Evan might be appeased and Danny might die laughing. Not the point. "So rest up and come back when you're ready to be a good little bunny, all right? Then I'll happily spend some quality time hunting you down."

That made your cheeks positively glow. You cupped them in a way that should not have been adorable at all and nodded your head. "O-okay Ji-Swoon! I promise I'll be good!"

You laid down and he was pleasantly surprised at your obedience. He couldn't help but smirk. Stalking closer, The Trickster leaned in to peck your forehead. "There's my good bunny. Now don't make me come looking for you again."

In that moment, you could've died happy.

Once you escaped and the foggy memories came crashing back, you actually wanted to die. Maybe you'd get sent to the Void if you were lucky.

Of course, you were offered no such reprieve. It was a while until you had another trial with The Trickster, and you prayed he'd forgotten.

Of course he hadn't.

He pinned you to the wall after leaving you for last, a smug grin on his face. "How's my good little bunny? Feeling better than last time, I hope?"

You grunt and tried to free yourself, about to retort, but his hand brushed your head ever so slightly. For just a moment, you relaxed and leaned into him, your body remembering when he...

"...I'll give you a good chase then you can Mori me. Permanently, if that's possible."

Your bodies were so close that his chuckle rumbled against your chest. You cursed yourself for the involuntary chill that ran down your spine. "Aw, but why? I thought we could spend some quality time together, since you're so lonely."

Your cheeks blossomed indignant red. "Asshole, I was drunk! Don't use that against me!"

"They say that alcohol unmasks the true desires of the heart. You certainly had a lot to say that day, honey."

He leaned in closer, breath fanning your face. "Quite honestly, I found it adorable. Besides…you're not the only one that's lonely, and wanting."

He used your shock to nuzzle closer to you, one hand snaking around your waist while the other petted your hair. Your muscles went slack at his touch.

"I believe I deserve some thanks after treating you with such dignity and patience. I'd like to hear how you feel for me while you're sober."

You didn't try to get away as his lips closed in. "And," he whispered, "I want to feel it too."

A fog enveloped your brain once more, similar to when you'd been drunk, except now his lips were the culprit. You gasped for air when he finally pulled away, gaze lidded.

He was smirking, as always, but something else hid behind his gaze. Something softer. "See? I have the same effect on you, but better. You don't need to get wasted when the perfect remedy is right here."

You rolled your eyes at his cheesiness, but smiled. "Even if that were true, I can't exactly drag you back to the campfire with me whenever I want."

He pouted. "How do you know? You've never tried." Your incredulous stare made him laugh again. You couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I'm just saying, I want my bunny to stay healthy. So they can give me many, many rewarding hunts."

Before you could reply, he rested his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. "But perhaps, just this once, I'll take that missed opportunity and keep you company."

Your touch-starved body melted into him, and your eyes fluttered shut. "...I'd like that."

(Cross-posted from my AO3!)

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VII: Roba | Void’s Child

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [Farah] [AO3]

This one is pretty short, because spoilers but Simon does kill Roba in less than a minute so he didn't time to think about it really :/

There's one more story (that I might even post today because it's so short), and from then on I'll be working on the comic only for part two! Started up uni again so I won't even try to predict when that's gonna be finished lol

English disappointed him.

It was a shame, since Manuel could see how much potential the kid had. Stronger body and mind than his now broken superiors, somehow able to withstand months of torture. It was curious, how it seemed the more the Corporal’s situation seems hopeless, the more he resisted.

That is not to say the rest of his team was better. His fellow Sergeant died about two weeks in, to an infection. The Captain, shot after trying to escape. That would’ve impressed him, if the man got any further than the hallway outside his cell.

So while yes, Riley did last remarkably long, he was disappointing. Such men are no use to Manuel, if they do not learn to obey.

He ordered two of his men to dispose of him, put him alongside Vernon. No need to waste time digging another grave, after all.

There are still a few prisoners left for him to toy with. None as riveting as Riley, of course, some Mexican Special Forces soldiers who started crying for their mother not two hours into their first session. Manuel sighs, letting out a stream of cigar smoke from his lips.

He wonders, briefly, if perhaps killing Riley here would’ve been more beneficial. They’ve all heard tales of revenants, and Reapers, of how certain men will simply refuse to die.

How would he kill him then? Suffocation, while easy, would’ve likely brought on a boring result.

Immolation seemed far more fascinating, but as far as Manuel knows, it would’ve just made the man fire-proof. Nothing you can’t do with extra gear.

No, truly powerful revenants must die in battle, where only supernatural strengths could save them. Ah, if he had a revenant of that capability… one revenant like that equals a hundred men. Then again, he’d need to have a short leash on a revenant like that.

And English proved time and time again, no one is able to leash him.

What a waste.

 A knock on his office door pulls him away from his ruminations, and he watches the men he sent to deal with the subject of his introspection enter the room.

“I assume he’s been dealt with?” Manuel drags his eyes down to the men’s arms, which are covered in dirt.

They nod, “yes, sir. But…”

“What is it?”

“English woke up on transport.”

Oh? He was awake for it?

Manuel waves his hand, dismissing them, “no matter. I’m sure he won’t stay awake for long, if you’ve done your jobs right.”

The men leave, not fast enough for Manuel to miss the glint of fear in their eyes. It mellows out the frustration built up over thinking about the Corporal.

Buried alive… what kind of revenant would that bring? Well, Manuel supposes it is similar enough to suffocation.

He really should consider acquiring some revenants. If not to employ, to at least interrogate. To borrow into the mind of those who have seen death and returned alive… what kind of things could Manuel extract from them?

The possibilities are endless.

For now, he’ll make do with the prisoners he does have. Manuel extinguishes the cigar and places it back in its case, locking the drawer and the door as he leaves the office. His steps are accompanied by sounds of screams and agony. If the soldiers are already reacting like this from the ‘warm-up’ his men are giving them, Manuel truly doesn’t expect they’ll last until next week.

