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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 6 months ago

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what if it's you, and what if it's me, and what if that's all that we need it to be

bruiseshipping exchange fic for @fancypersonaskeletonturtle! I hope you enjoy it, I managed to get all the prompts combined into this <3

@ninjago-drabbles

cross posted to ao3

Cole’s thoughts were all jumbled up as he and Jay hiked up the mountain. They’d finally gotten him back after so long, but Jay was amnesiac. He couldn’t remember anything from before the Merge. Nothing about his parents, or his time as a ninja, or their relationship together. That last one hurt the most. But that was why they were going up this mountain right now — maybe if Cole brought Jay to places they’d gone before, he would remember.

“It’s not much further,” Cole told Jay. They were about three-quarters of the way up, only half an hour or so before they reached the top.

“O- okay,” Jay stumbled over his words.

Cole should probably talk. He had been silent for most of the trip, not usually a problem when someone else was doing the talking, but Jay wasn’t as talkative anymore. It was like being in the Administration had stripped him of all his personality. “Um, the view up there is very nice,” he said awkwardly. “You can practically see all of the realms from there.” The view hadn’t always been like that — before the Merge it showed a lush forest. Now it showed a nonsensical mix of landscape that ranged from tundra all the way to desert. Cole had spent days trying to track down the mountain now that the world was so different.

“Even Imperium?” Jay cracked a dry smile.

“Well, maybe not Imperium, but pretty much everywhere else,” Cole said sheepishly. He twisted the bracelet on his wrist, a habit he’d picked up while in the Land of Lost Things.

“Must be nice.”

“It is.”

Reaching the top of the mountain, they really could see all the merged realms. Cole looked over at Jay, searching for any hint of recognition. He didn’t find any.

Jay sniffled. “I… I don’t remember this,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Cole pushed down the pang of hurt he felt. It wasn’t completely unexpected for Jay not to remember this, and not fair of him to be upset about it when it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Nobody could have predicted Jay’s amnesia. “That’s alright. This place is pretty different from what it was before the Merge.”

“We can still stay for a while though, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Getting back to the Monastery took another three hours. The trek to the mountain had taken quite a while, and climbing up took even longer. By the time they arrived home, Jay was ready to collapse on his bed and sleep. Of course, he used the term ‘home’ loosely. The Monastery was more home than the Administration, but he couldn’t remember any of it. Couldn’t remember any late movie nights that must have taken place, or training sessions, or even just goofing around with his friends.

Jay knew that it must hurt everyone for him not to remember. Going to the mountain with Cole had been an incredible experience. He only wished he could remember the first time they went together.

Cole knocked on the open door, a nonverbal request to be let in. “Door’s open,” Jay said.

“I brought a photo album,” Cole said quietly. He held up a bright blue monstrosity of a folder, decorated with stickers and glitter. “I thought maybe this could jog your memory?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jay patted the space next to him on the bed. Cole sat down and opened the folder.

“I didn’t realise people still used those,” Jay joked. Anything to get rid of the awful mood that hung in the room.

Cole shrugged. “Probably not a lot, but Master Wu is — was old fashioned. And I think it’s more sentimental than a phone.”

“I guess,” Jay turned to look at the photos.

The first page of the book showed two handwritten notes. The first was obviously written by Cole. To Jay, it said. I love you more than words can express. Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You mean the world to me and I love you more than what can be written on this paper.

The second seemed to be from Jay. He had no memory of writing it, of course he didn’t, but it seemed very heartfelt. I love you, Cole. You’re my best friend, my love, my soulmate, my ride-or-die. Cheers to a new beginning <3

Jay could feel Cole staring at him, begging wishing hoping for him to remember. Jay turned the page and looked at the photos pasted on it. There were several on this one: a selfie of them at some sort of cafe, holding up pastries and smiling; a picture someone else had taken of them curled up on the couch asleep; them covered in mud and dripping wet, with the caption ‘went fishing and failed.’ All sorts of memories that Jay desperately wanted to remember but couldn’t. Looking at these photos made him feel like a stranger peering into someone else’s life.

Jay’s gaze drifted to the next page. It showed similar pictures, of them making flower crowns and having lunch together and smiling and laughing and being happy. He stroked the one of them dancing a duet. The photo was dimly lit, and the resolution wasn’t great, but Jay could tell it was one of the best memories just from how happy they looked in it.

Cole looked at Jay and tried not to cry. He was showing no recognition of anything so far, but they weren’t even halfway through the book yet. Maybe something would click later on. He watched as Jay flipped through the pages. His heart stuttered when Jay touched the photo of them dancing a duet. Did he remember that one? To Cole, it was one of the most important moments in their relationship.

“So, first date?” Jay looked at Cole hopefully. He put on an award winning smile and held out his hand. “I have plans, if you want to.”

Cole laughed. “Haven’t we already gone on a date?” He teased.

“Fighting evil together does not count!” Jay swatted Cole’s arm. “I was thinking more of a night out. Not for fighting the forces of darkness or anything, just us going to the club and having fun.”

“A club? You’ve found one that will let in two underage teenagers?”

“I have my ways,” Jay smirked. “Soo, do you want to, or no?”

“You already know the answer to that, Sparky.”

“Stop and let me live out the teenage romance movie, please?”

“Of course, my good sir.”

Jay smiled and tugged on Cole’s arm. “Our chariot awaits!” He pointed at the lightning jet — it had been given a makeover for the occasion, with fairy lights and fake candles scattered about. Even the windows were decorated with little heart stickers.

“You did all this?” Cole looked at Jay in surprise.

“Of course! It’s our first date and you expected no romantic lighting? The horror!” Jay faked fainting, draping an arm on his head and the other around his stomach.

“You’re such a dork.”

“It’s one of my best traits,” Jay said. “Get dressed and we’ll meet here in ten?”

“Sure.”

Getting to the club took only a few minutes. Jay had chosen a good place, and going by air meant the commute was even shorter.

“Good sir,” Jay bowed and opened the door for Cole. He was especially striking that night, dressed in a navy blue suit. His hair had been gelled to the side, obviously with Kai’s hair products.

Cole smiled. “Thank you,” he said as he stepped out. The entrance to the building was lit up in neon lights, blue and pink and red and green.

Jay walked over and hooked his arm around Cole’s. “We’re gonna be the best dressed couple at the dance,” he joked. “Absolute ten-out-of-ten.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yeah! Or at least, you will. I mean, you’re stunning! Not that you’re not always stunning, but—“

Cole put a finger to Jay’s lips. “You look amazing as well, so shut up.”

“Tickets?” A gruff voice interrupted the moment. Cole looked up at the security guard.

“Oh, yeah. Here,” Jay pulled out his phone and showed it to the guard.

Whatever he had shown must have been satisfactory, because the guard grunted and let them in.

“Wow,” Cole breathed. The club was incredible and kind of overwhelming — bright disco lights bathing the room in colour, a snack bar with people crowded around, music blaring loudly.

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” Jay grinned.

A loud crashing sound from outside stopped Cole from answering. “— no, we’re here on official ninja business,” Kai’s voice said. Of course the others had followed them.

Jay rolled his eyes fondly and grabbed Cole. “C’mon, let’s outrun them.”

“They’re such stalkers,” Cole agreed.

They pushed through the crowd to the dance floor, where the chances of being found were slim. “A dance?” Jay held out his arm. “I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

Cole took his hand. “Good thing I can dance too, then,” he said.

They slow danced like that for what felt like an eternity in the best way possible.

Cole snapped out of his memories to the sound of Jay turning the page. “This is all us?” Jay asked. His expression was strange — not exactly wistful, but it was something close. As if he didn’t quite understand the photos, but wished he could.

Cole cleared his throat. “Yeah, that album is just the two of us, but there are more that have the others.”

“There’s a lot in here,” Jay said softly. He gestured to the dozens of pages, all of which held at least three photos each.

“We knew each other for a long time,” Cole shrugged. “That’s like five years of photos.”

“Five years,” Jay said, like they were foreign words.

“Five years,” Cole agreed.

The next day, Cole brought Jay to the old coffee shop they used to frequent. The place hadn’t changed despite everything — even after the Merge, it was still painted the same shade of grey and the floor was still suspiciously sticky. The menu hadn’t gotten anything new added. The same display case showed the exact same pastries as five years ago. Even the cat looked the same, unkept orange fur and a confused expression. Everything about this place made it perfect for jogging Jay’s memory — the mountain was pretty different now, but old Mr. Chan’s coffee shop was exactly the same.

“This is Mr. Chan’s,” Cole said to Jay. “We used to come here all the time. It hasn’t changed a bit,” he chuckled.

Jay still had that mildly confused, sorrowful expression on. “And we got… coffee? Here?”

“Yep,” Cole nodded. “Is anything familiar?”

Jay paused for a moment, seemingly considering it, and then shook his head. Any hope Cole had felt shattered.

“That’s alright,” Cole smiled. He hoped that Jay couldn’t still tell the difference between which of his smiles were genuine and which were forced. “You wanna order?”

“Sure.”

Jay stared down at his coffee. It was delicious — perfect amount of sugar and cream, and the coffee itself was amazing too. Cole sat across from him, drinking an abomination of sugar and caramel. How he could stand to drink that, Jay would never know.

Cole must have noticed him staring, because he looked up. “You enjoying it?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Jay said.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

Jay shook his head and pretended not to notice Cole deflating at his response. He really wished that he could remember, could be the person that Cole clearly needed, but his brain was empty. Trying to think of anything from his past drew up a blank. He hadn’t even known the ninja’s names before they introduced themselves.

“It’s okay not to remember,” Cole said. “We’ve dealt with amnesia before.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Zane‘s gotten it a bunch of times. Nya too, and one time all of you collectively forgot me,” Cole laughed like he had told a funny joke.

“But has it ever taken this long to remember?”Jay clutched his takeout cup a little tighter. It had been five years since the Merge, which meant five years of no memory. At this point, was it even possible for Jay to remember? He still couldn’t recall his parents. Two people who must have raised and taken care of Jay, and he didn’t know their names.

“Zane was amnesiac for like sixty years.”

“Zane is a nindroid. I’m not,” Jay frowned. “Tell me, Cole. Is it possible for a human to remember after so long?”

Cole looked immensely uncomfortable with this conversation. “I’m not sure,” he finally said, “and I’m also not sure if we’re even human at this point. So…”

Jay sighed and got up. He couldn’t stay here anymore, not when he wasn’t the person Cole remembered. Cole needed support and care, not whatever Jay could provide. He was probably better off with Zane or Kai or literally anyone who wasn’t an imposter pretending to be his loved one. “I’m going back to the Monastery now,” he said.

Cole stood up as well and followed Jay out the door. “You can’t get back without driving,” he reminded him. “And I have the keys.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“C’mon, let’s go back,” Cole opened the car door and got in. It was a very awkward drive back to the Monastery.

Cole lay on his bed face down. He’d locked the door and closed all the windows, effectively shutting himself in darkness. The blackout curtains really were his best investment.

Coffee had been a disaster. Not only had Jay been unable to remember, Cole had also succeeded in making him feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t Jay’s fault that he had amnesia, and Cole’s prying had made everything worse.

Ugh. Cole was probably the merged realms’ worst boyfriend. Did he and Jay still count as boyfriends? Probably not. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“I’m an awful person,” Cole groaned into his pillow. Zane would chastise him for moping like this, but Zane didn’t get to judge Cole’s relationship issues, not with how much sulking he’d been doing in Pixal’s absence.

He stayed buried in his blankets for only a few more minutes before he got bored. Cole forced himself out of bed and looked at the photo album instead — he hadn’t bothered putting it back in its rightful place yesterday. He flipped through, stopping at the photo of him and Jay curled up on the couch asleep. Nya had taken that picture; she’d found them asleep in the living room and took the opportunity. Jay had printed it out when they were putting the album together. “I like it,” he’d said, “you look so peaceful in it.”

“Peaceful? I tackled you and sent us both crashing to the floor,” Cole raised an eyebrow.

“It was a bonding moment.”

Cole smiled at the memory. It was another moment he thought of fondly, though that didn’t really mean anything when he thought of all their time together like that.

Jay was gaming, entirely focused on the screen in front of him. He wasn’t paying attention to Cole, who sat next to him boredly.

“Ha! Take that, ya stupid turtle!” Jay cackled at the screen.

Cole jolted upright at Jay’s sudden burst of laughter. His boyfriend wouldn’t be done with the game for a while, likely not until he was forcibly dragged away. Problem was, Cole wanted Jay to be focusing on him. But it would also be a tough challenge to get him away from his beloved video games. Nothing short of physically tackling him would get his attention.

Hmmm. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Cole positioned himself so that he could jump onto Jay with minimal injury. Jay was so absorbed in the game that he didn’t notice until Cole had slammed into him and they’d both ended up on the floor.

“Cole! What was that for?” Jay took a second to process before he spoke.

Cole tried not to smile. That would give him away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You— you liar!” Jay screamed hysterically. “You definitely know what I’m talking about!”

“Nope!” Cole grinned.

“You’re so clingy.”

“Don’t know what you mean by that, blabbermouth.”

Jay sighed and accepted his fate. “Fine, we’ll stay here tonight. But any sore muscles are your fault, okay?”

“More than okay.”

I should go talk to him, Cole thought. He needed to talk to Jay, clear the air a bit. It had been even more awkward than usual since yesterday.

It hurt that Jay couldn’t remember anything, of course, but it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Just the universe screwing them over, like always. Their lives truly were one disaster after another.

Cole sighed and got up, making his way to the door. He rehearsed what he’d say to Jay over and over. Then he knocked on the door and waited for Jay to respond.

A knock at the door had Jay crawling out of bed and coming face to face with Cole, both of them standing there awkwardly until Jay spoke.

“Um, come in?” He squeaked.

“We need to talk,” Cole said. He gave no indication that he’d heard Jay speak, instead sitting down on the bed and looking at Jay. His eyes made Jay think of those creepy porcelain dolls in antique shops — they stared right into your soul, pulling out all your secrets.

“Talk about what, exactly?”

