#the way they survive each night without any prior knowledge or skill confuses him

[chloesimaginationthings]

Mike reminds Michael Afton of someone from FNAF 2,,,

[some-dr-writings]

Danganronpa V3 boys and their SHSL Survivalist friend/SO

Instead of sitting around waiting for a request I’ve decided to take it upon myself to take hold of my fate and kick off this blog with an imagine and one-shot. This is the imagine. I hope you enjoy.

Shuichi Saihara:

·       A person who practices outdoor survival skills as a sport or hobby. Shuichi first met such a person through Kaito who had eagerly dragged them into those nightly training sessions as well as Maki. Though their idea of “training” was certainly something to behold. Pushups - nah, they’d suggest rock climbing. Pull-ups - Nope, swimming against a river’s current was much more enticing. Communication and talking, sure, as long as it was done on a camping trip to the woods where no one brought any supplies. Thankfully, such training rarely happened, but when it did it was always the most excruciating exercise Shuichi ever had.

·       Funny thing though. Outside of training the Survivalist always spent time with Shuichi. Asking if he was feeling alright, or if his muscles were sore. If he were hurting, even the smallest, slightest bit, they’d carry him over their shoulder to the nurse’s office despite his flustered protests.

·       They even had taken interest in his work, offering their assistance. For infidelity cases they taught Shuichi how to sneak around and follow people without them knowing as if they were out hunting. They showed Shuichi how to find animal tracks even in the most unlikely of places for his missing pet cases.

·       When it came to cold cases or cases that didn’t involve physical activity Shuichi would sit with the Survivalist by his side, explaining the case and how to connect evidence and statements to reveal the truth. When they struggled Shuichi would go step by step, leading them gently through critical thinking processes ‘till they finally arrived at a logical conclusion, even if it weren’t his own. In fact, seeing how others could view the case helped Shuichi broaden his own skills as a detective.

·       Overall, the Super High School Level Detective and Super High School Level Survivalist balanced out one another nicely, teaching the other skills the former lacked.

Kaito Momota:

·       “Survivalist, huh... Well I bet they never survived the vastness of space before!” With that thought in mind Kaito sought out the Super High School Level Survivalist. Surely, they’d make for a great training partner! After all, Kaito had to go through survivalist training himself to be an astronaut. And surely the Ultimate Survivalist would take interest in surviving the greatness of space! They just had to train with him! And if not, then Kaito would just convince them, he was Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, he’d figure out something!

·       Unsurprisingly, said Survivalist was nowhere to be found. Luckily some students from their class knew where the Survivalist was training. England’s Wychwood Forest. Great! With the help of Rantaro, off Kaito went...

·       What Kaito made up for in raw determination, he lacked in foresight, not having researched anything about the forest so he... he didn’t know the place was also called “The world’s most haunted forest”

·       And that was how the Ultimate Survivalist found the Ultimate Astronaut, screaming at every little noise... even the sound of his own screaming.

·       Not the best first impression, but Kaito was quickly able to brush it off and finally train with the Survivalist, but... just not in a forest.

·       The Survivalist and Kaito got along like two peas in a pod, especially after Kaito saw how the Survivalist looked after his sidekick Shuichi. Every moment spent together was called ‘training’, dedicated to getting stronger in any sense of the word. Even simply laying on some cool grass in the dead of night racing to spot navigational stars first was training. Everything they did together was a friendly competition of sorts, pushing each other to be better.

·       On one such night between rounds of star searching Kaito actually pried his gaze from that beloved mysterious expanse that loomed above him. Instead he glanced to his side, in that moment, realizing the person beside him was one he simply couldn’t see not beside him when he finally blasts off away from this planet.

Ryoma Hoshi:

·       Ryoma didn’t think much of the Super High School Level Survivalist at first. Ryoma never went out of his way to meet others, and with his reputation of being a convicted criminal not many approached him. So, when the Ultimate Survivalist eagerly approached him, he was quite surprised.

·       “You must teach me THAT, whatever THAT was!” Not knowing how to respond, Ryoma simply stared, dumbfounded. “The thing you did when dodging that attack!”