A guard opens the door to the first torture room, where he finds a bleeding man stare up at him with wide eyes full of horror. It takes Manuel back to one of the last sessions he had with Riley.

His hand hurts from the force of the slap, but it is worth just to see the way Riley’s head snaps to the side, his face swollen from hours of beating.

Manuel takes hold of a fistful of dirty blond hair and makes English look at him in the eye.

“Look at you. You don’t even fight back anymore, do you? Just a sickly little dog under my boot. I wonder, would your father even recognized you if I sent him your body?” Manuel goads, a sharp grin on his lips as he asks him with mock concern.

He waits for the spitting, or the tears, even complete apathy is expected at this point, but English doesn’t do any of that.

No, he stares at Manuel for a long moment, something lighting in his eyes for the first time in weeks, and he opens his bloody mouth to laugh.

It takes Manual by surprise, so much so that he doesn’t react for a while, watching Riley choke on his own laughter, the sound turning to wheezing as it finally dies down. Riley smiles somewhat maniacally, and with a croaky voice says, “should I give you his address? Make it easier for the both of us.”

Manuel opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is wrong with him, but English continues, “heard of Agecroft Cemetery and Crematorium? Nice place. Made sure to buy the plot nearest to the dumpster on the other side of the fence for him. It smells like he did when he was alive”

It’s odd, how this is the most he’s heard Riley talk since he got him in this chair. Perhaps he’s finally cracking, god knows it took him far longer than any other soldier he’s worked on before.

“Good to see you still got a sense of humor, English.” Manuel lets go of Riley’s hair, and his head falls, “seeing you’re in a good mood, might be time to start listening to me, eh?”

Riley’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh, and he raises his head to give him a joyless grin, his teeth stained red, “think you didn’t understand last time I told ya mate - Fuck. You. Want that in Spanish? Vete a la mierda, cabrón”

Manuel feels a surge of anger rush forth, and he kicks English in the chest, making the man groan in pain and erasing that fucking smile. He wraps his hands around Riley’s throat, feeling his heartbeat spike.

“You think you’re getting out of this alive, fucker?! Think is anyone coming to save you?!!!”

Riley gasps, his torso contorting as he tries to get away, as if he’s not tied to the steel chair. “N-no.” He chokes out.

“Then why are you still fucking resisting?! You know it will do nothing!!!”

The skin under his fingertips starts to bruise, English’s eyes bulging out when he snarls, “makes… you… m-mad… don’t it?”

Manuel tightens his hold, and English loses consciousness, his eyes rolling up into his skull. He huffs out, anger still simmering within him.

“Marcus!” he calls to the guard beyond the room’s door, “get English to the pit, fucker needs to learn a lesson.”

The guard enters, wordlessly untying Riley and dragging his body out. Manuel’s hand itches for a cigar, maybe something he can sink his teeth into and tear apart. Something that would look at him with fear, the light in its eyes broken, knowing they’re truly doomed.

Not unbridled mirth.

Riley is broken, that much is clear. But he’s not broken the way Manuel intended, not broken in a way he can use.

And things he has no use for? They get discarded, as they should.

Their little dance is coming to an end.

Manuel leaves the room with bloodied fists and an unsatisfied smile. Such pathetic excuses of soldiers don’t deserve a shred of his attention or time, and yet they keep falling into his hands.

If only English… no, best not to think of another failure.

He wipes his hands on a scratchy towel, throwing it at a passing guard with barks of orders. He really needs that fucking cigar.

The office door shuts violently behind him, the hinges creaking. Manuel lets out a loud sigh as he drops to his chair, and after a few moments of simply breathing, he pulls out a cigar and his lighter.

The metal lid is flipped open, and it lights on the third attempt. Manuel brings it closer to the cigar, only for the flame to be extinguished by a sudden gust of wind. He frowns and turns around, has he left the window behind him open?

No, the window is closed. How odd. Manuel turns back.

… Why is it that he still feels cold?

A far off scream makes Manuel’s hand drop the lighter and reach for the pistol at his hip. His mind fires off explanations one by one, as the screaming gets closer, and closer…

Have they been compromised? Are the special forces finally getting revenge on their fallen soldiers? A rival cartel, perhaps?

He doesn’t reach an answer, in the seconds before it all goes dark.

Somewhere in his brain, Manuel can feel none of them were correct.

It hits the office like a wave, drags him into an empty world. Lightless, lifeless, barring a single man.

Uncaring for the howling men at his feet, his guards and prisoners alike succumbing to a dark, inky matter, a man stands. He is encircled by white light, his eyes glow as they unnervingly stare at him.

That… thing is staring at… him.

“ROBA…..”

The voice is distorted, like a hand took claws to the thing’s throat, but Manuel would recognize that voice in any condition.

When it is tinted with rage. When it is bloody and bruised. When it is full of mirth.

His hands shake, their grip on the pistol slipping, his heart beating hard enough that he thinks anything left alive in this realm can hear it.

“E-English?”

Riley, or whatever’s left of him, doesn’t answer. He raises his arm, the fingernails torn like he clawed his way out of that grave, and points to Manuel.

The men on the ground stop squirming. As one, they turn their head to Riley, their gaze following the pointed finger, until their gaze meets him. Their eyes, soulless.

It hits him, then. Riley’s a fucking revenant.

“KILL HIM.”

Hundreds of hands scrape a bottomless void, teeth black and yearning for untainted flesh, feet tugging at darkness materialized, they all rush towards Manuel.

At that moment, he is no longer disappointed. He sees now, that English surpassed anything he could have ever molded him into. 

As the void overcomes him, Manuel Roba feels content.

He was right. He should’ve killed Riley himself.

Manuel laughs at the face of death, not with mirth but with utter horror, tears pulled from his eyes only to freeze, and the last thing he truly sees is a brilliant light, of a man not even death could force to kneel.