Cole got a guilty look on his face. “That sounded a bit ominous, didn’t it,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I just wanted to say that. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, lately. It’s just that you’re my best friend. And I’m trying to make you remember, because of course I want you to, and I’m pretty sure you do too, but it isn’t fair of me to keep pushing to make you remember when you can’t, and it’s not your fault, and—“ Cole was crying now, streams of water coming from his eyes. “I just wanted to say that you mean so much to me, and that it’s not your fault that all this happened. I’m being unfair, pressuring you to remember like this. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I want to remember,” Jay said softly. “I want to know all the inside jokes that we had, and all the memories of our first date or birthdays and all the other stuff. You mean a lot to me too, I swear. It’s just that I can’t remember anything, and that means I can’t be the person you need. I can’t support you when I don’t even know your favourite colour, much less how to help with all the other stuff.”

“It’s orange,” Cole said suddenly, turning to look at Jay. “My favourite colour is orange.”

“And you’re the black ninja?”

“It’s ironic, I know,” Cole laughed. “But in all seriousness, it’s okay for you not to remember. Just be yourself, I guess. You’re still the same person. And I’m not letting go of hope that you’ll get your memories back with time.”

Cole took Jay’s hand. “We should spend a day together, get to know each other again. Go for a walk in the Crossroads or something. It would be fun.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Jay smiled.

“Maybe tomorrow? You know, before the next world shattering crisis arrives?”

“I’d like that.”

#bruiseexchange2024 #I had fun writing this #title is from the Dear Evan Hansen song 'Only Us'#cole brookstone #jay walker #bruiseshipping #kit's writing #ninjago fic #lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #cole x jay #jay x cole

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 2 years ago

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zombie au with ike ft. luxiem - In Pursuit to and from the Sun

(i think this submission got lost in the sauce and i can't find it but at least i still have this screenshot)

lmao sorry i went off the grid for a sec. life happens, you know, applied for some vsf programs, went on a classified operative excursion away from my post and got a new writing software. i actually wrote the last of this on a helicopter returning from the mission so that’s why i didn’t proofread beforehand sorryyyyy. but more importantly I TOUCHED GRASS. guys. i touched so much grass. i touched so much grass i could replant a garden. call me a topiary, i touched that much grass. is this what it’s like to work at a dispensary? bc i touched so much grass

a few disclaimers: this fic is ike centric but contains general luxiem angst as a treat and may be read in a platonic or romantic tone, whichever you prefer. it's also another 10.7k words long so if you want to read but don’t have the time, use a like/rb as a bookmark. most importantly: heed the tags for this one, i kind of went off the deep end here

tags: platonic relationship, hurt no comfort, angst, zombie au, no happy ending, gender neutral reader

⚠️ major character death, suicidal thoughts, gore, infection, arson, and apocalypse-typical violence

continued au notes and commentary here (spoilers)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the initial zombie outbreak, you’ve been running around the country with your best friend Ike and the circle of close friends you both share. You’ve made peace with the fact that it will always be hard. You and your band hop around from town to wilds, with no real objective other than to survive. Every location has something to glean, after all. It’s just that the zombies are always on your tail, and there’s only so much looting to do before the chorus of dead can tear you and your family apart.

It’s deluded to pretend you’re the invulnerable main characters, though. You and your friends are in a townhouse currently being ambushed by a strain of zombies. You swear they’ve gotten more intelligent since your last encounter. A dense herd of bloodthirsty undead is one thing, but a dense herd of bloodthirsty undead that have a chance of understanding positioning is another. Closing doors is barely a second of relief now.

You were lucky to be in a room with Vox when you got ambushed. He lived his post-apocalyptic life with a rebar rod in his hand, wrested from a collapsed concrete building early in during the initial outbreak. He claimed to be a trained swordsman once, and even though the rebar was more of a club than a sword, you admit you would’ve been worse than dead if you didn’t have him by your side. You’re sure he’d be screwed without you, too. Now that the world’s gone to the dogs, you stay prepared with a pair of climbing picks that can clobber in zombie brains just as well as scale walls. Vox shoved zombies out of the way while your picks cleared a path to escape from the house out through the window, Vox in tow.

You and Vox reunite with Ike and Shu outside. The former keeps various kitchen knives hidden under his no-longer white mantle, and defends Shu from stragglers while he digs into his backpack. You notice his weapon, an iron fire poker, by his feet along with a bottle. He rips sheets off of an old Millwall brick to stuff inside the bottle.

“Blowing the place up,” Shu says, in case you didn’t make the connection already. His breath is ragged. “Where’s Luca and Mysta?”

Like a stage cue, you hear the rocket of gunfire the second he says it. Your hope is crushed. Noise attracts zombies, and Luca was the only one with a shotgun. If he pulled the trigger, the situation was even more dire than you thought.

Shu grits his teeth and repeats himself, intensity barely restrained. “Where is Luca and Mysta.”

“I’m going back in,” Vox declares.

Ike drives a knife into the head of a fallen body. Destroying the brain confirmed they wouldn’t regenerate, and he minimizes the risk as precise as a surgeon. He made short work of the zombies that hadn’t overrun the house yet, but you could see them flood the interior. “Don’t be stupid, Vox, that’s suicide.”

“You heard the gun!”

“And I said that’s suicide!”

“Not if someone goes back in!”

“How are you going to find them without getting yourself killed?” Vox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Ike took advantage of it. “That’s what I thought. Luca’s our muscle and Mysta’s a clever guy, you’ve seen him outsmart the zombies so many times before!”

“They know basic organization, Ike!”

“All the more reason not to go back in! Have some faith in your friends!”

Vox grants him an unholy leer through his haunting yellow eyes. “How dare you lecture me about faith when I’m trying to save their lives.”

His glare was lost. Ike focuses on confirming the dead stay dead. His back is turned from the swordsman as he chops a skull in two with a butcher’s cleaver. “Because no matter what, they’re going to get out, and they want you out just as much as they’re fighting.”

But Ike’s words were just as lost to Vox; you barely saw the trail of his blood-splattered haori before he ran back to the townhouse, rebar in hand and fury on display.

Shu shoves the remains of the Millwall brick into the cupholder of his pack, a battering ram for another day. He produces a box of matches instead. “It’s best to take them all out at once.”

You speak up. “But Vox just-”

“I know.” Shu’s lips purse. “And I’m not going to throw them. Not until I know they’re all safe.”

You watch as Vox speared through a living corpse, then threw its remains on the ground. The zombies are centered inside the house, but the windows are all covered. The door stays open as he passes through the threshold, but you can’t see a trace of him left.

Ike stabs through a brain close to you and Shu. You see him heft himself up, and the traces of a permanent dead remain on the ground. The head is split open with precision, and the brain blooms out from the skull. It leaks pink nerves and black rot among the blood, like a disgusting flower.

He passes by you, dead set on his goal. “You’re not going, Reader.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“And don’t expect to.” Ike’s words are emotionless, but not cold. As much as he pushes away Vox, you know he cares for everyone in your group like brothers. He’s the least risky out of all six of you- after all, he’s tearing apart zombie brains without a complaint while you catch your breath and Shu stands watch.

You draw your climbing picks and follow him to the field of dead. “Let me help you.”

You feel useless just standing there, after all.

Though the task of confirmation is much calmer than fighting for your life, it’s still unenviable, and you have to admire how Ike distances himself seemingly so easily from it. You try not to look at their faces, but that’s just as impossible. After all, the brain is right between the eyes. That’s the worst part.

You made the mistake of looking into zombie eyes twice in your life.

The first was your first fight of the apocalypse; a zombie had you deadlocked in an aisle of an outdoors store, and only when it was within biting range did you drum up the courage to grab the first thing you saw- two fluorescent orange climbing picks, never used- and drive them into the writhing heart. You bolted then, too focused on escape than freezing, and those climbing picks proved themselves to be your best survival tool in combat and exploration.

The second was the first time you confirmed the dead, and those eyes, that face- skin and bone but youthful, blue bleeding through the iris like a cracked yolk, remains of eyeliner and mascara along her deteriorated features- she was a person, so young, so beautiful when she was alive, like she knew she had decades to go- sometimes you swear she’s the face you see at night when you remember how human and how simply unlucky this world is now. It’s simply unlucky, and being unlucky is simply brutal.

(You held back your tears when you bashed her brain in. Later that night you pulled your best friend Ike aside, and cried in mourning of a woman whose name you never learned. He didn’t complain then, either, and you only sobbed harder when you realized as much as he comforted you, he could never muster up the vulnerability to grieve himself.)

You club a pick into the forehead of the fresh, putrid dead. The other pries it open, and a third swipe pulverizes with finality.

It’s messy. When you drive your weapons into the skull there’s a crack of metal against bone, and a thin gush of blood that spurts out to your arms. Especially large openings reveal nodules of black rot spotted through the brain. If you focus, you can see the moist, moldy texture seep through the wrinkles of the brain, and if you were any less jaded it’d be enough to make you turn your head and hurl.

But the deed is done in only three stabs, and you cling onto that fact. The more mechanical the task is, the easier it is to drive yourself to just get it done. Club, pry, pulverize. Club, pry, pulverize.

You pass by one of Ike’s carvings as you move onto another body. His work is premeditated from habit; he usually does this deed while everyone else recuperates. A standard chef’s knife is his weapon of choice when he faces against zombies, but he keeps a cleaver sheathed to his side when he has the time to get precise. One good slash goes through bone. Bone sweeps through the brain, and the work is done, and he carries on to the next, messy on his mantle but clean in the cut.

There are only a few more bodies left untouched on the yard where you hear heavy steps on the grass and Shu’s voice cry out. “Luca!”

You and Ike snap up. Luca’s blond hair is matted to his face with blood and rot as Vox runs beside him. They look like they ran through a blender of decayed flesh, and considering the herd of dead inside the house, perhaps that isn’t so strange of a metaphor. Even as Luca sprints, he turns to pump shotgun lead to the predators when they get closer, and each corpse’s fall is punctuated by hot gunfire.

Shu calls out his name again frantically. The men return, and so do you and Ike, five missing one. “Luca, where’s Mysta?”

“It’s bloody,” Luca simply says. His breath is short, and he wipes at the mess of gore and hair on his forehead. All it accomplishes is smearing black and red together along his face and in a blotch along his arm.

“But where is he, I need to know!”

“And it’s so much.” He trails off. He stares into the side of the townhouse and beyond the distance. Strapped to his back is his go-to weapon, a baseball bat littered with nails, each with residue dripping off the spikes from freshly killed zombies. “There’s a lot. Oh, I’m feeling kind of- kind of cold.”

“He’s in shock,” Ike says. He takes Luca’s hand in his, but Luca doesn’t even react. “Oh, Luca. What happened?”

“Kind of a lot?”

“Where’s Mysta?”

“He…” Luca’s eyes dart to the center of the townhouse. “He’s stuck, because of me, isn’t he?”

“Alright, lay off the man.” Vox intervenes. “We’re done asking questions. Shu. Your matches. Light it up.”

“What?!” Shu screams at Vox. You’ve heard him yell, but never once have you heard him scream. Especially not with Vox sounding so detached. “No, are you crazy? Mysta is in there!”

“Light it up, Shu-“

“I said, no! No! No way, not a- not a fucking chance!”

“Shu, listen to me!” Vox thunders. “I’m sorry, but Mysta is gone.”

Shu stands his ground. His features are tense, and his ultraviolet eyes burn holes through the earth. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Mysta is gone,” Vox insists, and you hear his bassy voice break even lower. “I saw it myself.”

“He is not.”

“It was too overrun, it’s miraculous Luca even got out.”

“Mysta,” Luca says, and closes his eyes. Ike holds him upright and rubs his arm, as comforting as he possibly can in the worst situation, as much as possible when his own face is just as distraught as everyone else.

“And I wish with everything that I have that I could’ve gotten him out,” Vox continues, more of his own justification than anyone else. “And I wish I was just a little faster, and that they were a little further away, and, God, that he wasn’t trapped, but he was, and I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t close enough…”

Shu is murmuring his own protests to himself at this point, and feeling the pit in your stomach yourself, you reach to hold his hand. He jerks away like you’re made of lava. You feel ill. “You’re lying to me.”

“And he got bit, and he knew that meant death. And he ran, ran upstairs, to draw them away from us, and there were more, and he knew, he knew, he knew he was dead but we weren’t.”

Luca lets his head fall on Ike’s chest. Ike becomes his crutch, and holds him. “Mysta.”

“His distraction saved Luca’s life. And mine if I was slow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was a hero,” Vox says.

“Stop.” Shu’s eyes shut. He looks like stone about to break, paralyzed in denial as the proper grief is setting in. His hands dive and clasp around yours. He’s trembling. You squeeze back. “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead.”

“He was a hero, and our brother, and the sun. Please don’t devalue his sacrifice like that.”

“Oh my god.” Ike interrupts, and his face is paler than the dead. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Luca, don’t look.”

With one hand, he buries Luca’s head into the fabric of his mantle, and with the other, he points to the tallest point of the townhouse.

You crane your neck up and squint. The townhouse has one window peeking out from the room along one small wall. When you recognize the shapes through the window your legs nearly give out. Startling, saturated, unadulterated horror grips you. You see his hat.

“He’s still alive,” you whisper. “Or he rose. But he’s still surrounded.”

With revived desperation Vox grasps Shu by the shoulders. “Don’t devalue his sacrifice, Shu, you know better than anyone he never wanted to fall victim to that curse. Let him and the rest of the zombies pass on properly, like a hero should. Light the match, please. Please.”

You absorb the chaos as if you weren’t there. You’re detached. Nothing feels real, not even as Ike strokes Luca’s hair, distressed and staring at the window, while Luca is just as distanced as you are. Vox’s heroic resolve shattered as he recounted Mysta’s last moments, and Shu, the smart one out of your group, can’t even function anymore. You knew everyone considered themselves each other’s family, but Shu and Mysta were especially close, and it tears you apart to watch Shu finally grasp the terror of the townhouse ambush.

Shu lets go of your hands to cover his face. Through the gaps between bloodstained gloves, you can see the sparkle of tears. He’s crying. “This isn’t possible.”

“Do the right thing,” you say. “Do what he would’ve wanted.”

Shu stands so still. He looks up to the sky, as if it could all go back just by an hour. The clouds just kept rolling.

He picks up a bottle and lights a match.

“This can’t be happening.” A teardrop nearly flicks out the match, but he gathers his strength, and places it by the newspaper wick. The paper flares alive in caution orange.

Shu breathes in. You see his face is scrunched up from crying even as he tries to aim, and it’s like he’s aged years in a matter of minutes. His face has never truly been clean of dirt or gore in weeks, just like the rest of you, but even under the orange fire his eyes go dull. There’s weight under his eyelids, and his mouth is forced into a tight, shaky frown as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry.” Even when it was a zombie Shu always apologized before killing. He treats it as a blessing of what they once were. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Shu throws the molotov.