·       Moments prior Ryoma had successfully dodged one of Kokichi’s pranks. “Ah, the Shukuchi Method.” He didn’t even think about it. Though it had been so long since he had used it, it seems that method was still muscle memory... When was the last time he used that method? Back when he played tennis...he knew that, but...

·       Ryoma was abruptly snapped from his thoughts, seeing those lively, sparkling eyes. “Shukuchi Method? That’s what it’s called? Please, you have to teach me!”

·       And thus, began the Survivalist’s escapades in trying to convince Ryoma to teach them. Wherever Ryoma went, Survivalist followed, much like how a duckling would. For the first day of this they’d ask Ryoma to teach, to which he’d decline, to which Survivalist threatened to follow him around till he agreed to do so. And that they did. They were the first person Ryoma met in the morning and the last person he saw at night.

·       When asked why they wanted to learn so badly, the Survivalist listed off application after application they could see using the method to improve their own talent.

·       After the first day though, the Survivalist occasionally asked to be taught, but also just asked Ryoma other questions, such as for his name. Then day after day, they’d just talk. And with each day, less and less would the Survivalist ask about the Shukuchi Method. Till they never mentioned it even once. Even after weeks, and months.

·       “... If I taught you the Shukuchi Method, would you leave me alone?” With a confused expression the Survivalist looked to Ryoma, who was stoic as always, yet... the tone in his voice was off somehow. Did it waver? “No, you’re my friend now! You can’t get rid of me that easily. Sorry Ryoma, but you’re stuck with me for the long run.” A light chuckle escaped the man. Truthfully, Ryoma felt guilt for not having taught Survivalist long ago, for unintentionally stringing them along and for them being with a guy like himself, yet... it was nice always having someone around.

Rantaro Amami:

·       Rantaro had actually met the Survivalist long before either were invited to Hope’s Peak. On his many adventures searching for his sisters they bumped into one another. They ran into each other many times actually. Each time the Survivalist would guide Rantaro through any terrain, searching for whatever small town Rantaro was looking for and Rantaro would buy them a big hearty meal that was heavenly compared to the plain fish and berries they had grown so accustomed too. Then after that meal they’d go their separate ways till they met again several months later on complete accident.

·       When they did find each other at Hope’s Peak, it was quite odd. They weren’t huddled close in snowy mountains, they weren’t trudging through a humid rain forest trying to fend off the many bugs, they weren’t even dragging one another through some desert! They were just at a relatively safe and peaceful school with other people.

·       It was nice being able to chat for hours on end of their old adventures together. Survivalist would tease Rantaro for not having gotten muscular even with how much traveling he did and Rantaro would tease Survivalist for how socially awkward they tended to be, having not spent too much time in human society. This lighthearted teasing managed to subdue the stagnant air about them. Even without the thrill of danger around every corner they still found joy and comfort in the other’s company. It was a relief to them realizing their friendship was able to run much deeper than merely the thrill of exploration they often experienced with the other.

·       But that didn’t mean the thrill of adventure wasn’t missed, so whenever Rantaro left the school to go searching once more, he was sure to tell his best friend and companion, and they stuck by his side for every last excursion, now not daring to leave him ever.

Gonta Gokuhara:

·       The moment Gonta saw the Survivalist, Gonta knew they’d be great friends. They were being kind to bugs! When the giant wild looking man came charging at the Super High School Level Survivalist, they almost crushed the poor cricket they had just helped escape from being trampled in the noisy classroom.

·       From that day onward Gonta happily introduced his new friend to his bug companions and even invited them to his lab. With how kind Gonta was the Survivalist couldn’t refuse his offers, though they did fear the man. If he found out the Survivalist had to resort to eating the relatives of such beloved companions on occasion... The Survivalist never dared to finish the thought and focused instead on not accidently mentioning that the particular species of stink bug Gonta was so happily showing off was delicious, tasting like apples.

·       With each visit to the lab or escapade out bug hunting the Survivalist found an appreciation for the little creatures outside of nutrition. Many were quite pretty actually. And seeing the variety of inventive ways bugs adapted to harsh environments tugged at the Survivor’s heart strings, realizing how they themselves were quite similar to them in that aspect.