What a wonderful monster has he created.

He’s dead.

Simon blinks, and Limbo recedes. He feels… cold. Like the realm never left. It is not uncomfortable, not after the grave.

He tilts his head skyward, his breath fogging up in the Mexican night air, stars twinkling their greetings to him. Everything is finally, blessedly, quiet. He can’t even feel his wounds.

He can’t feel much of anything, anymore. Simon looks down, at his hands. Bloody, dirty, months of torture scarring them beyond recognition.

Are those really his hands?

He’s dead. There’s nothing he can do to him now, locked forever in his Limbo. It will protect him. It will never allow anything to hurt him again.

…What now?

Simon looks to the horizon, no signs of civilization in any direction. He must’ve memorised a map of the area at one point, known where the nearest city was, before that information was replaced by unending hunger and bloodshed.

With nothing but the stars to guide him, Simon chooses to walk in the opposite direction of Roba’s complex. Nothing will stop him now, since he’s dead, and the faster he can rid himself of the sight of that wretched place, the better.

It’s alright, though. Because he is dead.

He is dead.

He…

Simon collapses to the ground, his shoulders shaking, not with sobs, but with muted laughter. He is dead.

Simon is dead. Roba can’t hurt him anymore, death can’t touch him anymore. You cannot kill what has already been slain.

You cannot kill a ghost.

[im-jesus]

Hey um so I wouldn't normally do anything like this but I'm just slightly stressed because my family has this pet bird, and he hates everyone except my dad, and he's a rescue. My parents have had him since 2007 I think, and he was fully grown when they got him, so he's at least 18. The species can live until 25 normally. Recently he hurt his neck somehow (we think) and he's been holding his head at an angle and I think he just pulled a muscle but genuinely if he doesn't recover idk what I'll do because I love him even if he doesn't love me, and he's been there practically my whole life. After holidays where we let our neighbour look after him that one or two days where his cage isn't there always feels odd. Um, I'm not sure where this is going but I just wanted to scream into the void a bit without venting to that one friend I always vent to for once because she deserves a break from me crying all over her lmao it will probably be fine but I'm just a little bit worried we keep thinking he's about to die and then he's fine but I know it's going to happen at some point and I don't think I can deal with him dying on top of all the fun death experiences I've already had (some extended family deaths in the past 6 or so years and a few death scares that have definitely shaken me a little but that's a seperate thing) um also sorry about this your blog is very nice and half of this wasn't even about me thinking my bird is dying its just rambling sorry

I completely understand where you're coming from, my love, I lost my gecko a few months ago and it was devastating. The gecko hated me, btw, but I adored him. You can always rant whenever you need to, and i see that your next one has a TL:DR; you don't need to put one, I'll always read the whole thing. Thank you for saying my blog is nice, and I really very desperately hope both you and your bird get better. I've had a lot of family deaths and scares within the same time frame, so I understand what you mean. I really really hope that things get better for you.

[malumxsubest]

character study - amelia hart. playlist edition.

𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺 : if you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following.

event that defines your character's past

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐨 by javier navarrete ― pan's labyrinth ost.

⇉ no lyrics. but this is the song i use whenever i reference to amelia humming a lullaby she often does whether she's aware of it or not. it's a source of comfort and it's the one of the things that keep the memory of her deceased children alive and well.

how your character sees themselves

𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 by one true god.

⇉ i won't be your savior / won't do you no favors ( yeah ) / i'll keep you in the dark / my love will leave a mark / your soul will leave your body / when I'm done.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 by lady gaga.

⇉ there are no more tears to cry / i heard you beggin' for life / you're worse than you've ever been / screamin' for me baby / like you're gonna die / poison on the inside / i could be your antidote tonight / i could play the doctor / i can cure your disease / if you were a sinner / i could make you believe / lay you down like 1 2 3 / eyes roll back in ecstasy / i can smell your sickness / i can cure ya / cure your disease

how others view them

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 by one true god x rezz.

⇉ i can feel you pull me under / smoke and mirrors, doubt my eyes / cut through all your damned illusion / and i... give in to you / i can feel you pull me under / i can feel you, you're not the one / if you're coming any closer / i–, i–, i–, i– ( i give in to you ) / take my hand / feed me delirium / your command / take me as your captive / take my hand / feed me delirium / your command / another psychoactive

𝐕𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐢𝐫 by lord huron.

⇉ many nights have I heard her voice / whisper my name without making a noise / calling out from a pure, black void / tears of sorrow or tears of joy / drops in my cup as my mind is destroyed / staring into a pure, black void / i am only an aimless soul / heading into a pure, black void

their closest relationship (platonic or romantic or a secret third thing)

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 by massive attack. ( romantic ) ― canon ex-partner.

⇉ you are my angel / come from way above / to bring me love ( to bring me love ) / her eyes / she's on the dark side / neutralize ( every man in sight ) every man in sight / love you, love you, love you, love you

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥 by bullet for my valentine. ― canon ex-partner.

⇉ don't take your eyes off the trigger / i'm not to blame if your world turns to black / as your eyes start to blister / there's just no hope for our final embrace / pay the price for your betrayal / your betrayal / your betrayal! / i love you crying and screaming my name / you said that we'd be forever / how could you kill me and lie to my face?

a major fight scene

𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 by vampire hunter d: bloodlust ost.

⇉ no lyrics.

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧 𝐀 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 by vampire hunter d: resurrection.

⇉ no lyrics.

end credit song

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 by hybrid.

⇉ choke / you choke it but you know / it comes back when you're sleeping / cuts you in the dark / burn / the city is too bright / i'll stay here with my secrets / until it fades to dust / i'll stay here with my secrets / sink / into the storm again / cold and disconnected

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐝 by allan ariza.