You lose track of Mysta’s silhouette as the townhouse goes up in flames.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The death of Mysta Rias was the death of the sun, and the world has been even drearier than the desolate land would have you think.

Everyone lives on edge frostily. It’s barely been a month since he passed, but the wound hesitates to close.

Ike is maybe the best adapted to your band of six now as five, but even then you can tell he’s not the same. He’s a champion of reservation. Every sweep of his knives into dead flesh are purposeful, every word spoken is calculated.

You think back on that night you cried in Ike’s arms the first time you confirmed the dead. You still haven’t seen him cry. Strange, since he was the type to get emotional at sappy movies and video games before the first outbreak. You’re worried, but he insists he can keep it together. To be fair, he’s doing an excellent job at not having a conniption, but the way that he acts so much more emotionally distant isn’t exactly inspiring confidence either.

But Vox, for all he puffs himself up about making sure no man gets left behind and all that heroic junk, hesitates far more than his honed swordsmanship would have you think now that Mysta’s gone. It hasn’t gotten in the way of surviving yet, but you have to wonder when it will. He’s gotten indecisive and requires time to think- great for planning, not so much for a live-or-die fight.

Luca’s the one that surprises you. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him happy when your band of friends started roaming the country together, but he was good natured, and was the first to pick himself up from a bad scrape. He had a sly, sideways curve to his lips whenever he laughed, but it’s been so long since you’ve heard it that you’re starting to forget the way his skin curves into smile lines.

He doesn’t smile at all, really. As optimistic Luca was, it was no secret Mysta was the other half of the laughter in your group, and now that Mysta was gone the morale was as well. Luca keeps up his positive attitude as much as he can but it’s rare, and it’s quiet when you see it.

You notice whenever someone lights the campfire, he’s never around to watch it, and no one makes him do it. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked about it out loud, nor has he ever let himself show it. But when he turns around to feel the warmth, Vox is always to his front, blocking off the bright blazes, and sits by him while he cooks game. You have a theory Vox hasn’t given up his hero complex yet, but for as tense as he gets by the fire Luca hasn’t had a breakdown yet either. Unless things change, you won’t bring it up. Your group has never experienced a loss quite like this in the zombie apocalypse, and all things considered, for as awful as the morale it could be much, much worse.

Speaking of much worse, Shu…

He was a wreck when Mysta passed away, and that’s putting it lightly. When you ran from the remains of the burning townhouse and into a forest, your footfalls were punctuated by Shu’s shortened breaths, and he held back hiccups as you left Mysta behind. By the time Vox figured you were safe from the horde and Ike’s feet gave out from exhaustion, Shu’s eyes were shut tight in disbelief.

You barely uttered a word to him before he fell back into sobs, and when you offered a hand he threw himself to you. It was disorienting. You always considered Shu the face of serenity and restraint even in your lives before the apocalypse, and after the outbreak he was always the one that could find the best path to follow for the greater good of all six of you. But now there were only five, and the grief was fresh.

But Shu howled. He clawed himself against your chest in inconsolable wails, and his face was contorted, sore and raw red in splotches of unmuted primality, nearly unrecognizable. There was an animal in your arms. Agonized.

“It’s not possible,” he heaved. His articulation was lost in his eruption. “It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be!”

You didn’t have any words to say, and clearly Shu didn’t either. He howled again as his bestial hands clutched around your arm. Nails dug through his gloves and into your skin, and if he clutched you any tighter he’d tear the flesh off the bone straight, a creature of despair. Screaming and howling, and soon enough he was choking on his own spit and the block of mourning in his throat, some ugly peals of tears and snot, and the remains of rot on his hands and blood against the hollows of his ghastly cheek; the ash left in his lungs and the smoke that lingered in his hair, and the flames that licked through his fingers and inside the bottle and outside the glass; the blazes that ate through the wood of the house, the very same hue as his brother’s favorite shirts, his hat, flickering a cycle of brightness and color and roiling heat until he knew the fire had swallowed up what remained of Mysta.

Shu had no choice but to scream. When his throat took away that privilege he mustered up what he could of his vocal chords and churned. All his mouth went dry but he still smacked his tongue against his gums and huffed out seethings and surges of thin breath through gritted teeth, more akin to wheezing than anything else he’d howled but the pure distress gone untouched.

He eventually exhaled himself into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep his face was still struck with suffering. Rest was more like a pause to a realized horror than it was a reprieve. You and Ike cleaned him up and laid him sideways on the ground for the night- after all, it had been an awful day, and as the moon rose in the sky you know you wouldn’t be getting anywhere after the horrible events, much less with an unconscious Shu.

Luca spent the rest of his day detached from his own experience, even after the shock wore off. When Shu’s composure broke, Vox had attended to Luca, and they quietly wept together while Shu bawled. By the time Shu began to rest, Luca looked into the ground, water bottle in hand.

Vox approached you while Ike started a fire and prepared some rations for the rest of the group. “He’s not taking things awfully, but I’m concerned for him,” he said. “Luca, I mean.”

“I know you mean Luca,” you responded. You couldn’t hide your own exhaustion from the day either.

“As much as I hate to say it, Shu freaking out was to be expected. He and- and Mysta- those two- they were so close. And Luca, too. I thought he would freak out like Shu, but hell, Reader, I cried more than him. I know I get emotional and he’s better at keeping it down than me, but…”

Vox’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the dark sky. His eyes were red. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It’s not like him.”

“Well, living without-” Your exhaustion dragged down your sentence before you could finish it. You thought you were well-adjusted to the death, but your voice caught before you could utter his name. You cleared your throat. “Living like this. There’s going to be a lot of weird changes, and everyone mourns differently.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But Vox didn’t look too pleased to hear that. “We need to protect him.”

“He does plenty of protecting himself. And we look out for each other regardless.”

“Then we should look out for him especially.”

“Of course. I don’t want him to get overexerted.”

“And let’s tap out of any interaction if we can, including looting. Last thing we need is to get into another big fight with the zombies, or worse yet, other survivors.”

“Avoiding fights has always been our M.O.” A chilled breeze ran through the forest. Vox fiddled with his haori. You stared right through him. “Sorry if this comes across as weird. But do you really think laying low is a good idea?”

“It’s dangerous to let anything interfere with us.”

“We’re in the zombie apocalypse, Vox, everything is dangerous. It’s not like I can just wave a wand and poof, we’re immune from the plague. Besides, we’re just two out of s- out of five. We’ll figure it out when it’s not so late, and Luca and Shu are in working condition.” You squinted. “Hey. Enough about them for a second. Has anyone ever asked you if you’re okay, Vox?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Is now. How are you holding up?”

“What, do you want me to lie to your face? No one’s doing well.” He averted his eyes, and you knew he was averting the question. “I could ask you the same thing. Shu was intense.”

“Tired,” you said. “Just plain tired. I don’t even think I have the energy to properly grieve.” And just like the man standing before you, you averted your eyes as well. “I don’t think I want to either. I don’t know. I miss him a lot, but I don’t have the time to miss him. Not when the apocalypse is literally unfolding in front of us and there’s people taking the brunt of the loss way harder than I am. I wish I could give him the remembrance he deserves.”

Vox nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything in response, and the silence made you feel like you aged hundreds of years in his presence.

“You’re very observant, Reader,” he finally said. “And you spend a lot of time making your own conclusions before you act. That’s smart. But knowing too much prevents you from action, full stop.”

Campfire smoke curls around the chilly air and by Vox’s face. His head was still angled up to look at the sky, and the orange glow against his sharp features weathered him into a dreary oil painting. There was a gash between his cheek and ear where a tree branch hooked him while he evaded a zombie’s grapple, and the light illuminated the soft pink flesh exposed under the cut of skin. The corner of the gash met his thoughtful frown. “Every moment of life teaches you something. I’m wondering when it’ll be too much and we simply can’t go on the way we used to.”

“Might be soon.”

“Today definitely sped it along.”

The fire crackled. You and Vox sat there unmoving, too focused on the blaze and how controlled it was compared to the townhouse.

Even as the tinder burns, your thoughts were still so awry now that the group got smaller. Vox had a point about Luca. You needed to keep an eye out on him in case he’s putting on a brave front. Even then, you didn’t like how Vox deflected your concern, but prodding him would only make it worse, especially when the loss was so fresh.

Your thoughts drifted to Ike, and how you haven’t managed to share a word with him at all since the townhouse burning. He hasn’t cried, you recall, not a single time since the first outbreak. You admired his composure but now that Vox admitted his own fears for the others (and neglected to tell you the ones about himself), you can’t help the unease that settled into your stomach. What were his thoughts like? Everything went off the rails whenever you tried to collect yourself, but if Ike was able to keep it all under wraps, then his mind must be a storm.

Speak of the devil. Ike hands Luca a small can of beans, but the blond stayed by his lonesome. Your best friend took the empty seat beside you, and gives you and Vox your dinner.

You thanked him, and after savoring what little you had of your portion, you asked how he’s doing.

“Just gotta get through another day,” Ike responded.

Then he tipped the last of his beans into his mouth and stared at the fire, just as you did after talking with Vox. He was unreadable as ever, but the only thing you could glean from him with confidence is that he had just as much on his mind as you thought. Maybe even more.

You wished he would just tell you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

But grass grows over graves, and even if Mysta didn’t have a proper send off, time waits for no one.

Once Shu woke up, his face was a mess of bleariness and exhaustion. Something in his bright eyes froze over during the night. Amethyst faded to plastic.

“We’ll keep moving,” he declared, and his voice chilled you to the core. He called out the order as a leader, not a friend, without the care or delicacy he always granted to your group. His emotion died with Mysta.

(And you saw Vox ready himself to refute, but once he met those purple eyes filled with something unearthly, he shank under Shu’s presence.)

Days pass. All of them are spent on the road. The group spends as little time resting as possible just to get a few extra miles out to your next destination.

Shu and Luca say it’s to get away, but they end the sentence differently. Shu says to get away from the zombies. Luca doesn’t finish his thought at all.

It’s no surprise that Vox opposes it. The more distance between the group and the townhouse, the more he speaks his mind.

But Shu is determined to go further, just as much as Vox is convinced everyone needs to lay low.

And in all the time you’ve known these men, you’ve never seen any of them fight against one another quite like this. Vox always concedes, but not before Shu spits venom and he flings it right back. Their words are always about the plan, their future, where the group is going and why don’t they wait out the zombies instead of these hourly skirmishes on the road; but everyone can tell there’s more lying in subtext than the literal argument. You’ve seen the way Vox grits his teeth and musters up his courage whenever he’s about to tell Shu off, and you know that disgusted glare Shu gives Vox whenever he brings up hiding from the zombies.

Ike usually ends up being the one to break up their fights. One dismal evening while he lectured them both about teamwork and other platitudes, you and Luca sat next to each other. He’s a big guy, but he’s lost a lot of weight from rationing, and his expression looks like an abandoned dog more often than not these days.

He talks quietly, but plainly. “Shu hates me, doesn’t he?”

“What?” The bluntness startles you. “Luca, listen to yourself. He could never.”

“He could.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insist. “He’s gone through a lot, and he’s not taking it well, but I know it’s always because he wants to protect you. All of us.”

“So is Vox. But he just shuts him down without a thought. You ever wonder why, Reader?”

“To get away from the zombies,” you recite. That’s always his reasoning. Staying put in one place just means more time for zombies to gather at the scent of the living.

“So would finding a secure shelter, like how Vox says.” Luca sits with his knees close to his chest, and watches from a distance at the quelled fight. Vox says something, and you can see Shu’s face contort even though you can’t hear what he says. “But he doesn’t even listen to him. He doesn’t even listen to you, Reader, when you try to break it up.” He holds his legs closer to himself. “I don’t know if he’s ever listened to me. Or anyone.”

“He would if you told him you feel like that. He’d understand.”

“Would he really?” You nearly answer that before you realize the question is rhetorical. “You’ve got eyes, Reader. Be attentive like how I know you always are and look at how he looks at us. Me and Vox.”

You try to follow Luca’s request but Ike is speaking, and Shu’s eyes close.

He elaborates. “It’s not a nice look.”

“He’s stressed.”

“Then why doesn’t he ever look at you like that? Or even better, why does he listen to Ike only, and how come it never seems to stick?”

“He’s going through a lot.”

“We all are.”

Across the camp, you watch Ike run a hand through his hair. Shu is still talking, and Vox sighs.

“I think he blames us.”

You grab Luca’s arm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s obvious anyways.”

“Because that’s our friend.”

“He hasn’t acted like one for a long time.”

“Because he’s lost so much.”

“We were all friends,” Luca snaps. “We lost just as much. Hell! I was in the house! We were together! And then we got separated, and unlike someone Vox actually tried to help him out until- and I should’ve- we saw him get bit, and I couldn’t- I just, I-”

Luca shuts himself up. Your hand falls from his arm to his palm and squeezes. No life returns your gesture.

You sit in the stagnant silence.

“I’m sorry.” Luca lowers his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Get it off your chest, Luca. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I don’t think I should.” He unwraps his legs, and stands up from the ground beside you. “I’m not going to say it and be an awful friend, even if he’s acting like one.”

Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Luca already turned his back, and you sat alone from the argument as he walked away from everything.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Despite all their bickering, Shu and Vox lead the group through travel. It’s more likely that the bickering is the exact reason why. The fire iron and rebar push aside the greenery, until Vox stops with his rebar casting the brush aside. “Fucking finally.”

You catch up and look across the hill. Buildings. This used to be a small rest town in a clearing between the hills before the outbreak, but now the bright signs are dimmed out and dirtied. Not a soul lurks in the abandoned town, including the dead.

“We’re not stopping,” Shu says.

“Piss off, Shu. I’m tired.”

“You’re never going to be well-rested.”

“Then how does safe sound?”

“Not possible no matter where you go.”

“But safer than on the road-”

“Guys,” Ike interrupts. “Quit acting like toddlers.”

Vox pouts and Shu squints. None of the three want to get the next word in.

So you speak up instead. “We’re running out of supplies. If we don’t find any more food soon, then we won’t even be able to continue on the road.”

“Reader has a point,” Ike agrees.

Shu’s expression sours. “Fine. We’ll look around, but make it quick. Camping out here is a great way to get robbed.”

“Then we’ll move together and keep watch for one another,” Vox declares, and he smiles. “Welcome to the correct side, Reader, Ike. It’s good to have you on board.”