·       Though it may sound strange Gonta saw his and the Survivalist’s relationship to be symbiotic, like that of the ant and aphid. The ant, the Survivalist, would protect Gonta, the aphid, who in return for the protection provided food - knowledge of insects.

·       From what did the Survivalist protect Gonta from one might wonder.

·       Homesickness. Even with his beloved insects around, often times, he found himself missing living outside of human society and with his forest family. But the Survivalist reminded Gonta so much of home. Though they weren’t a wolf or lizard person, they had that...for lack of a better word, calm wildness.  Like Gonta for much of their life they lived outside of human society and being able to speak with someone about his home and they truly understood what he was speaking of...knowing Gonta had a connection with a person like that always pulled his lips into a smile.

·       So, whenever the Survivalist left for an adventure with Rantaro, it hurt, but seeing them return with a bug case in hand, some new insect friends they had made on their trip, it filled Gonta with unimaginable joy.

Kokichi Oma:

·       Ah, the entrance ceremony, a staple of High Schools all across Japan. The time where all the new students gather and listen to the principle and others of authority welcome them all with open arms! A rather boring event, but one that could easily be livened up. And what better way than to greet his new classmates than pranking everyone all at once with fireworks and paint! Though enacting such a plan would take time, lots of time. So, for several days before the ceremony he prepared.

·       Unfortunately, on one such day Kokichi was caught by some security near where the ceremony was to take place, a place none of the students were allowed, and so, a chase ensued.

·       As Kokichi dashed down hall after hall he took a sharp turn around the corner, crashing into someone. Perfect. Kokichi flipped on the water works, crying out, saying the mean guards were chasing after him for no reason at all and how he oh so badly needed help! And help the person did, hiding Kokichi and telling the guards they hadn’t seen him. With the guards gone Kokichi stepped out of his hiding place and thanked the person, now he could get back to preparing!

·       The person quickly left but took a moment to glance over their shoulder. A strained smirk emerged on their lips as a stifled laughter manage to seep out. They wished Kokich good luck with ‘catching his prey’.

·       Soon after the day of entrance ceremony came, and it was marvelous! Well, except for one thing, that person who helped Kokichi, the Ultimate Survivalist, managed to avoid the prank! Now this will not stand. And so Kokichi dedicated himself to giving them the greatest scare and laugh of their life in retaliation!

·       ... Or so he thought. No matter what he pulled, they managed to outmaneuver him! Exploding school supplies? Nah, moment they picked it up, they threw it out the window. Fill their classroom with laughing gas? Nope, they always left the room moments before his trap went off. How were they doing this!?It was as if they knew it was going to happen...wait.

·       Well he got his answer one afternoon when he tried to tackle the Survivalist from behind with joy buzzers under his clothes. They dodged his attack much to his chagrin. “Survivalist! Why are you so mean to me!? I just want a hug.” Seeing those crocodile tears come cascading down the Supreme Leader’s cheeks they decided to speak out. “I’ve played the role of both predator and prey many times. I always keep a close eye on my environment, even if it means crawling through the vents at night.” Kokichi blinked, the tears instantly disappearing. “Huh...Not gonna lie, getting that out of you was much easier than I expected. I didn’t even have to prod at you at all.” “No decent predator would not have noticed my skill level at this game by now, so I decided to just save you the trouble of confirming your suspicion. I found all your traps before you got to set them off. And now, this game can really begin! So, catch me Oma! I want to know what truly being caught off guard in one of your surprises is like! I’m sure it must be thrilling!” Oh, this was going to be fun, especially when Kokichi finally wins.

·       Every day thereafter was filled with excitement and suspense. Especially days when nothing happened and all they did was talk. Both in this game of cat and mouse trying to outsmart the other with everything they had! Never knowing what was to come next, they were always on their toes, one searching for opportunities and the other searching for any sign of an attack, both adding lulls into the action making the next attack more thrilling. Even when Kokichi did win, the game continued. After all, even if he won once didn’t mean he could get consistent results. Besides, he saw no reason why he would take away an excuse to spend time with such a fun person.