⇉ no lyrics.

tagged by: @mxlevolence ( tysm <3 ) tagging: @bloodsalted | @safetypinned / @cainevesson / @snnynatural / @nightdaughtcr / @throatsplit - louis <3 / @vxmpirehunterd / & youuuu <3 <3 <3

[hummingbird-hunter]

Ok so I work at customer support and other than emails and calls and shit I do other stuff, like ensuring shit works as intended, getting my facebook account banned for the third time, and refunds.

The thing with refunds is, full refunds are fine and cool. I can do them no problem, I am authorized to do that, it's all fine.

Partial refunds are fine if there's, like, an actual problem. I see the issue, I know how many moneys that issue is worth, and I refund them their moneys.

But then there are the people who just want refunds. Who have received what they paid for, but through the power of their own sheer stupidity and inability to read, they fucked it up, and now they want a refund.

In these cases, I am authorized to do 25% partial refund before I call on my supervisor. My supervisor told me, hey Faggot - she did not call me that, I am, of course, embellishing the story because I want to. So, hey Faggot, she told me, in these cases, it is up for you to decide. You can offer them up to 25% refund. That's the money you are able to wield freely. If that doesn't work, then you call me and I'll figure this out.

Okay, Ms Supervisor, I say. I have worked here for a month by this point, I say. I don't think I'm qualified to be making decisions, I say, but whatever you say. This was some time ago now.

And I know. I know I have power to wield these 25%. A power that, up until and including now, has remained unused.

It's not that I'm scared of losing money - it is, of course, the company's money, and my salary doesn't change either way, whether I use my power to give people money or not.

I am not scared of using this power, either - I don't think there will be negative repercussions if I overuse that power, other than probably taking away said power from me; after all, I was told to make decisions, so I would be doing what I was told.

But never once. Never once I have offered up these 25% refund moneys. Because none of the fucking freaks who ask for a refund fucking deserve it.

It's not my fault you can't read, dipshit. It's not my fault you changed your mind halfway through the delivery process and now want to get your shit for free, or with a discount. You don't deserve a refund. You deserve to be lined against the wall and shot. I don't offer the 25%. Even if I did, I'm sure they would argue for a full 100%.

I call on my supervisor. She gives them the 100%. Company image is more important right now than money, she says.

The customer still leaves a bad review. The customer still goes bitching in the facebook comment section. I hide the comment. Have fun screaming into the void, fuckface.

I hope you die.

[dhampiravidi]

my review of deadpool & wolverine

spoilers under the cut!

Overall, I liked it. I'll give it a 7/10.

OK so, I didn't make it through ANY of the Deadpool films w/o falling asleep & not bc I'm narcoleptic. I just got bored, which SUCKS bc Wade's my favorite Marvel character (at least in the comics/other media). I had hopes for this movie only bc of the lead actors' commitment to their characters & bc putting them in what's essentially a buddy cop movie was smart as fuck. At the same time...the MCU hasn't put out a satisfactory movie (aka 1 w/o plot holes or simply disappointing bits) since...maybe Winter Soldier? Eh, I don't remember. ANYWAY!

Considering that I didn't really see Deadpool 3, it was fairly easy for me to understand the beginning. Yes, I was a little confused at first, because I didn't know that he time-traveled & ALSO hopped universes...but I figured it out eventually. I like that they made his motivations 1) saving his found family & 2) wanting to do something worthwhile. That being said, I never wanted Deadpool to have a love interest unless it was maybe Shiklah or Lady Deadpool bc they actually DO "match his crazy" & they're interesting on their own. I also didn't know who "Pete" was until I looked him up, bc MCU!Pete isn't the same as comics!Pete. I'm used to poor fucking Bob from HYDRA 😅

Onto more plot...I knew as soon as that guy introduced himself as "Mr. Paradox", he'd be evil, bc the whole point of time is that you don't want paradoxes (if that wasn't clear). I got confused thinking that Wade was from a different universe than Logan* SO that made me think Wade was his own timeline's anchor being...yeah I realized that wouldn't make sense. The fight scene w/the TVA people was a little long but satisfying, at least in that it was as bloody & creative as a Deadpool fight scene should be.

I got worried when they mentioned The Void, bc I only made it through a few episodes of Loki before I got bored & confused. I can keep comic timelines straight if you let me read through & get to know each Earth individually, but not the way the MCU deals out timeline lore. HOWEVER, it was decent! I already knew about the Johnny cameo (stupid headline spoiler) but I was happy for Chris Evans (especially during the end credits scene) & I liked the Mad Max reference. The end credits scene was especially important bc Deadpool doesn't usually hand people over to be killed unless doing so will prevent HIM from getting into a lot of trouble. He's a merc who WILL & DOES kill, but typically he lets innocent people go.

Fuck Nicepool for being boring (but I think that was the point) & no, I did not like Channing Tatum's Gambit (I know he's from Louisiana but I HOPE that accent was bad on purpose, the headpiece was too chonky & I am loyal to the canon film Gambit *blushes*). That aside, I absolutely loved what we got of Laura, Elektra & Blade. Loved their fight scene, even though it sucked to see them go.

Cassandra Nova was appropriately sociopathic, as per the comics. I kept screaming for them to kill her, bc I KNEW she wasn't gonna turn good all of a sudden, but it made sense why she let them survive. I don't know HOW she can stick her hand into someone's head w/o killing them while they STILL feel pain (or how she didn't die after being stabbed; IDK maybe they're saying she telekinetically healed herself?). I liked how they brought back the Doctor Strange finger-thingy (wait, so does that mean the TVA has a constant problem of amateur magic-users going into different timelines on accident??).

As a comics fan, I was SO EXCITED seeing all the Deadpool variants. There were a bunch of references to Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe, which is where (if you don't know) a version of Deadpool is psychically attacked. But instead of being brainwashed, his thought boxes (which act as his companions & consciences) disappear, only for him to realize that he's in a comic. Yes, he usually breaks the 4th wall. The problem is, he reasons that his friends keep suffering for the amusement of our world, so the only way to stop the cycle is to kill all the heroes, THEN kill the people who write the comic. ANYWAY! Killpool (I think that's what he's called) ends up getting confronted by mainstream/Good!Deadpool, who's assembled a Deadpool Corps of AU-Deadpools to fight all of the OTHER recruited Deadpools. Said DPs on the good side include Kidpool, Headpool (zombie head) & Lady Deadpool.