Ike rolls his eyes. “Don’t drag me into your petty fights.” You fight the urge to quip he’s already in the mess as the mediator.

But the group traverses the hills and enters the remains of the town. The ground is littered with garbage strewn about in the haste for its citizens to flee town- or for the ill-fated, become the corpses dragging along the cement.

The zombies here shamble along independent from one another. That’s the best you could ask for. The only consistent thing about zombie behavior is their danger when in swarms. Alone, they’re nothing but fetid flesh barely clinging onto the skeleton, ready to fall into a hundred pieces at one strike, but when accompanied by others? Fodder makes up for each others’ weaknesses, and no matter how competent or skilled you are, one human is nothing to a crowd of zombies on the warpath.

The zombies of this town haven’t synced up with one another, and you’d like to keep it that way. While on the road, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with small groups of zombies, but the last time your band faced off against a proper herd, you lost one.

A single zombie clambers to the front of your group. You hear metal against fabric as Ike pulls out his cleaver from its sheath, ready to do the deed, but before he can advance Shu already has his fire poker in his hands and the business end driven through the eyes of the zombie. He twists, assuring the brain is too punctured to allow the body to rise again, and the poker is back at rest. He barely even apologizes to the body as everyone trudges on.

Behind his back, Ike resheathes his weapon. He squints through his glasses, and you can read the confusion between his green eyes. Ike doesn’t meet your glance, but his expression is welcome, as unfortunate as it is. At least you’re not the only one that noticed how out of character Shu has been lately. You’re getting a sinking feeling about him.

However, the moment passes as soon as it appeared, and you and the rest of your friends rove onwards until you come across a set of stairs erring into the earth, surrounded by a dirtied glass entrance.

“Who would’ve thought?” You wonder aloud. “I never would’ve guessed this little town had a subway system.”

Vox raises his hand along the cool glass. “This could be good. The entrance is camouflage pretty well considering the damage of this town, and there might be some preserved food in vending machines. All we need to do is break ‘em.”

“And if there isn’t any food, it’s still a big area,” Ike adds. “Plenty of space and a roof over our heads.”

Luca looks down the staircase. It’s dark, but not unnavigable. The edges of the sidewalk are lined with yellow paint stripes, and features small lights along the walls from a backup generator, most likely. “It’s a good hiding place,” he says.

Luckily for everyone, Shu can already tell he’s defeated, and doesn’t put up much of a fight before you all descend down the stairs.

Not even ten minutes later Luca found a vending machine and smashed it apart with his spiked bat. Vox unwrapped a pack of Oreos with a smug smile.

The subway was no longer in operation and the trains themselves were abandoned, but you found a sign with a map of the station. The subway connected the major areas of the town together, and could be used as secret passages through the ruins.

And most interesting, there were even less zombies underground than under the sun.

“I wonder if the stairs confused them?” Luca says to himself. “Surely a few of them figured it out, since we killed some since we entered the subway, but it might be too complex for herds to come through. Or the architecture itself is confusing.”

You weren’t about to question it. This was one of the most peaceful environments you’ve entered since the outbreak, and there was no way you would ignore the moment to catch your breath, even if you can still cut through the tension with a knife.

You enter first watch with the drifting bond between everyone on your mind, and when Ike relieves you for his watch, you fall asleep in record time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

An arm jostles you awake. “Reader. Wake up, zombies.”

You curse, albeit a little groggily, but in a flash you’re on your feet. You thumb under your sleeping pad and grab your climbing picks. “I thought we were safe?”

“Not at all.” Your eyesight adjusts after you start walking, but you can already recognize the voice as Ike. Out of the corner of your eye you can spot Shu trying to shake Luca awake, and Vox gathering everyone’s things together. “They’re flooding in fast. Herds of them. Like they’re all on the same wavelength.”

“Like the townhouse.”

It dawns on you and you say it without thinking. Ike’s shoulders freeze over. “Don’t say that. Not so loudly.”

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Get your things together. They’re not here yet, but they will be soon, around the corner we came.”

Vox approaches halfway through zipping a backpack together. “We should take the next right corridor. I remember that leads to a different exit.”

“You sure it’s not the same one the zombies are coming in through?” You ask.

“Positive.”

“We need to stay ahead of the herd,” Shu said, Luca in tow. “No fighting unless absolutely necessary. If we get started now we should be able to get away without overexerting ourselves. Ready?”

No words need to be exchanged. You leave the clearing just as you found it.

A collected groan follows behind you, and a chill runs down your spine. You’ve never heard so many zombies, and never so man all in harmony. The moans arrange together in the cavernous halls, bouncing off the cement and down the station.

The urgency rises once the cries grow closer. Vox breaks out in a run, then Luca, and Shu behind him.

“Right,” Vox calls, and dives at the turn. A zombie greets him. He drives his rebar into its head and flings it away without a second thought like a lancer.

The zombie smashes against a sight with arrows to different stations. Ike swerves out of the way. “Fork ahead, where now?”

“Right? I mean-” He goes one way to view a sign, then sprints the other. “Straight! Straight!”

The dead sing. You can’t think to look back but the smell of rot is suffocating.

Your foot falls under the concrete ground in time with your family, and in time with the stumbling zombies approaching faster than you’ve ever felt before.

Luca halts in his tracks, and you thump against his back. Your mouth parts to speak but your eyes fall upon the exit.

Or rather, the lack of exit.

Boulders of broken concrete hide the stairwell from daylight.

Hot breath strangles you, and you turn with your picks in hand. Swathes of the dead are fixated on your group.

Ike runs straight-on to the choir. You scream out as one reaches for him before he turns at the last fork in the road.

You cut your scream off halfway when you follow him without a second thought.

A hand covered in dirt and mold grasps against the sleeve of your jacket. You swivel and sink your pick into the limb, and the wrist pops off under your blade. The hand goes limp and falls from the fabric.

You hear footsteps behind you, and when Luca speaks up you’re full of relief even if only for a moment. “What now?”

“Just run,” You say back, more of a guess than an order.

Shu drifts in front of you. “Where are we?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to think!”

“We don’t have time, Vox!”

“I know, Shu, shut up!”

“Going left!” Ike shouts, and you all move without question.

But you realize only after the zombies cut away the turn that the station turns more decrepit on this side. The tunnels are lined with debris and the floor crumbles away along the painted stripes.

And before you can find a new route, you see a puff of dust from the ceiling.

“The roof!” You shout. You’re gasping to breathe now, and your words stumble upon the exhale.

Shu’s eyes roll up to the flickering light, and you both see the elongated crack above your heads. It’s been in decay for years. How unlucky. How simply, brutally, lethally unlucky.

“Hurry!” He pleads. He’s at the front of the pack, followed by Vox and Luca alongside each other. Ike trails behind you.

The crack in the roof follows your every footstep even as ancient instinct kicks in. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pushes you forward, accompanied by bits of debris tangling in your hair. The flooring turns from concrete to tile, and with the dirtied mosaic comes a glimmer of hope. Surely you must be going the right way.

The zombies’ cries are loud, but the squeak of your shoe against the tiles is louder. There must be something beyond.

But the ceiling splintering out is the loudest of all.

It all happens at once:

The way that Shu turns at the sound and can’t even get one of his own out before he sees your face-

The powdered cement turning to hail in the blink of an eye-

Your war cry through gritted teeth as you launch off, the fastest you’ve ever run before-

A knife unsheathed in in warmth and frigidity in your midst-

Luca, hated, blamed, petrified.

Your brain catches up through the curtain of scrap. It’s all because of Luca. Even at his most vulnerable, you’ve never thought of him as weak. Nonetheless, his eyes are dead purple crusted against his ghost-white face, and his lips force open while a vein along his neck strains to scream out your name, but he lets out just one small, throaty heave. A miserable noise.

It silences you.

You know it, and he does too. A chunk of ceiling drops mere inches from your last step. Vox approaches, calls out your name before he’s even comprehended the truth before him. You see the dark in his pale eyes tighten into a thin reptilian pupil and he reaches out in desperation.

The last of the ceiling shatters. A broken crag hammers into his palm instead. All you hear is Shu finally get out the scream before the remains of the underground roof shuts you out from your family.

The dead rises in volume. The glimmer of hope evaporates.

You force yourself against the barricade, but your weight is no match for the pile of rubble, and you watch the zombies shamble forward with your back against the wall. The only person you have left brushes plaster away from his eyes with one arm and brandishes a knife in the other.

Ike Eveland looks like hell alive.

It would almost be hilarious if you weren’t facing a subterranean grave. His face is dirtied with mud and rubble, and the legs of his trousers are matted in blood, rot, and dirt, but even then, this is still your best friend. The years you’ve spent alongside him blend together. His once-delicate hands now bear countless scars from travel and fights, but the contours of his face are recognizable even through the dust that mars his skin.

This is an unwinnable situation. You’re locked in checkmate, but Ike stands next to you.

You speak. “No more exits, right?”

Ike swipes at his face again, and the sleeve of his mantle comes back grayer than before. “I think we both know how this ends, Reader.”

“Yeah. I do.”

You both watch the leading zombie shuffle one foot forward, and each of its followers mimic the motion.

You notice Ike’s hand against his face out of the corner of your eye. Then how his shoulders jerk up for a moment, before setting themselves in place, stony and rigid.

His words break your heart. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“I wish I could refuse all this- all this-”

He sniffs.

You move without thinking, and your mind is set. You wrap your arms around Ike.

He doesn’t even raise his hands. He just leans against your shoulder lifelessly, and lets the tears fall.

You rub his back as he hiccups into your shirt. How long has he been keeping this locked up? You ache for him and all his repression as his body goes limp against yours, the only thing keeping him standing.

“It’ll be okay.” That’s only a lie you can hope is the truth. “After all this. We’ll be okay. Shu and Vox and Luca, too. It’s a straight shot now that all the zombies are on us.”

“I’m going to miss you. All of you.”

“We’re together.”

“I’m sorry this is how it ends.”

“We still have options.”

He scoffs, even as his voice cracks through his quiet crying. “We’re trapped, Reader. There’s no way out.”

“We can still go out on our terms,” you say. You place your hand over his, the one that holds the knife. “Once we’re gone, the zombies are going to search for the other three.”

You squeeze one last time, and break away from the hug. You look upon the wave of dead flesh and rot, and draw your weapons. “I don’t want them to fight any more than they have to.”

“That’s hopeless.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not sure myself,” you admit. “It’s just that right now, I know I’m in a losing battle, and I accept that. But I don’t accept just laying down and dying like that.”

Your climbing picks cross together as you ready your eerily still mind. The blades scrape against each other. Metal sings. “And I just want to handle things calmly. After all this time, I learned that from you.”

“I don’t know how you can just remember things like that when we’re about to die.”

“I suppose I only die on my own terms. Hey.”

Ike stumbles to his feet. His knife is pointed to the ground. With a tranquility that evaded you all throughout the apocalypse, you steady his posture and guide the blade up to the dead beyond.

Your hand rises up his arm as his eyes close, and he silently murmurs to himself. You rub his shoulder. “You good?”

Ike exhales. His body lowers as he does, and with the breath comes a relaxed posture. This is the most at peace he’s been since the outbreak strangled the past world.

His eyelashes rise. Stormy green seas focus upon the staggering zombies.

“No.” Ike’s lip trembles. But he’s set on the zombies ahead, and a bolt of lightning crosses through his eyes. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good man.”

“There’s about five of them leading the pack in that corner. We can pick them off and get some more breathing room.”

“Understood, Mr. Tactical.”

“Don’t call me that.” Under the exhaustion and the fear and the grittiness that comes with crying, you hear some of that classic, joking exasperation. You snicker to yourself, but the bittersweet smile remains.

“Mr. Eveland, then.” Your sight hones in on one zombie to your right. Its jaw slides apart as it follows the scent of the fresh living. “It’s been an honor, Ike.”

“Likewise, Reader, we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s go.”

At your command, you both launch off, laser-focused on the individual dead.

Ike kicks a corpse down to knock it prone, then rakes his knife into the skull, and that’s all you can see before you throw yourself into the fray.

A one-on-one is simple. The zombie in front of you holds out a decrepit hand, perfect for your climbing pick to detach. It stumbles at the force and grants you an opening to clobber its brain in.

Rinse and repeat.

You dive between the steps of your latest kills to divert attention in time to slay another and stay moving. The trick is to use gravity to your advantage. They aren’t smart enough to stand their ground, and when they inevitably fold from the pressure of your picks, it’s like the zombies present themselves for you can finish the job.

The next target swipes at you. You jut one pick down upon the corpse and one more meets the brittle skull. This gives you enough time to duck under a lunge, sweep the leg, and aim to kill.

Something grabs your leg before you plunge the pick in. A body, dismembered from the waist up.

You yelp as yellow-black teeth rise, and frantically kick. The zombie holds on tight, but when you regain your senses, it doesn’t even see the blade incoming before the soft brain squashes in. Splatters of gore and bits of chunky nerve endings sprays against your frame while your sweat mixes in with the stench of rot and muddy mildew.

You step back to reposition. Ike’s clothing is covered in blackened blood, and you watch him plunge his knife into the chests of whatever unfortunate beast approaches next. He twists and yanks out, then goes in for a final blow between the eyes. He has a rhythm established despite the shades of rot against his mantle and shirt. It almost looks routine.

His next victim’s head rolls to the ground and breaks apart like porcelain. The brain is still in place, but the elongated gash through the nervous system confirms it would never rise again.

But one gets the jump on Ike while his back is turned, and he yells out as he thrashes. He swivels on his heel. The zombie maneuvers around even as his hands push back in a fierce gridlock. It snaps its broken jaws in Ike’s face as it snarls, and sinks its claws in. Gunk travels through its saliva.

“I got your back!” While Ike retreats, you trip the dead that crawls in front of you, and dash to his side. You drag your picks into the nape and back of the zombie’s head, and the creature goes limp just in time for Ike to shove it against the wall.

Ike catches his breath, brushes his hand against his arm, and meets your concerned look with a nod in silent gratitude. “They’re gaining on us,” he says. “You don’t need to kill all of them, disabling them is fine!”

“Got it!”

But even that is easier said than done. There are so many zombies in the herd, it looks like you haven’t even left a dent, and your space is getting limited. You hack through the edges of the herd and pray that your wild swipes cut through a limb or two.

“We’re losing turf!”

“Yeah, and I- gaah!”

Ike heaves. Your switch flips from ‘kill zombies’ to ‘check Ike’.

You follow his rasp to the corner of the room, where the ceiling crashed down. His back is pressed against the tiled wall, and he struggles to peel off his mantle.

You don’t even need to ask. His hand clutches his arm, and the chunk of flesh missing from it.

“Holy shit, Ike!” You can’t even mute yourself. Millions of warning bells go off in your head. The internals are coated in a dark membrane from where it meets the oxygen in the air, less red than it is purple, and his veins beside the mutilation rise in an ugly green.

You reach your hands out as you rip off a cut of fabric from your sleeve. “No. No, this can’t be happening-“

He slaps your hand away before you can begin to bandage the blood loss, and immediately crumples. “Don’t do that! It’s the virus!”

“There’s no way it spreads that fast-“

“It will. I don’t want you to have that.” Ike sucks in air through his teeth as he sinks to the floor.

“How did you even-“ you cut yourself off. “It was the zombie that jumped you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even notice the pain when it happened.” He curses in his native language. The green in his veins rise, and branches sprout from the veins under his graying skin, like tree bark. The rapid decay of the outbreak. “Oh, that’s not good.”

The din of the battle behind you is entirely forgotten as you focus on the uneven flesh, the imprint of the bite upon his mangled arm, how nearly every level of the wound has turned to the same rot of the zombies.

Ike’s breathing is labored. The center of his shirt is soaked with the rot of those he killed, and rises and falls shakily.

He smacks his lips, and you’re struck with the realization that talking is a strain. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

You crouch by his side and nod.

“The sheath, on my belt,” he says. “Can you unfasten it?”

You comply without question even through your blurring eyes. I can’t refuse a request from a dead man, you think, and then the weight of your thought slams you.

Ike’s unscathed hand rises from the wound, coated in slick purple gore, and brushes against the handles of his knives. The membrane pools together into beads along the handle. His fingers stop at the last slot in his sheath, and the tip of the cleaver is dyed in the beginnings of the rot.

You think you’re about to vomit your heart out.

“No.” Your voice wavers. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Ike comforts you, and you feel even more like trash. You should be the one comforting him instead. “I trust you.”

And that’s what gets the tears to spill out from your eyelashes. “But I can’t kill you.”

“You said it best earlier. Dying on your own terms, right?”

“But I can’t kill you.”

“I don't want to be one of them,” he admits. “Look around, Reader, we’re surrounded, and we both know there’s no way out. And being one of them, it’s unnatural. It’s just messed up. If I’m going to die, I want to know I’m at rest. None of this- whatever all this is.”

His head lolls to the side. “And I want to see Mysta again.”

The chorus of the dead accompanies Ike’s heavy breathing and your weeping. You are a helpless child.

“I’ll help you,” Ike adds. “I’ll tell you how I usually confirm the dead. You’re my best friend. I trust you.”

It sickens you.

You let out a puff of air as you draw your palm over your eyes. The gore across your face smears over with your tears.

You take the cleaver in your hands.

“Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“It’s the best we can do. I’m glad.”

“This is so fucked up.” You draw the cleaver with both hands, as if that would end the shaking. Even as you shut your eyes, you can’t get your resolve in place.

“The trick is to be fast,” Ike says, and it disgusts you at how easily he says it. It disgusts you even more when you know the decay is spreading as he speaks, all the way into his raspy voice. “It’s all in the wrist. That’s what keeps it precise instead of clumsy. It’s where all the force is. Don’t swing wide. Just center it where you want to hit. How are you doing?”

“Not good.” Your breathing deepens, a last-ditch effort to remain calm. “I’m scared.”

You force your eyes open. The world floods in white, then falls into the blurred grays of the subway station.

Ike is already so much worse for wear. The bite is entirely blackened, and the discolored skin stretches from his arm to his shoulder, creeping along what little you can see of his neck.

His eyelids are shut, gentle aside from the furrow in his brow.

“Me too.”

Even with his feigned nonchalance, there is so much sorrow laced between his words.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be safer,” Ike says, and even he doesn’t seem so convinced by it. “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.”

You raise the cleaver.

“Please tell Mysta I’m thinking of him. We all are, always.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Ike’s head is lowered, but you still see his attempt at a smile.

You black out as you swing.

There is no memory left of his last moment. It’s all too much to bear.

You cover your face, because looking at him is simply- just- too- much. Blood mixes in with your eyelashes, and you taste metal on your lips.

You don’t even have the energy to scream, or cry, or do anything. You are a husk, and you do not hear Ike’s cleaver clatter to the floor. There is nothing.

Your body moves without your command. You step back, and even though you refuse to look, you know you’re backing away from Ike. Your heart hammers, and so do your limbs. It spreads in droves, this pressure of heartbreak, constricting you and squeezing you apart.

Daggers fall into your skin. You snap out of your stupor.

But once you identify the daggers as teeth, you wish you didn’t.

You tear your hands away from your face as a glob of rot (his rot, you realize, and you can’t even begin to wrap your head around that) flicks out in an arc. The hammering- it’s claws raking against your flesh and tearing you apart like meat.

While you accompanied Ike in his last moments, the outbreak stopped for no one, least of all you. You are no invulnerable main character. You blocked out the roaring chorus as he lay, but it continued outside of your little bubble, and with your back turned they absorbed the last of your free space for a perfect siege.

You veer your head away out of instinct when the teeth pull away, and takes a bite of muscle out with it. The pain is blinding hot- you finally regain your voice in time to screech, but it drowns out through the zombie moans.

A second set of jaws snaps you up. Already your head is spinning, and when you see the sinew from the corner of your vision you resist the urge to faint. If you take a look at the broken skin and extruding vine-veins again, you know you’re going to black out again, and never wake up.

You force your sight to anything else.

You make the mistake of looking into zombie eyes for the third time in your life.

But this time you don’t retain the memory, either. Because for as little time you have left, how could you live knowing that your best friend’s peaceful green eyes snapped open in terror in his final moment?

You choke out, and whether it’s from pain or grief or pure fear, you can’t even tell. Just that it all mixes together into a toxic blend, the poison of your undoing.

And to think, you had the gall to meet such a grisly end head-on minutes ago.

On the ground, next to his limp foot, the steel edge of Ike’s cleaver winks at you.

It’s all in the wrist, he told you, and your blood burns into dust. But Ike is gone, now, and for as horrified as his melted remains were, he was certainly watching your every move.

And the infection is unnatural, and climbs along your shoulder, and there is no agony in the world like this fate.

And you wanted to see Mysta again.

With the last of your strength you regain your legs, and kick off one zombie from your leg. It topples and gives you enough time to shake off another that has you grappled.

The weight shift combined with your blood loss makes you hit the ground hard, but you scrape at the floor nonetheless. You are so weak, and you struggle, so focused on the glint of the blade that you ignore your skin crack apart like mud in a drought.

You reach, bloodied and battered, and so close to rest.

The washed light shines off the cleaver. Its reflection teases you as a monster snatches your foot and send you back into the horde like a toy.

You emit your final scream, and that too dies as hundreds of hands hold you back. Your body and blood is swallowed by the herd of dead.

When you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, the dark in your mind rearranges to replicate the cleaver. Then it flattens, and you see the haunted remains of Ike Eveland between it.

The only sound left is teeth meeting bone.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland angst #luca kaneshiro #mysta rias #shu yamino #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #luxiem angst #4402 writes #bsprites #STEALTH PROTOMEN REFERENCE BABEY #this is a bit clumsy but i'm glad it was over 10k words i wonder if saying so much is just my style now #how much of a coinky dink is it that i was binging luca's twd streams and a bunch of southern gothic music when i was writing this #i'll post the full au notes i had operating tomorrow i think

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just-avocado · 10 months ago

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So I stayed up until like four last night writing down the lyrics for the Circe Saga because it’s incredible and Spotify didn’t have lyrics yet but since tumblr doesn’t want me to post pics rn for some reason I’ll just try again later and instead talk about the songs!!! :D

Puppeteer- The intro instrumental lives in my head to rent and so does Eurylochus’s rap part, I need to know what he was going to tell Odysseus he sounded so vulnerable- I swear this guy is climbing up my favorite characters list, I do find it interesting how he wanted to leave the crew behind with Circe when later in Mutiny he confronted Odysseus for “trading the lives of his crew” in order to get home so hopefully that means he had a change and heart and wasn’t just being a hypocrite, I also love how the Circe Saga as a whole but especially Puppeteer and There Are Other Ways really highlight how terrible Odysseus feels about everything he’s done, everyone he’s failed or killed since leaving home, I need to know how he goes from hating himself to embracing all he’s done

Uhh favorite lines!

“Look at all we’ve lost and all we’ve learned, Every single cost is so much more than what we’ve earned” SING IT Eurylochus

Wouldn’t You Like- HEHEHEH I absolutely adore the synthwave-y aspects of the song I’m a huge lover of synthwave vibes as of recent, I would genuinely vibe to the instrumental all day long, Mr. Jalapeño release the instrumental versions pLplzplz 🙏, I’m sure we all know by know that Troy is the real Hermes there’s no other way he can bring THAT much charisma to the role, I’ve seen charisma before but never like that oh my god, I also love his unhinged laugh so much idk how he does it but I want to learn, also when I was writing the lyrics I had to stop for a sec and be like “is this song just Hermes giving his great grandson drugs ooor-“ because that’s 100% something he would do

Favorite lines…

Just the entire “Here in the root of this flower, There lies such a power, To take her on” segment of the song it’s just 👌

Also the part where he’s going OOOhoOhohAhahdph while the ensemble sings his verses his voice is so BEAUTIFUL and POWERFUL oh my GOD

“Don’t thank me friend! You very well may die” I chuckled so loud lmao

And his little “Good luck 😉” he’s so silly he knows shit is going to go down

Done For- okay was the lyric for this song always “I just ate a flower, one that claims your power” cuz I could have sworn it was drains your power but I might just be crazy, also chimera supremacy I love that Jorge was able to find a way to implement it, Jorge and Talya’s voices sound so great together I need more 😭, I also love that this song starts to hint at more depth behind Circe’s actions idk who out here thinks she’s a meh one-note/one-off villain but she’s not!! I’ll make a 50 page PowerPoint on this don’t test me!!

Fav lines…

“You’ve lost.” Okay Odysseus 🤡

“My nymphs are like my daughters, I protect them at all costs, The last time we let strangers live, We faced a heavy loss.” This!! This is what I’m saying she feels like she has no choice other than to hurt people so that the people she loves will stay safe, she’s literally Odysseus further down the line! it’s so fascinating to see a character like this facing off against the main protagonist bc at this point in the story we don’t know what kind of person he will become yet and yet Jorge shows us with Circe Ahdldhnsbdk

There Are Other Ways- Okay I’ll be honest, this song was the last one on my radar not bc I didn’t like it but because I was just looking forward to others so much more and it was also the one I intentionally heard less clips of because I wanted at least one song that I didn’t already know half of the lyrics to 💀 ANYWAY THIS ONE IS THE BEST SONG IN THE CIRCE SAGA CHANGE MY MIND (I’m so sorry Troy I love your voice but this song is simply better) Dude the lyrics go soso hard in this one, I’m such a sucker for one character having like a big emotional moment while another is like singing/backing them up in the background and there’s so much of that here, and the call backs? Both to earlier songs in the saga AND Just A Man, my favorite song Just A Man? Every call back to that song is just so RAW I LOVE IT, I don’t know a ton about Greek mythology outside of Epic so I dont know if Circe and Posideon have this past beef or something but I do find it interesting that it’s only after he is mentioned that Circe decides to help Odysseus but I also think it’s larger due to how he reminds her of herself with how he misses Penelope, UM THE BEAT DROP after the underworld is mentioned for the first time??? CHILLS SHIVERS EVERYTHING dude I love how the entire atmosphere changes so much because yes this could be Odysseus’ only change to make it home safely but it’s also so much more dangerous than the shitty situation they’re already in so there’s not even time for relief or a breath of air like he’s IN it now there’s no going back

Best lyrics omfg…

“There are other roads to the soul~” Talya, Tayla. This is why some of us can’t sing, the universe needs balance and you are the only explanation for that

“Want to save your men from the fire? Show me that you’re willing to burn” 😐 AAAAAH

“But there’s no puppet here” get it puppeteer? Puppet here? I thought it was clever lol

“Back at home, my wife awaits for me, She’s my everything, My Penelope” The yearning in his voice made me feel things

“So I beg you Circe, Grant us mercy, And let us puppets leeeeave~” We have literally never seen Odysseus use this sort of tactic before to get his way but I genuinely think he’s being genuine here, no play, he only wants to see his wife and son again, he’s so close to giving up hope, he’s losing his spirit, he’s searching for any sliver of help even from a women who wants him dead

“I know of a brilliant prophet… Problem is that prophets dead.” Again the cord or piano key I think it was was so AH SO GOOD AH I am foaming at the mouth for when we start getting teasers for the Underworld Saga

“Maybe showing one act of kindness, Leads to kinder souls down the road” someone make an au where Polities and Circe become besties she needs a friend like him but don’t we all, but seriously THIS is what I’m saying!! She is future Odysseus! Only difference being is that she’s so tired of hurting people at this point she decides to take a chance and give help rather than pain in the hopes that it will somehow contribute to a kinder world

“Maybe one day the world, Will need a puppeteer no more” this is her plea for help, she yearns for the day where she won’t need to be a monster in order to protect her nymphs, for Odysseus his plea was for him and his men to leave, they both showed such vulnerability in this song in different ways its ART ITS ART *gun shot*

“I have been in love once before” She even had her own Penelope guys, this is the true reason why she decided to help Odysseus methinks

Okay uhhh I think that’s it ^_^ Circe Saga rules, it might be my fav saga I’ll decide soon

#epic the musical #epic the circe saga #epic the troy saga #epic odysseus #epic polites #epic circe #epic eurylochus #disclaimer for BANGER SONGS #okay I should probably close my eyes or something I’m running in a solid two hours #Circe saga is more important than sleep lmao

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rizzraa · 8 months ago

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ᯓ★Jams and Jellies

Chapter 2: Longing for You (part 1)

A/N: Another one, Another one. I've been so lazy trying to write this out, I should've done an outline first. Hope you enjoy chap 2!