In other words, I rioted upon seeing all these versions who definitely have some cool backstories. When Logan & Wade went through them, I got pissed OFF ("wtf why didn't they heal?"). I thought they were gonna debate needing to kill Babypool (adorable), when everyone started waking up. I also liked how they showed someone growing back limbs, which is important considering the whole regenerative factor.

I do wonder how antimatter reacting w/matter didn't blow up the whole underground + 10005's version of New York or wherever, but there's always a plot hole. Besides, they've had lots of alien attacks. Maybe they build their undergrounds like nuclear bomb shelters.

All in all, 7/10.

*Is this Logan/Wade's universe the Fox movie universe? Bc we saw Captain Marvel's buddy, aka MVP of the shitty CM2, land there...so I assume the Fox universe is fine...but it CAN'T be THIS MOVIE's universe, bc their Logan wouldn't be that old! Also Logan isn't as old as Wade, but I'm pretty sure Wade shouldn't be chronologically just 30...? IDK if that was implied. TL;DR my precious Fox universe is fine. Thank you, nostalgia, The Good X-Men Casting & poor beloved misused Taylor Kitsch!Gambit + Anna Paquin!Rogue 😭

[katyspersonal]

I've had one of the worst crying fits in a while just. Simply venting from time to time, to friends or the void, no longer helps.. I assumed there was the logic same as throwing up - you let it out and thus heal. But it seems like it was more like linking fire logic - it keeps offering remedy for as long as possible, but meanwhile all the banished darkness keeps stocking into a dam (the deep) until the dam inevitably fills...

My problem is that my biggest problem can not be solved. It is permanent. I thought I was strong enough to just assume it as my new life, but recent months the ugliest things possible are finding their way in my heart. In retrospective I suspected that the day where I finally die (metaphorically!) will come and it will feel like a blessing to finally give up and drown, no more struggle. The day it finally eats me could not come soon enough, I thought. And yet somehow after everything I feel nothing but scared and disgusted, and still clinging to the words offering focus I've heard before, to my concepts of morality even after I saw how it is all pointless. I don't know what it is that still makes me resist even if I see that I can't anymore and falling apart at the seams. Recently I even screamed for God's help even though I am not a Christian. It is this bad. I can't ignore or resist this problem any longer, I can't manage by just venting every time it hurts because the metaphorical dam is full, I can't solve it... What do I do...?

I am developing the feelings I didn't know I had capacity for and feelings that have no place in this world... unless they do, and I just don't see the way to "turn" safely. To accept all this without giving up or becoming a horrible person, but just 'allowing' it. In other words I don't know how to break in the same way as a chunk of metal melts to be shaped into a new thing. So I'll just break eventually, after I keep up for a bit longer. I have no choice but to let out and then immediately pick myself up with hope right after, but this option has expired its function.

[freyito]

i am having a whole ass mental break i cant believe this is the stupid fucking world im living in all i wanted to do is write my silly little fanfics and go to college but noo no no no i am subhuman. i am subhuman because i was never comfortable with being a girl. a woman. i am subhuman because i am jewish. i am subhuman because not only am i transgender but i like men. i am subhuman because i grew up lower middle class and i only ever lived in a HOUSE. A HOUSE. 2 BEDS 2 BATH. TWO FLOORS. A HOUSE. AT 18. yet i will never ever be able to live in one again after i move out.

i had to listen to the SAME SHIT I HEARD IN SIXTH GRADE. in 2025. TWENTY SEVENTEEN. I WAS TWELVE. 12 YEARS OLD. i had to listen to a kid in my science class preach about trump. now i have to listen to millions of fucking idiots say the stupidest shit because a pig is in office AGAIN. i have to listen to my COUNTRY praise a horrible business man for lying his way to the top. i watch a man built like a raw chicken have a seat in the white house who ISNT EVEN A CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES, rather than a woman sit in the oval office. i have to watch old white men who have never even had to buy their wives or daughters pads or tampons choose what happens to my body. i have to watch the TOP exploit the bottom until the day they die.

i was told the world was becoming more accepting. I LIVED IN THAT "MORE ACCEPTING" WORLD FOR FIFTEEN YEARS. and suddenly it all goes to shit. my dad told me that he was better off than his parents, his parents were better off than their parents, and so forth. but my generation never will be.

i wanted to be an artist. i want to be a writer. ai is taking up all creative fields by storm and the top doesn't care because what is talent to them. what is talent to them. ai is eating at our world and draining it dry but who cares? what worth does talent have in the modern world? i damaged my wrists and hands because i wanted to be an artist. despite my horrible relationship with art i kept pushing forward until i developed carpal tunnel. now its uncomfortable to hold things. i cant even get the surgery to fix it because insurance won't cover it and i will NEVER make enough money to pay it out of pocket.

theres more. theres so much more. but i am at my limit. i can only say "hehe if x does y i'll write [character] smut" so many times. maybe i am just screaming into the void. maybe my followers of mutuals will see it. i dont know. i dont care. some of my followers may not be american. maybe all of them are. maybe some or maybe everyone can resonate with it. i have had to listen to this fucking idiot target my identity (and many others) for years. i had to listen to his mob of pigs do the same. i have to listen to them call even DISABLED people "woke". women's rights "woke". human rights 'woke". and i am constantly reminded that this was taught. they were doomed from the start.

im tired. im really tired. i get ideas for fics and i write them and i stop because my hands hurt so damn much and then i cant do anything but just watch videos or nap. because having my hands at any angle aside from flat on my legs or knees or armrests or bed or anywhere hurts. there's not much more i can do, and because of that im reminded of the goddamn state america is in and how it will only get worse. will i take a hiatus? i dont know. ive been clinging pathetically to my comfort characters like a damn dog because there's not much more i can do. i write when i can but its always so little. i have relatively bigger fics in the works if you care, so please be patient. im tired im stressed and im kind of facing the impending doom of my country and perhaps even my livelihood.