Tags: mainly fluff, friends to lovers, post outbreak, yearning and burning, slight age gap (i decided reader is in late 30s, Joel is in early 50s), reader insert, mentions of y/n, cute nicknames, shy n awkward Joel, Joel x f!reader, passionate kissing, touchy touchy Feely (nothing too graphic), small description of reader's body (very vague),

chap 1 // chap 2 (part 2)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"Joel, I-- are.. are you sure this is okay? I mean.. Ellie is my student.. won't this be weird?"

"You worry too much, darling. The kid adores you." He hold your cheek in his hands, gazing longingly in your eyes. Suddenly, you see the immense love he has for you. His eyes are sparkling and glowing, and anytime he looks at you, you see flickers of love and warmth fly by. You turn your head slightly and part your lips, moving towards his face. Joel reciprocates this by pulling your face closer to his.

And then, your lips connect. A burst of colors and waves fill the room as you both slowly and softly kiss.

Holy shit you think, His lips are so amazingly soft. Oh God...

You grab the sides of his face, mushing your faces together, desperate for more. Your kisses get hungrier and hungrier. You explore his tongue with your own, changing the nature of the kiss. Joel is surprised with the sudden change, but immediately follows your pace. You both sit there, sloppily making out. His hands travel from your face to your body, not leaving any curve or cervice untouched. He's so desperate to touch you, feel you. It's clear he likes your ass the most, because he suddenly pulls you on top of him and firmly squeezes both cheeks. You yelp slightly, but it's lost in his mouth. He chuckles and pulls away, both of you gasping for air.

You both lock eyes with each other, and then...

"HEY TEACH---" you hear someone screaming your name, "ARE YA AWAKE???" Your eyes jerk open. You take a moment to finally wake up, heavily breathing. You look around and suddenly you realized--- it was a dream. "Oh fuck.." You whisper. You rest your hand on your chest, trying to calm down. God, was it all really just a dream? It felt so real.

I can't believe I'm already having wet dreams of a man I met ONCE, you admit embarrassingly.

"MISS!!! IT'S SATURDAY!" Shit. You completely forgot that Ellie was coming over today. You rush down the stairs, yelling "I'll be there in a sec, Ellie!" How could you forget? Your mind is running a mile a minute, nonstop thinking about your fantasies about Joel ever since you met him. "Aw, jeez..." You almost miss last step. You take a moment to regain your balance and stare at the front door, hoping that Joel wouldn't be there, yet simultaneously wishing he'd be there next to Ellie.

You take a breath, smooth your hair, and open the door. Ellie is waiting there, greeting you with an energetic smile and.. Joel is standing by the steps, visibly annoyed. You take a quick look and see he's leaning on the rails of the steps, buff arms crossed against his chest, which only makes him look bigger. God, he's handsome. The morning breeze hits you, and you just realized you're only in a flimsy tank-top and way too tight shorts. Joel turns to face you, eyebrows narrowing his eyes, but they quickly separate and rise up to his forehead. He was definitely staring at you. His flushed face was eyeing your body, and he had to turn away when your nipples started peeking through your top. You wrapped yourself in your arms, embarrassed and flushed, yet ecstatic that you managed to catch his attention. You begin nervously. "Oh, uh, sorry-- Ellie, I guess I overslept.." Joel notices your red face when you say that. "Come on in, guys."

"Oh no- I have patrol duty this mornin'" Joel quickly says. He clears his throat, painfully averting his gaze from your almost-bare body. "Y..Y'sure you don't want anything to eat?" You gulped, not wanting to sound to hopeful. "No--" He says sharply. "I'll see you at home Ellie." He briskly turns away and walks down the road.

"Jeez-- I don't know why he's so fucking mad. It's only 10am, I should've came later." Ellie suddenly said. You watch as Joel's figure gets smaller, until he disappears around the corner.

"It's alright Ellie, you're welcome here anytime." You said sweetly. "Now-- let's get this party started! Come on in!" You pulled her in, the both of you giggling and getting started for the day.

===========

Joel Miller's POV

He stood there next to Ellie, getting slightly annoyed that you didn't answer the door the first 500 knocks. He's a very punctual person, he expects every thing to fall into place at times he deems right. So when you don't answer your door at 9:30:00 AM on the dot, he starts getting frustrated. He was also hoping you all could grab some breakfast together, since his morning shift starts at 10am. What good is that now? He grumbles.

"Yer acting like a fucking baby, Joel. Just go if you're gonna act like this, it's embarrassing." Ellie teases

"I ain't acting like a baby, she's the one that gave this time. I'm expectin' her to swing the doors open with a huge smile." He says begrudgingly. He really wanted to see your smile again. It was cute and earnest; the sweet sound of your laughter fluttering his chest. He gets lost in his thoughts about you even if Ellie is banging on the door. After 30 minutes passed, Joel and Ellie were about to head out. He felt a sting in his chest, deeply disappointed that he couldn't see you today. Then he heard your sweet sweet voice filling the spaces of your house. "I'll be there in a sec, Ellie!", he heard you say. His heart started to bang heavy in his chest, and he never felt as light as he did now. Ellie rushes to the front door and Joel awkwardly leans on your railing, quickly crossing his arms to try and calm his pounding heart. He can't believe he's gonna see you again. He's acting like a teenage boy all over again, unreasonably ecstatic that he's gonna see his crush walking in the highway again. He hears the door unlock and then... you're there. Messy hair; clearly a sign indicating you just woke up, puffy lips, and... the straps of your top are slipping off your soft shoulder. Your collarbone protruding out, framing your shoulders and your sweet neck. His eyes travel down and he notices the way your small shorts squeezes your thighs; he's practically salivating at the sight of your pretty and bare legs. He feels the slight wind raise his head and his eyes fall on your breasts, your nipples slightly protruding against the thin fabric. He forced himself to turn away before he continued ogling at your beautiful body. His mind is already forcing him to think of how you'd feel under his hand, how you'd taste. Your soft voice interrupts his lustful thoughts,

"Oh uh, sorry Ellie, I guess I overslept..", Joel notices how your face quickly picking up heat. God she's so cute, Joel thinks.

"Come on in guys."

"Oh no- I have patrol duty this mornin' " He blurts out. Why did you say that? They can fuckin' wait.

"Y..Y'sure you don't want anything to eat?" Your sweet voice intoxicates him, and he has to get out of there before he does something he'll regret.

"No-- I'll see you at home Ellie." He rushes down the road, practically running down the street, and makes a sharp turn in the corner. He runs and runs until he reaches the stables, stopping to catch his breath. "Hey there, you okay?" Tommy, a younger version of Joel, asked. Joel turns to face his brother hating the way his voice shakes when he says "Yes".

"You don't look so hot man, maybe you should sit this one out--"

"No--, M'good I promise. Let's head out."

Tommy peers at him curiously, "Sure boss.."

Joel, Tommy, and other patrolmen go out, scouring the area for any threat. Joel and Tommy pair together and venture out West, paying close attention to their surroundings. Well-- Tommy is paying attention, Joel still can't stop thinking about you, your sweet voice trying to convince him to come inside, your beautiful body shining against the sun's rays--

"Hey Tommy, what d'yknow 'bout that art teacher?" Joel hesitantly asks. Tommy has been nagging him about engaging with the women in Jackson, but Joel didn't have much interest and wished dearly for Tommy to stop. His back is facing his brother, but he can see his lips mischievously curl up.

"Ohhhh, did she catch yer sly eye, brother?" Tommy was never going to let Joel live this down. The older brother turned and gave his brother a deadly stare, but it's not so intimidating when his face is flushing red. "I- M'just curious-- Ellie is at her house today. Jus' wanted to know who she is." Joel said that last part with such softness, it startles Tommy. The mere mention of you sends Joel through his wildest dreams, his heart aching and yearning for you. How long has it been since I felt like this?

"All I know is that she arrived to Jackson a completely different person. When we found her roaming the forest, she looked... scared. Then she started cryin', sayin' something' like 'Oh my God, people!' It was heartbreakin'." Tommy remembered how you fell to your knees, crying and smiling because you found friendly people, you found safety. Him and his wife, Maria, took care of you. They helped you readjust to society. They helped you grow and feel safe. Joel looked at his brother again, realizing how much he's changed, how grown up his little brother got. A twinge of guilt rises in his heart, "How is she-- I mean.., does she get uncomfortable 'round guys?" Joel sputters out. Tommy looked at his brother and said slyly, "Why? You interested or something?" Joel doesn't say anything, he just looks at Tommy with narrowed eyes and bright red cheeks.

"Okay, all I know is that all the eligible bachelors 'round here never got in her pants, cuz she's more friendly then flirty. I don't even think she knows half the time them fellas are hittin' on 'er."

Joel simply says "Let's get this shift over with."

"Eager, aren't we?" Again, Joel doesn't say anything, but his body language betrays him, and he leaves Tommy as he hears a hearty laughter.

=========

Reader's POV

You rest your paintbrush on the table beside you. You step back to take a long look at your painting of your tiny garden. The canvas is tinted with greens and yellows, skillfully stroked to form the grass, plants, and leaves. It's adorned with bright reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows, indicating the fruit and vegetables growing as well as the bright, mellow, midday sun shining down on you and Ellie. You glance at Ellie; she's squatted by your small flowerbed, expertly sketching each petal, each stem, each rock. "It's looking good, Ellie," You walk over to her, casting a shadow over her and her sketchbook.

"Thanks, teach" she turns her neck and smiles at you.

You look over at your garden, noticing your lemons are ripe.

"Hey, want some lemonade?" You piqued.

"Fuck yeah I do, it's fucking blazing out here." Ellie said with a grin. You laugh and start picking out the lemons. Ellie walks over to you and asks, "How do you know if they're ripe?" "Well..." You pick a lemon off of the plant and place it in Ellie's hand "..you give it a squeeze. If it's firm, then it's good." She squeezes it and smiles "This fucker is ripe as hell!" You giggled, and continue "Another way to tell is by the skin. It could be greenish yellow, or completely yellow."

"Where'd you learn that?"

You smile sadly, "I learned it from my.. my mom." She wasn't your real mom, but she was definitely a mother to you. You spent more of your life with her than with your actual mother-- but that's only because of the outbreak. You loved your real mom, but you called her your true mother. She raised you and your brother, taught you both how to survive. Those who can't do, teach.

"She taught me everything I know, she taught me how to live and how to survive. It's crazy how those both are synonymous but mean different things."

"Yeah, it is crazy.. I bet she was amazing." Ellie looked at you with empathy. It wasn't pity, she understood you. You smiled and collected the rest of the lemons. "Yeah.. yeah she really was. Now-- let's go inside and I'll show you how to make her lemonade recipe."

You lead her inside. The floor feels cool underneath your feet. It welcomes you from the scorching sun. You and Ellie spend way too long for a simple lemonade recipe. Your small kitchen wasn't built for 2 people; accidents were bound to happen. You both laugh as sugar and lemon juice spill on the floor, but it ends up tasting decent.

"So, what's your story? How did you end up here-- How did you end up with Joel?" Of course you wanted to know more about your student, but you'd be lying if you didn't ask to learn more about Joel instead.

"Well... long story short, we both ran into each other and saved each others lives." She says quickly

"Pff-- ran into each other??"

"Yeah, we did." Ellie becomes quiet, so you decide to drop the subject. I can't imagine what she has gone through.

You both spend the rest of the afternoon hours talking about favorite music, favorite artists, favorite foods. You show her collections of exquisite knickknacks, rocks, and minerals during your journey of survival. You share some of your fondest memories - memories before the outbreak, with Ellie. She gobbles it up with delight.

"Say, do you wanna go get some lunch outside?" You suggest

"Lunch?? Don't you mean dinner??" You looked at the clock, and it read 6:01. "Wow... I didn't know we were talking for that long!" Ellie laughs, "Yeah, let's go out for some LUNCH."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry (not sorry) for dragging this out 😈😈😈

Please lmk what your thoughts, I'm all EARS 🩷

#joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel miller x reader #tlou fluff

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annislittleshopofhorrors · 7 months ago

Note

Can i vent in your asks for a sec? feel free to post or not k

thanks

lol

anywho

If this movie with Chris and Dakota had happened last year or the year before, I’d be losing my shit rn. As a bi woman who had a thing for both Chris and Dakota, I’d have been fangirling so hard over that kissing scene but now…after 🐟and the whole wedding fiasco, its like 😐🤷🏻‍♀️ nada

I’m just sad where things are now. I feel like we got sucked into an alternate universe where everything is fucking backwards (and that’s not just about this whole mess—whether it’s PR or real) I used to write chris fanfic and was pretty damn good at it—if I do say do myself. Now I can’t even have that writing app on my phone anymore. I still write—but just for me. I used to get excited for his new projects but now it’s like meh whatever. I used to think he cared about his fans but now it feels like his fandom was a burden to him and like the best part he ever played was Chris Evans because that man he showed us all for 20 years was a facade—a brand he used to make money. He doesn’t value the things he said he did. He’s not the man I thought he was. And I’m kind of embarrassed I fell for it all. It doesn’t help that May is always so fucking hard for me personally. I lost my mom in May and it doesn’t get any easier.

end rant

time to go put my big girl pants on and suck todays 🍆 lmao

✌️

First of all, I'm so sorry for your loss. There are no words that can heal these wounds but I would like to express my deepest sympathy. 🤍❤️

I understand you, even though I don't fully agree with you. But I had a hard time after the kinda ceremonies. I thought I would never make gifs again. But it changed after awhile and sometimes I just love to post gifs when someone else is desperate and seeking attention. So, I really hope you won't give up your writing.

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illicien · 7 months ago

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @hiddenxplaces-blog

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,098,853

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Marvel. Specifically TFATWS at the moment.

4. Top five fics by kudos:

Time-Lost (IronStrange) Fathomless (IronStrange) Scribbles On Our Souls (DrPepperony) Heart of Gold (IronStrangeFrost) Persistence (IronStrange)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Almost every time. Sometimes I get a bit caught up or delayed, but typically I respond to comments pretty regularly. I love chatting with readers!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't think I've actively posted the fic with the truly angsty ending, yet, so I think the closest is probably a bittersweet ending with Still Here. (IronStrange / Stephen & Peter)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well this one took a sec. Keeper (IronStrange), probably?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh not typically to my face, no.

9. Do you write smut?

Yep.

10. Craziest crossover:

I don't really do crossovers, so really the only crossover I can think of plainly is the DRoP/IronStrange fic we did, Heart of Gold.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I've seen so far.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A fair few of them. 💓

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep. A few!

14. All time favorite ship?

"All-time"? Time hasn't ended, I could hardly say. 😏

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point? Embraced. And I'm so sorry to everyone who was waiting for more.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Wait you want me to say nice things about myself? Goddamnit. I used to think dialogue was a weakness of mine, but I think I've improved a lot over the last couple of years since writing scripts necessitated writing solid dialogue, so I'm pretty confident in that, now. I'm also fairly strong where creating lore and histories are concerned; you want me to explain the magic in a universe? I've got you. You want to know the history of a region? I've got that down, too. World-building in general is my bread and butter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Does "actually finishing a story" count? The reality is, I lose motivation really easily. I function best when I have someone to consistently bat ideas and things back and forth with, otherwise I get severely in my head about things to the detriment of whatever I'm writing. I also rely more heavily on degree modifiers than I should, and while I'm aware of it I still suck at minimizing it.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I find it highly dependent on whose PoV the story is in. If the PoV character doesn't speak the language, I love being just as confused as them by not knowing the language. If the PoV character does speak the language I can be a little more picky about it, unless it's simply a singular word of endearment or something, because those can be difficult to translate even if you know both of the languages. But I have a love of and fascination with languages.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Uh.... Yu-Gi-Oh!, I think?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

What an excellent question. I'm actually really proud of (Loss Of) Control (WinterBaron). I set out with some really specific goals for what I wanted to accomplish with it, and I mostly succeeded. There's definitely a section that's weaker than the others, but I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone and made an effort to tackle a trope I'd never written in fic, and to tackle an element of that trope that I felt like I wanted to see handled more in depth. And I'm proud of the result.

Tagging -> @descaladumidera @atypical-snowman @amethyst-noir @jeromesankaraao3

@the-elle-kat @kiki-shortsnout @turtleoftheabyss

#tag game #fic tag game

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howlingday · 2 years ago

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Jaune: Ren, I need somebody to pretend to be my dad, and you're the only guy friend I can trust.

Ren: Why not Qrow, or Oscar?

Jaune: Qrow is out on a mission, and Oscar...

Ren: Has Ozpin.

Jaune: Who I can't trust. Please, can you help me?

Ren: If I'm the only option. Why do you need me to pretend to be your dad?

Jaune: Because I feel a need to talk to him, and I need to practice.

Ren: ...Okay. I'll approach you tomorrow as your father. I'll need to research the character.

Jaune: Heh heh, sure, Ren. (Leaves)

Ren: (Pulls up scroll) Let's see... What does his social media say...

Ren: He's big... works out... enjoys whittling and wood-carving... prefers tea over coffee... Hm, what's this?

Ren: (Reading) "Hey, for those of you Lovely Huntresses who don't know, my account was hacked. Follow me here at..."

Ren: Hm, it sounds like he's a womanizer. But why would he post that on social media? (Clicks link)

Ren: ...Oh. That's why.

---------------------------------------------------

Knock, knock, knock...

Ren: (Muffled, Through the door) Jaune, let me in! This is your father!

Jaune: (Chuckles) Wow, he actually sounds like Dad. Yeah, just a sec, Dad! What's up-

Jaune opens the door to reveal a tall woman with long, blonde hair, scarlet red lipstick, a long, black cocktail dress split on the side, and blue high heels.

Jaune: DAD?!

Ren: (Falsetto) It's about time you opened the door.

Jaune: Ren, what the hell is this?!

Ren: Open up your ears, Jaune! I have something important to say!

Jaune: REN! STOP!

Ren: (Regular voice) Is something wrong, Jaune?

Jaune: Yes, there is! Why are you dressed (Gestures) like that?!

Ren: I'm dressed as your dad, like you asked.

Jaune: That is not my dad! My dad wouldn't wear high heels and a black dress!

Ren: I can't confirm the heels, since he was usually sitting down, but he was definitely wearing the dress.

Jaune: BULL! My dad is this big, scary guy who could snap me in half if he wanted to!

Ren: Yes, and his other profile shows that he's a Lovely Huntress, who enjoys singing trashy love songs, long walks in the park, and hanging out with his girls.

Jaune: What?!

Ren: (Pulls out scroll) Here, just look.

Jaune: I... That's... I... I need a minute.

Ren: Is something wrong?

Jaune: Yes! I mean, no! I mean... I don't know, I just never saw my dad that way. He was always Nicholas Arc, Patriarch of the Arcs. Now he's Catarina Spurr, and drinks fruity drinks with other guys in dresses?!

Ren: To be fair, you wore a dress.

Jaune: I did, but that was because I lost a bet. And Pyrrha needed to smile that night.

Ren: Are you... okay?

Jaune: I just... need to process this.

Ren: ...Do you want to hear his latest post as Catarina?

Jaune: Sure.

Ren: (Reading) "To all my Lovely Huntresses, I'm sorry about the mess you saw me in. Last night, before heading out, I was cleaning the house and found my son's baby book. He looked so small and precious, and now he's gone from my life. I probably should have stayed home, but I'm a huntress of my word, and I didn't want you to spend your night missing me. Jaune, if you can somehow read this, know that I love and miss you."

Ren: It has multiple hearts.

Jaune: (Sniff) Thanks, Ren.

Ren: Do you have anything to say to your dad?

Jaune: Yeah, I do.

---------------------------------------------------

Papa Arc: Honey, what do you think? Pearls or no pearls?

Mama Arc: Well, Pearls are usually so tacky, but I think you can pull it off?

Papa Arc: Hm. Better play it safe and say no pearls. ...Ah, what the hell! I'll take 'em and show them off to the girls, see what they think.

Mama Arc: (Giggles) Alrighty.

Papa Arc: (Scroll buzzes) That's probably them asking what I want. Like they don't already know. (Looks) New follower?

Papa Arc: (Reading) "Hello, Catarina, my name is Ren. I wanted to get your opinion on my dress before going out. My friend says the blue clashes with the black, but I told him I was matching your style. Could you give me your opinion?"

Papa Arc: (Taps) Mm, it looks fine to me. Bit bland, but it'll work. (Scrolls down, Reading) By the way, this is my friend. He says..."

Nicholas tapped his scroll to reveal the next picture. He grumbled, preparing to see something inappropriate and block and report this Ren character for wasting his time. But the image caught his breath. In it was a young man, blond hair, blues eyes, and sweetest smile anyone ever saw. On his lips were the same scarlet lipstick his friend had. With quivering breath, he read the message his son had for him.

Papa Arc: (Reading) "...I miss you, Dad."

Papa Arc: DAMN IT ALL TO HE-HE-HELL!

Mama Arc: Honey, what's wrong?!

Papa Arc: (Sniffs, Hands over scroll) Our boy just ruined my mascara! (Sniffs) Again!

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #papa arc #mama arc

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clovesnz · 2 years ago

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Here is the bus story I mentioned in my pole! I'm not quite as confident in this one since it isn't as..well..rampantly steamy as the last bit of writing I posted was, but I hope you still find it enjoyable! I'm still not quite sure about the ending, so lmk what you think. Once again I am new at this so please be gentle lol

Description: snzy meet-cute on the bus during the height of allergy season. Mentions of mess, stifling, embarrassment, a bit of stuffy talk, and blue surgical masks as makeshift tissues.

* * * *

The woman sitting in front of me just…keeps sneezing

God she just won’t stop. I was sitting with my legs propped up against her seat when she started, and I can feel it move every time she bends over.

It’s kind like of a “heEEhshiew” sort of sound, but than every once in a while it’s like she decides she’s going to get it under control and stifle it, which results in a snotty squelching sound and then even louder sneezes afterwords. So I don’t know why she keeps doing it. In an act of self preservation I sit up straight so that my knees are no longer against her chair. She keeps catching the sneezes with her open hand, and then looking up and closing her eyes as she pinches and rubs her nose. She clearly doesn’t have a handkerchief, and I watch in aw as she brings her hand into sleeve and blows her nose right on the cuff of it. I see a glimpse of the shining snot dripping from it as she lowers her hand to wipe the sleeve on the edge of her pants.

Someone was blessing her when she started but they got off a few stops ago, and everyone else has lost interest.

Well besides me. I don’t realize how much I’m staring until she glances back self consciously and sees me, and with another swipe at her nose and a thick sniffle and cringes “sorry, I promise I’m not sick, just ah..allergIEXZ! -”

Startled, I smile awkwardly. God, her nose is so perfect. It’s long and slightly rounded, with dainty nostrils that are twitching and stingingly red. “Oh! No," I hurry, "it’s okay, your fine!” I feel my cheeks warm. That was a stupid thing to say, I mean clearly she’s not fine. She’s already turned back, but I hear myself say “or, I mean- are you?”

Before she can answer she’s overcome by another sneeze, one hand on the back of her seat and the other unabashedly receiving the aftermath. “HHhheeESHIEW!!!!” *snifflle* she looks up, “huh?”

I try not to stare as she wipes her nose down half the length of her forearm in a desperate attempt to keep it’s contents off her face.

“Um, are you okay?”

*snurfff* “yeah I just can’t - HEH - can’t get my ndose to c - calm down and I don’t h-hhhheeeEEETCHIEWW, *snxggg* , ack sorry. Umb, I dond’t have endythig to blow mby ndose with cause a forgot mby…a - a - a - aATTCHEIW!! *snxgxs* *snfff * my stupid bag that had mby tissues in it.”

She continues to work at her nose with the back of her hand, and trying not to continue staring, I look around the bus instead for anything that might help. There aren’t a lot of passengers left, and the driver only has hand sanitizer, no tissues. I would offer the sweater I took off earlier, but that would come across…yeah, we’re not doing that. But then my eyes meet the little box of blue masks that they keep next to the first row of seats. That…maybe that could work.

I ask, “Do you want me to try and find you something?” I feel a little uncomfortable engaging with the situation so much, but hey, even if it’s being earned for slightly unorthodox reasons, at least my attention might get the poor girl some help.

She laughs a little nervously, “oh my god, *sngx*, I don’t want to bother people more than I already am”

Gosh, the poor thing. She’s letting out soupy sniffles with every other word.

“Hold on a sec” I say to her, and I walk to the front of the bus and grab a handful of the blue surgical masks from the little box they have hanging. The mandate on busses has been long gone, they must just keep them around on principal now. As I walk back I take one of them out of them out of its plastic wrapper, handing it it to her when I reach her and setting the rest of the masks on the empty seat next to her.

“Think you could use this?” She looks at it with confusion for a fraction of a second, before noticing the others I brought and registering that I am in fact suggesting she use them like tissues. She laughs, “oh! yeah, that…that could work, *snnngkxx*, I never would have thought of that,” she says as she takes the mask from me, “thankgs.” She pulls open the folds so that she has more area to work with, and than presses it to her face and lets out a gurgling, bubbling blow that turns to honking at the end as she works each nostril. I sit back in my seat behind her and try not to shift, awkwardly.

She folds the mask neatly in half, and to my amazement slips it over her wrist, like a little snot filled handbag. Then she unwraps the next one, still sniffling and sneezing despite the impressive blow. I watch as she unwraps one after the other, filling each with spittle and snot as she sneezes and sneezes and blows and sneezes into each one. My stop is announced and I pull the stop signal, and she looks back at me for a second with a very itchy smile and says “oh hey, that’s mby stop too.” “Oh nice!” I respond, and stand up to swing my backpack over my shoulder. I wasn’t planning on trying to talk to her more. She’s dealing with shit and I would probably be too nervous to make coherent conversation. But now she’s trying to gather all the clear plastic wrappers off of the seat where she’d dropped them, and her hands are already full with snot-filled masks, and she still has a bag on the other side of her that she’ll need to somehow to carry out. And the poor thing is still bending forward to sneeze every few seconds. So in spite of myself, I turn back to her and ask “hey uh, do you want me to get your bag for you?” “TttttchIEW!!” she looks down at her trash-filled hands, and then reaches the back of one of them up to her nose. “Oh! Uhm, yeah sure.” Her face is already red, but I could swear she blushes just a little as she steps back to let me grasp the bag from off of her seat. To the panging of my heart she still thanks the buss driver between sniffles, and he gives her a sympathizing look as we step off of the bus and into the afternoon air.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day, and only just getting a little chilly with a soft breeze that’s started up since I got on the bus. But it is also the cusp of spring, and any doubts I had about what exactly this woman is allergic to are blown away by the tremendous sneeze she lets out the moment she steps off the bus and into the spring air.

"HHhhhEEYAATCHIEWW!!!"

The froce of it almost knocks her over, and she manages to let some of the plastic wrappers flutter down around her and onto the sidewalk. Before she has time to pick them up she is hit with the most desperate, breathless fit a sneezes I have possibly witnesses. She is doubled over, still clutching one of the soaked-through masks to her nose, and just letting out one after another after another.

"HAATCHIEWW!!-eeTChiew! hhiiiiETCHIEW! ETCHIEW! ETCHIEW! ETCHIEW! ETs-eeATSCHIEW - ETCHIEW - ETChew - eeEchIEW!!! HIIIeeeeeeeeETCHIEWWW!!! TSHIEWWW!!! TTTSSSHIEWW!!!"

The wrappers flutter in the breeze a little and I realize someone has to pick them up or they'll fly away. I scurry over and on my knees, start to pick them up. She has break enough to notice, and tries to muster an apology

"I'mb sorry I - I - tttssssSHEW! I - TtsssSHIEW!! I - TTSHIEW! I - fuck - HATCHHHEWWW!! ESHIU! ESHHHHU!"

She bends over again, apparently too overcome to continue to protest or apologize at my helping. I stuff the wad of plastic into the bus stop garbage, and then turn back to her. I'm still holding her bag. I kind of feel bad just handing it to her and walking away while she's in this state, so instead I just kind of...stand there. And watch. And it makes me blush so hard that when she finally gets a chance to catch her breath, she looks over at me and says "a god, I'm sorry, you look so cold standing there."

Someone who is this much of a sweetheart does not deserve such hellish allergies, I think, and I step over and hold out the bag. "you gonna be okay?" She laughs a little, "oh, yeah. *snf,* I'm used to it. I ndow it seems kinda freakish. but it kinda happens every year."

"I don't think it's freakish",' I say, (I think it's cute, I fail add.)

Now that she has a chance, she really looks at me. I just stand there, letting her, and she tilts her head and puts on kind of a thoughtful expression and shakes her head a little and says "you know, you are so cute."