[kazimakuwabara]

Counting

Summary: Kurama has developed a counting habit. An enemy is about to learn, it's not a good habit to have. (word count: 700 words)

***

Kurama's hand was bleeding from the grip he kept on his whip. The thorns had overgrown this time, and they bit into the hand that grew them. The plant would normally grow at Kurama's whims, and it would normally be safe for him to hold and wield. But when he was angry, his plants could twist out of control.

Today, Kurama was very, very, very angry.

"You know I have developed a strange habit of counting," Kurama plainly informed the demon he had cornered. The once arrogant opponent was backing away, no longer finding any amusement with Kurama or his friends.

"I count the days, the passage of time, I count the seeds I sow in the garden, and I even count how many plants I keep in my hair," Kurama informed, his voice hollow and void of emotion.

His dead, calm voice was like a mask. Hiding the rage that was bubbling inside him.

"Perhaps it's a human thing," Kurama mused, raising his arm high, the hand that gripped the whip, dripping faster with his red blood. "Humans count a lot you know. Birthdays. Anniversaries. New years. It's astounding of all the things they like to keep track of."

With each listed item, Kurama brought his whip down, lashing the demon who howled in agony under each blow. Earlier, Kurama hadn't been able to wound the demon at all. That had changed.

"S-Stop," The demon entreated, his single word a mess of fear.

"Due to human influence, I keep track of all sorts of things," Kurama interrupted, "And odd as it may be, I've started to count scars. Scars on my friends' bodies. Scars they earn in stupidity, like the time Yusuke borrowed a skateboard, and tried to grind down a railing. Scars they've had since the day I met them, like the small scar on Kuwabara's chin that has seemingly existed his whole life. I even keep track of scars they've earned in battle, like the one on Hiei's shoulder.

"But this counting habit is quite a nuisance, because while I count scars, as you can see I organize them into categories too. And do you know what category I hate the most?" Kurama paused in his speech, tilting his head to the left, and glaring down at the demon, who was looking for a way out, his head bobbing this way and that. When his gaze strayed too long from Kurama, the earth split apart, and an assortment of writhing plants encircled him, each one threatening a new type of pain and death.

The demon was forced to look back at Kurama.

"I detest the scars my friends have received while protecting me," Kurama answered his own question, exhaling slowly as the anger in his voice made it tremble, "It's rather silly, since I have scars from saving them... but I hate that they are marred with evidence that they had to keep me safe. And worst of all, this counting habit of mine, ensures I know how many they have. Yusuke has four. Kazuma has three. Hiei has six. That is thirteen scars too many."

The whip snapped out and coiled around the demon's throat, and he choked, his scream cut off as Kurama tightened the grip on his living weapon. An embodiment of his anger. Thorns pierced into the demon's skin, and the beast could not make any sound of protest, lest he wished for the thorny coil around him to slit his throat.

Kurama took in a slow steadying breath, that did him no service, "Today... you have increased my friends' scars by one each. You have added to the number I hate keeping track of the most. And I swear, I'm going to keep you alive and make you pay for each one... and I'll only let you die, once I'm assured Yusuke hasn't lost use of his eye."

Kurama's words grew harder and harder, and at his last spit syllable, his green eyes exploded into gold. A fanged grin bore down on the demon, and smoothly Kurama whispered, "Let us see if I can count how many wounds I leave on your body until death, shall we?"

[jullinh4x]

THE CURSED ROBOT ORIGINS (REMAKE)

CHAPTER 04 "DESPAIR"

Wood Man, Elecman and Chaoquite were hiding in the forest near the city, hiding from "Mega Man" and all the chaos that was happening in the city

Wood Man was watching the city, while Elecman and Chaoquite were hiding

"Any sign of him?"

Wood Man looked at Elecman and then looked back at the city, he then sighed

"No, he seems to be just attacking the city, but that doesn't mean we're 100% safe"

"You're right, what do you think about us hiding in the woods?"

Wood Man thinks for a moment, and agrees, the three then enter the forest, hoping to find a safe place to hide

Some time later, they arrived at a place they considered safe and hid there

At that moment, everything was quiet, until they heard screams, which seemed to come directly from the forest

"Oh no! He's here!"

Everyone looked at each other and got into a defensive stance, ready to face "Mega Man"

It wasn't long before "Mega Man" soon appeared, but he was soon surprised by a barrage of attacks aimed at him

But that didn't last long, as "Mega Man" shot a black goo at Elecman, which threw him away and trapped and stuck him against some trees

Chaoquite ran to help her brother out of the goo, while Wood Man didn't think twice about attacking "Mega Man" with his shurikens.

"Heh, is that all you got?!"

Wood Man kept attacking

"Mega Man! Get out of it! That's not you!"

"Okay, okay, but now I think you better watch where you're going!"

Wood Man looked down and was startled to see that he was being sucked into a black pool just below him...

"WHAT?!"

"Bye, bye, sucker!"

Wood Man couldn't do much, so he ended up being completely sucked into the puddle...

"Damn it...! Chao, run away from here now! I'll take care of him!"

"NO!!! I CAN'T LEAVE YOU HERE!"

"Chao... Please, JUST RUN! It's for your own good..."

Chaoquite didn't want to abandon her brother and let him die, but she knew it would be for her own good, so she started running as fast as she could...

Meanwhile, Wood Man was now in a dark place, there was nothing around him, just the void... He didn't know where to go, he didn't know what was hiding there and what lived there

He was completely alone, until he heard a voice

"Oh, hello there, welcome to the void"

Wood Man turned around and came across a creature, similar to a demon and a ghost, but completely black with large white eyes

"What is you...? Who are you...?"