Before I have time to figure out how on earth to handle this information, that this cute incredibly sneezy woman thinks I'm also cute, she gives the poor mask an incredibly enthusiastic blow, grabs my hand in both of hers and says "thank you so much, it was fun meeting you, genuinely," slips something made of paper into my hand, and strides down the street, still rubbing at her nose and sniffling profusely.

I look down at the paper. It's a business card - she must keep them in her pocket or something. I've run into people before who carry business cards with their contact info, but it's not something you see a lot, and the fact that she is one of those people is...somehow incredibly endearing. It has a picture of her, and her name, which is Devin, and her email, phone, and instagram handle. On the back it has a doodle of a cat bopping a star on a string.

I glance back up where she was walking, but she's already turned the corner out of sight.

Slowly, I step over to the trash can again. I mean what would I even say to her, we barely talked? Just having it is going to give me anxiety, feeling like I should have reached out.

But something makes me stop before I actually throw it in. I look at the picture of her. And it must be something about the way her eyes glinted when she told me I looked cold, or the way she...didn't even try to take her bag back from me until I shoved it in her face, or the way she squeezed my hand and said "genuinely." I just can't bring myself to toss it. Instead, I slip it behind the cards in my wallet. I don't have to do anything with it. I can ignore it and just savor the memory of our meeting and never even give the card a second thought.

But, you know...maybe.

There is something exciting about maybe.

#snzfic #snz fic #snz writing #sneeze kink #snzblr #snzfucker #snzario #snz

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quill-n · 2 years ago

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Here it is, y'all!! the ✨lore post✨ for my living doll au :]

CW// discussion of murder, implications of violent acts, implications of body horror/dismemberment, mild grief/themes of loss, very minor suggestive themes?

Er, it's more of a plot post actually? The storyline~

(super long post, I'm sorry lol)

EdgeJeanist centric + some background EraserMic family, rooftop trio, and Mt. Kamui + also Rumi and Keigo being annoying (affectionate) ✨

edit: (whispers) Please check out my animatic for this au if you haven't seen it yet, I worked so hard on it ty <3

Ok, so it starts out with Tsunagu.

[Current time frame is roughly adjacent to the Victorian Era, but it's more of a fantasy-ish world not exactly rl]

He's a tailor who enjoys his craft very much 🧵🪡 But he gets *ahem* ✨hate crimed✨ (murdered) (also hate crimed though. it was a hate crime.) (his corpse was left to rot.)

Fortunately for him, a benevolent spirit passing through the living realm discovered him. Pitying the poor soul whose life was unjustly cut short, he gifted Tsunagu a chance at another life—along with some spooky cool new spirit realm abilities and a brand new look ✨

Back in the living world, in comes Shinya—who was familiar with (and lowkey crushing on) Tsunagu at the time.

He's the first to notice that his favorite tailor is missing, so of course he starts searching. That ends up getting him killed as well, though. (Can't let there be any witnesses, right?)

HOWEVER Tsunagu finds him and uses his newly gifted abilities to (literally) stitch him back together—like a doll :)

Shinya wakes up in the spirit realm, undead and wrapped up in one of Tsunagu's scarves <3

("A gift. To celebrate the start of our newfound afterlives," Tsunagu had said when he asked about it)

In honor of the spirit's kindness, they vowed to use Tsunagu's gift to rescue lost souls who were similarly fucked over in their lives ✨

✧

Over the years, their relationship solidifies—it doesn't progress (romantically (yet)) or anything, but they're close.

(edit: actually, I've decided that they're fuck buddies. it makes more sense for the plot in my head, I think. I'm also a sucker for fuck buddies to lovers. and now this is a fuck buddies to lovers story.)

They live in a mansion in the spirit realm, fulfilling their vow and offering second chances to those whose first chance was ripped away from them. Tsunagu is the head of the house, making sure everything is in order (and lovingly referred to as The Seamstress by the dolls); Shinya is his closest friend and confidant.

Most of the dolls leave after they're revived to explore the spirit realm and find their own path, but some of the dolls choose to stay. Of which include Rumi: a victim of a brutal serial killing, Keigo: who was wrongfully hanged for a crime he did not commit, and Shinso: an unfortunate casualty from a violent accident.

(Shinya stays too, of course.)

✧

Ok, we're switching focus for a sec and also fast forwarding

Closer to modern day, we have Aizawa, who runs an orphanage with Nemuri, and Bakugo, who was recently orphaned.

Bakugo is (as anyone would be) distraught and unstable with his grief over losing his parents. He decides to try reaching out to the spirit realm to at least talk to them one last time, but it backfires as he encounters a demonic spirit and it attacks him.

Aizawa hears the commotion and rushes over to find Bakugo only half alive and critically injured with a curse on his soul. The effects of the attack are far beyond what human doctors would be able to mend.

Luckily, Aizawa has his own connections to the spirit realm (via a guardian spirit named Hizashi who visits him regularly).

He remembers Hizashi telling him about a certain spidery spirit who might be able to help, and he rushes to bring Bakugo to the spirit realm (leaving Nemuri in charge). The ritual costs him an eye and the spirit realm is dangerous for living humans, but it's a price he willingly pays.

✧

Back to the mansion

It's a fairly normal day for everyone, taking care of household chores, tending the garden and whatnot—until a living human comes desperately knocking at the front door.

Everyone freaks out for a moment because this is unheard of. Despite that, Tsunagu welcomes Aizawa in and rushes Bakugo to the infirmary with no hesitation.

Tsunagu just manages to get Bakugo stable. However, he can't fix everything and the curse still remains, slowly but surely draining away at Bakugo's life. He's stable for now, though. Now, they just need to figure out how to save him for good.

Tsunagu also patches Aizawa's eye up, and they speak for a moment, discussing what happened and what they can possibly do. But with no clear answer, they decide that Aizawa would stay in the ✨Doll House✨ with Bakugo until they can find a cure.

(On a lighter note, I'm imagining a scene where they bring Aizawa to the dining hall so he can get something to eat, but since none of the dolls nor Tsunagu need to eat anymore, their kitchen is pretty much empty (save for some moldy bread and questionable canned meat lol). So Rumi and Keigo go on a silly little side quest to obtain some Edible™ food for their guest.)

✧

Anyways.

Have I mentioned that Shinya is down bad for Tsunagu? Has been for the past two centuries? Because he is, and Rumi and Keigo know it. Tsunagu knows it too (and also knows that the feelings are reciprocated, but neither of them have made a move).

Problem is that because of the whole "holy shit you saved me and brought me back to life (literally)" thing, Shinya wholeheartedly believes that Tsunagu is. totally out of his league.

And that only hits harder when Tsunagu starts spending more time with Aizawa. Nothing more than working with Bakugo, but time spent nonetheless. It makes Shinya anxious and just a tad bit jealous.

Why wouldn't a living person who, despite being in a damn near hopeless situation, risked everything to try and save someone.. be more attractive than... a servant with a life debt..?

He tries not to worry about it because no, that's stupid, there's no reason to be jealous—

But then Tsunagu gives Aizawa a scarf. One of his hand-made scarves, of which the only other person who owned one (other than Tsunagu himself, of course) was Shinya.

It unsettles him a little bit. (It shouldn't, he tells himself, but it does.)

✧

What unsettles him more though is the state that poor Bakugo is in.

He spends the next several days alongside Tsunagu, desperately trying everything they could to reverse the curse. From potions to incantations to cantrips...

Nothing seems to work.

✧

Shifting focus again for a sec—to Shinso this time!

He approaches Aizawa not long after he arrives and just... asks questions.

They talk. About the living world, about what being alive is like.

(Shinso died when he was 16 years old, and he missed being alive more than all the others. He was the youngest out of all the dolls. No one was even sure if he would be able to grow up, or if he'd just be stuck at 16 forever.)

So he found comfort in Aizawa. This living person who could give him a glimpse into the life he couldn't have.

✧

Rumi and Keigo hang out with Shinya like usual—and being the little shits (affectionate) they are, they pester him about his relationship with Tsunagu.

He tries brushing them off, changing the conversation topic to Bakugo, but they read right through him ofc so he just. leaves. lol.

Essentially they follow him, trying to cheer him up lol

They pass by Bakugo's room and overhear a conversation between Tsunagu and Aizawa. Tsunagu is talking about how similar he and Aizawa are, in that Tsunagu is the head of a house of lost souls and Aizawa is the caretaker of an orphanage. Something they can connect over.

Shinya overhears all this. He's a little more upset about it than he would like to admit.

✧

Of course Tsunagu notices something is up, though

So sometime later, he finds Shinya and they have a little one-on-one chat.

It's not exactly that they sort things out... but they clear up the jealousy bit—and their relationship *ahem* strengthens. *ahem ahem*

(It's not exactly settled though, and it's not like Shinya's insecurities just suddenly vanished. those are definitely still there.)

✧

More days are spent trying to save Bakugo, along with no success. Bakugo is looking worse by the minute.

(Shinya and Tsunagu continue to..... *enhance* their relationship when they're not busy, too. but that's besides the point.)

Things are interrupted when a living doll shows up at the door alongside a guardian spirit.

(The doll is Shirakumo, and Hizashi is the spirit.)

They brought a recently deceased girl—no older than ten years old—for Tsunagu to bring back to life.

Everyone's... heartbroken. at how young she is.

Eri is scared when she wakes up, absolutely terrified of everyone, and of Tsunagu specifically. She stays close to Aizawa, because he's the only living person there (aside from Bakugo) and everyone else is scary to her :(

(she ends up growing closer to Shinso too (after she realizes he's not so bad; he's also the only other kid there), she grows to see him as a big brother of sorts <3 )

✧

Later that day, in another vain effort to try and find a cure, Shinya goes through the garden to see if any of their ✨magic✨ herbs/plants would be any help. However, he ends up instead getting hit by some spores that essentially get him super drunk, and Tsunagu has to come rescue him. Again.

Cue scene of him just drunkenly fucking sobbing in Tsunagu's arms about how he's always been the one to save him and now he can't even find a way to save the poor kid so how can he ever possibly hope to repay him back for that and that he'd never be deserving of his love—

✧

The next day (sober and admittedly very embarrassed), Shinya spends the next day by himself in the mansion's library. He sorts through the books and files, trying to get his mind off things, and he stumbles upon a letter addressed to Tsunagu and signed by someone named Nishiya.

(It turned out to be a response to a thank you note Tsunagu had written for the spirit that had originally brought him back to life all those years ago.)

Shinya made two realizations in that moment:

1. If this spirit was powerful enough to gift Tsunagu his abilities and bring him back to life, then he might be able to cure Bakugo.

2. He could follow the address to find the spirit—Nishiya. It was risky, as not only was the spirit realm perilous to traverse (even for the undead), but there was no guarantee that he would even find this spirit.

But they were also running out of options.

He makes a plan to follow the address, finds a map he can use, and packs some supplies—some magic thread (procured from the Seamstress himself) to suture his body and soul back together should he need it—to bring along just in case. Rumi and Keigo also manage sneak up on him and convince him to let them tag along.

(Their reasoning was that Oboro and Hizashi were staying to lend a hand anyways, and they allegedly also had some connections that might help them find Nishiya. Which was pretty damn convincing.)

✧

The connections that Keigo had turned out to be a young spirit guide named Tokoyami

He leads them through the world, following the map they have. There's some obstacles on the road, but some other spirit guides (Sero and Kaminari :) ) help them get through ✨

Finally, they find a river marked on their map, on the other side of which should be Nishiya's home—except they happen to encounter the demonic spirit that originally injured Bakugo before they can cross

The demon realizes there are living souls involved and immediately decides that it's going to go finish the job, so Rumi and Keigo fight it to try and hold it back. They send Shinya to go ahead and find Shinji. Hopefully before the demon escapes...

... and Luckily he finally finds who he's looking for! Only... he finds him crying the river he just crossed.

When Shinya asks Nishiya what's wrong, he explains how he fell in love with a mortal woman (Takeyama) while he was travelling through the human realm, but she was dreadfully killed.

Shinya finds her and brings her back for him. because that's just what dolls of The Seamstress do :)

(Technically, he himself doesn't have that power, but he used the thread from Tsunagu that he brought. and also you don't just spend two centuries with a necromancer without picking up a few tricks lol)

When they reunite—this undead human and his ethereal god-like spirit—Shinya has this moment of realization

It doesn't matter if he doesn't think he's good enough for Tsunagu bc none of that matters, friendship is magic y'know (lol)

Still, Nishiya gives him more than he asked for as a thank you.

JUST IN TIME TOO. Rumi and Keigo are unable to hold the demon back any longer and it takes off towards the mansion. They take off after it.

✧

SO THE DEMON ATTACKS MANSION

Hizashi and Oboro reach it first, try to fight it, and pretty much get tossed aside by this thing :(

The demon reaches Aizawa and Bakugo; Aizawa tries protecting Bakugo and nearly gets annihilated instead—his leg gets mauled off by the demon :(

Cue angry spider Seamstress fighting the demon to protect his family <3

He manages to hold him off, but starts losing pretty quickly. this demon is POWERFUL ok

but then IN SWOOPS SHINYA!! ~With a ✨brand new look✨

Together with Tsunagu (and the other dolls + Hizashi), they manage to drive the demon off!! BEGONE DEMON yeah >:)

At the end, they have the whole heartwarming reunion thing, but NOT before Shin'ya uses his ✨new abilities✨ to lift Bakugo's curse... and it works!!

Shinya also stitches up Tsunagu, who was pretty badly injured in the fight with the demon... so now they match!! Tsunagu also sort of freaks out about where Shinya's been and why he didn't tell anyone and what the HELL is up with his new look and how glad he is that he's back—

(A side note about Shinya's ✨new look✨~ he's more powerful now, about the same level as Tsunagu (except he can heal the living instead of bringing back the dead).

He also has moth wings now!! His new role from heron out is to be a guide for rescued souls.

Moths can be messengers, symbols of death, but they're also attracted to light. In this case, he is a beacon for life :) )

Things are resettled from here, happy ending :)

Well, kinda. Shinya and Tsunagu have their whole thing, but Eri and Shinso can't follow Aizawa back to the living world...

BUT! that's ok because Hizashi and Oboro agree to take care of them in his stead :) and they make plans to visit the living realm (and for Aizawa to visit them) when they can <3

(Imagine those four exploring the spirit world together!! having adventures, waiting for the next opportunity to see Shota again 🥹)

now it is a fairly happy ending.

ok that's all I have!! I hope y'all like this. It's not my best work but I think it's still a neat world!! :'))

thanks for reading!!! <3

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