"My name is Blacky, it's a pleasure to meet you, my new friend, also, I'm the only resident here"

"Only resident here...? Strange, but... What IS you?"

"I am much more than the only resident here, I am something bigger, you will see now"

Blacky approached, Wood Man tried to walk backwards, but couldn't, but then, in a single movement, Blacky simply entered Wood Man's body, not giving him time to react...

So, Wood Man got possessed and became a shadow, thanks to Blacky

On the other hand, "Mega Man" had killed Elecman, who fought his hardest to survive, but failed

He was now in on Elecman's schemes and was chasing Chaoquite so that she would become his next victim

Chaoquite ran desperately, without looking back, not wanting to have the same fate as her brother, but that didn't last long...

"Mega Man" summoned several spikes, which surrounded her, now, she had no way to escape

"It seems like our little game of cat and mouse is over now, doesn't it? After all, you're surrounded"

"Mega Man" turned his hand into a chainsaw, and without thinking twice, attacked Chaoquite and killed her instantly...

[lyfedda]

NOT AN OPEN RP

CW: gross Yog-Sothoth Bifrost stuff. All hurt, no comfort.

"Wake me if I get too... you know," Lyf said softly to Marius, giving him a soft kiss before they laid on bed. "This shouldn't take long. I.. it shouldn't..."

"Lyf," Marius said, taking their hand, "Mein Schatz, I know this isn't easy on you, but do you really believe that trying to talk to Yog-Sothoth is right? What if he wants their mind, soul, and body? What if he completely abandons you and take over them? This isn't what Sinclair would have wanted and you know that," he said, squeezing their hand. "Think about unser Schmuckstück-"

"I am!" Lyf snapped at him, covering their mouth. "It's been... it's been three days and I can't... we can't just do nothing! This isn't fair, Marius. This isn't fair... I need to at least try."

The most Marius could do was stand by them, right? They had their mind made up, Lyf was going to go talk to Yog-Sothoth. He just hoped it didn't backfire. So, he nodded and kissed Lyf's hand before he let go. "I'll wake you if I have to. You have my word."

Nodding, Lyf closed their eyes. They clung to the amulet, drifting off.

When they opened their eyes, they saw a light. A rainbow hue shining through a window. Under them, the ground was wet and sticky. Blood, they knew. They sat up, looking along the train. It must've been.. right after the Void came and destroyed everything. "Yog-Sothoth," they called as they stood up, grunting. "Yog-Sothoth, please. I'm here to talk and I'm not in the mood for your mind games. I want to barga-"

The door opened, and someone came on to the cart. Lyf turned. Loki... she was there. Just like always. She was beautiful and oh so scared. Just like always. She would pass them and go on to Thor, they'd say their goodbyes and- "Don't I know you?" She asked, voice soft and small. She approached Lyf, lifting her hand to their face. "Don't I know you?"

Lyf's eyes widened. What? That... that wasn't supposed to happen. "No," they said weakly, confusion clear on their face. "You... you're Loki. We never met, but I watched the Black Box."

Loki looked so... happy. She must have known she was going to die at that point, but she still looked so utterly pleased. Maybe it was because of Sigyn being so close and her remembering her wife. Maybe it was because she knew she'd save lives, the ones she unknowingly doomed in the first place. Maybe she was just happy to have her mind back in one piece.

"So we make it," she said after a pause. "Or rather we don't make it. How long did my blood last?"

It wasn't right. Loki never spoke to them before. They... they weren't supposed to be able to interact. Yet she was holding their face so gently. They couldn't help but lean into it. Her hands were surprisingly soft... "80 years," they said after a moment, staring at the elven woman. "The train arrived over a year ago... no one escaped besides myself."

"Then it wasn't for nothing," Loki said, giving Lyf a gentle kiss on their head. She was so much taller than them. Like most people from their world. Asgard, especially. "You survived. You lived. Celebrate that."

The hands on their face were soft. Lyf couldn't get over how warm they were. Very warm. Very... hot. A little too hot. Their eyes widened when Loki's soft smile widened, the corners of her mouth tearing. The hands grew hotter and hotter until they were finally on fire. Lyf screamed and pulled away while what was supposed to be Loki caught aflame. "You made it! Here's your reward!" She charged them.

Lyf didn't think twice about it before they took off running towards the door. They opened it quickly and jumped through, slamming it shut behind them. The train was gone, and they were... home. Not their home on Earth. On Midgard. They stepped forward, taking in a shaky breath. "Midgard..?" They moved forward, the sun beating on their skin. They took only a moment to bask in it. "This isn't real," they reminded themself. "This isn't real. You're looking for Yog-Sotho-"

"Lyfrassir!" A woman's voice called in their native tongue, and Lyf turned. Suddenly, they were ten years old again. Their mother stood there with a basket full of food for them. "Come on! Your mother is waiting!"

Right... they were having a picnic. Lyf felt tears well up in their eyes, and they ran forward. "Mother!" They ran forward and wrapped their arms around her. "Mother! It's you! It's you."

Fornsaxa laughed, putting a hand on their head. "Of course it's me, honey. Who else would I be? Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?" She brushed back their hair, giving Lyf a smile. "It's okay. I'm right here."

Lyf pressed their face in her abdomen. They missed her so much. "I know... I know, Mother. I'm so happy." They looked up at her with teary eyes and the biggest smile.

... but it wasn't real.

The reality made them want to scream.

"I... I'll meet you and Mama by the lake, okay? We can have our picnic then," Lyf said, pulling away and wiping their eyes. "I'll see you soon."

Fornsaxa just smiled. "No, sweetie. You won't." She turned and walked off. As she walked, she began to morph. Her skin was flayed and she grew in size, limbs growing longer and she began to contort, the basket dropping as she got on all fours and rushed to the giant forming ball of meat and flesh and teeth and bones growing in the center of the dried up lake.

Lyf was back to normal. Grown and broken. "... Goodbye, Midgard." They turned and continued on, finding another door. One that was green with eyes and webs.

Home.

Lyf walked through the door, but was met with darkness. They froze as they were pushed forward by a sudden force and made to go inside the endless night. "NO!" They yelled, running back to the door, but it was gone. "NO! NO NO NO! NOT HERE! PLEASE!"

It was their ship. The ship they spent six months on completely alone in darkness and silence. The ship that they died on and made their first deal with Yog-Sothoth. Lyf pouted at the wall where the door once was and screamed. There was no air. The ship had no power. They couldn't breathe, they couldn't see, they couldn't do anything! "Marius!" They yelled out, hoping he heard. "Wake me up! Wake me up!"

"Lyf," a voice came from behind them and Lyf froze. They turned their head... no. Cosmos, no.

Sinclair smiled at them. They saw them so clearly. "Lyf, it's okay. You can relax, you idiot. We're safe."

Lyf shook their head. "Yog-Sothoth," they said, tears streaming down their face. "Please... I've suffered enough."

'Sinclair' hummed. "Have you?" They walked over to them, grabbing their face roughly. "Oh, you poor thing. I suppose I've made you wait long enough." They dropped their hand and the darkness around melted around them and was replaced with the rainbow glow of the Bifrost. 'Sinclair' remained. "Go on then."

Lyf took several deep breaths, calming down. "I... I want Sinclair Foster back," they said, standing tall on the tracks. "I'm willing to give you whatever you want."

They seemed intrigued. 'Sinclair' hummed, jumping up and sitting down on to nothing. "Whatever I want. Well, when you saved your own life, I took your body and life. I would need something of significant value. I have your life, so that leaves-"

"No," Lyf cut them off, shaking their head. "No... You can't have them. I... Anything else. Anyone else!"

Their laugh echoed throughout the Bifrost and 'Sinclair' shook their head. "No. It has to be them or no one at all. Those are my terms. You know my rules better than anyone, Lyfrassir. My favorite vessel." They moved closer to them, floating around them. "You want them back? You've got to pay the price. The price is their mind," they wrapped an arm around their abdomen, "body and soul." Their lips were against their ear. "It's a small price to pay for the love of your life."

Lyf closed their eyes. It... wasn't small at all. They sniffled. Sinclair would never forgive them. They would hate them. After stabbing their eye out to save them form Yog-Sothoth before, to accept the deal would just be...

"I can't," Lyf said after a moment.

'Sinclair' breathed in deeply. "Then fuck. Off," they growled out and shoved their hand through their chest.

Lyf shot up in bed screaming. Marius was there. Marius was there and pulling them into his arms. "You're okay," he said, holding them so tight as they cried. "You're okay."

"I can't- I.. I can't save them," Lyf said so brokenly. "I can't save them..."

What were they supposed to do without them?

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

helena, hi! i've been listening to the record on loop for the past few days (it gets better every time i swear) and wanted to come pop in with an ask:

if your ocs were boygenius songs, which would they be? and, if you're feeling inspired, what about your oc ships?

BLU WHEN I TELL YOU I SCREAMED AT THIS ASK???? YOUR MIND >>>

Valerie Harmon - Ketchum, ID

I am never anywhere / Anywhere I go / When I'm home, I'm never there / Long enough to know

Anna March - Me & My Dog

I never said I'd be alright / Just thought I could hold myself together / When I couldn't breathe, I went outside / Don't know why I thought it'd be any better

Frankie Bevan - $20

Mama told me that it don't run on wishes / But that I should have fun / Pushing the flowers that come up / Into the front of a shotgun / So many hills to die on / Run out of gas, out of time, out of money / You're doing what you can, just makin' it run

Diana Fayed - Stay Down

So would you teach me I'm the villain, aren't I? / Aren't I the one constantly repentin' for a difficult mind? / Push me down into the water like a sinner, hold me under / And I'll never come up again

Camille Whitney - Souvenir

Always managed to move in / Right next to cemeteries / And never far from a hospital / I don't know what that tells you about me

Faye Warren - Satanist

Will you be a nihilist with me? / If nothin' matters, man, that's a relief / Solomon had a point when he wrote "Ecclesiastes" / If nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy / If the void becomes a bore, we'll treat ourselves to some self-belief

George Aarons - Letter To An Old Poet

I wanna be happy / I'm ready to walk into my room without lookin' for you / I'll go up to the top of our building / And remember my dog when I see the full moon / I can't feel it yet / But I am waiting

Ships:

Val and Ron - Without You Without Them

Speak to me, speak to me, speak to me / Until your history's no mystery to me / Talk to me , talk to me, talk to me / Until the words run dry, we'll see eye to eye / I'll give everything I've got / Please take what I can give

Anna and Eugene - We're In Love

I can't imagine you without the same smile in your eyes / There is somethin' about you that I will always recognize / And if you don't remember / I will try to remind you of the hummingbirds / You know the ones

Frankie and Rosie - Black Hole

Good day, good night, good talk, goodbye / It's out of your hands, but have a safe flight / My thoughts, all noise, fake smile, decoys / Sometimes, I need to hear your voice

Diana and Reg - Voyager

It's a hundred and three in the Valley / Blacktop is meltin' on our shoes / And I don't mean to make it all about me / But I used to believe no one could love you like I do / And I'm startin' to think that it might be impossible not to 

Camille and Eugene - Not Strong Enough

I don't know why I am / The way I am / Not strong enough to be your man / I lied, I am / Just lowering your expectations

Faye and Shifty - Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen once said / "There's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in" / And I am not an old man having an existential crisis / At a Buddhist monastery writing horny poetry / But I agree / I never thought you'd happen to me

George and Curt - Emily, I'm Sorry

Emily, I'm sorry, I just / Make it up as I go along / And I can feel myself becoming / Someone only you could want