Korekiyo Shinguji:

·       It all started when Kiyo entered his lab one morning, finding one of his artifacts was missing. Though very concerning, his attention was focused on the small note that was left in it’s place. ‘Go to the track’ it read. There he found another note instructing him to jog around the mile-long track twice. For the time being he decided to play along, curious as to the intentions of the person behind these notes. When he finished a new note had appeared, instructing him to go to the cafeteria where there was a meal being prepared for him. Once he was there another note was with his meal telling him to return to his lab, where his artifact had been returned... Quite an intriguing person to put Korekiyo through all that. What could their aim be, he wondered. Little did he know he’d learn that the very next day.

·       Like the day prior one of his artifacts were missing and a note was in its place. Once again, he was led to a location, told to do an exercise, but something different happened. As he was doing some push-ups, someone approached him. “You’re doing it all wrong.” Kneeling beside him they moved him so everything was in proper place saying there was no point in this if he was just not going to do it properly.“Ah,theUltimateSurvivalist.Soyou’vebeentakingmyartifacts.”He then gestured to the note they held. “...I didn’t know how else to get you to leave your lab, you never leave the place.” “Well, now that you’re here, why are you having me do this?” “You look like a twig! How do you not break in the wind!? You need help! I didn’t think my word would be enough to convince you so, I held one of your precious items hostage.”

·       And that was how Korekiyo began doing light exercises with the Survivalist. Exercising was not Kiyo’s forte but getting the chance to converse with a person who had minimum contact with society intrigued him to no end. And he got them to speak of their travels, and the many remote places they had gone to. With each location spoken of, Kiyo added knowledge of the history of the region. Particularly he spoke of legends of warriors since those intrigued the Survivalist the most. On occasion they even tried recreating some, like the labors of Hercules or legends of Beowulf or the adventures of Fionn mac Cumhaill.

·       Their friendship was very unlikely, even chaotic at times when recreating myths went awry, but it was always fun and fascinating. A friendship neither would trade for the world.

Kiibo:

·       Though it was not often Kiibo had the chance to speak to them, he held great admiration for the Super High School Level Survivalist. He always saw them moving and running around the campus almost nonstop. They were always looking for ways to get better, asking others to teach them like Ryoma with his Shukuchi Method. They seemed to stop for nothing!

·       Even the most unlikely of things they did to improve. Kiibo learned this when one day he was passing by the Ultimate Light Music Club Member’s lab and saw the Survivalist singing with a microphone in hand as the owner of the lab wailed away on her guitar. All too quickly their session had come to an end, and Kiibo was caught staring. The Survivalist swiftly skipped up to him before he had the chance to leave.

·       “You wanna give singing a shot Kiibo?” “Ah, no I couldn’t. My singing is lacking, dangerous as Shuichi puts it. Even if I practiced it wouldn’t get better. I want to improve, but I can’t. The only way I can, would be with help from someone like Miu or Dr. Idabashi. I...I am a robot I can never improve myself on my own but you can! I find that to be an amazing ability, but even more so is how you work so hard for that.” “Really!? I wish I was like you, Kiibo!” That comment caught the robot off guard. “Kiibo once you get an improvement you get to keep it forever! If I took a break for even one day my muscles and body would lose some of the improvement I had gained yesterday or even more. I have to constantly push myself lest my skills and body get rusty from lack of use for even a short time, and getting back to the high proficiency I was at before would be extremely difficult. The human body is ridiculously temperamental while you don’t have to worry about such things. And I even have to focus on specific parts and not just my whole body, like singing to increase lung capacity. And Kiibo the improvements you can gain are limited only by the imagination while the human body was much more restrictive. You can be so much greater than me or anyone else at this school!”

·       That day changed a lot of things for Kiibo. It got him to be able to see his existence from a slightly different perspective, even if only for a moment. And after that day the Survivalist would approach him, asking him if he would spot them during their exercises. During these times they and Kiibo would try to come up with ideas to improve his body. They would come up with ideas to improve their exercise regimen. They’d throw out any idea at one another, no matter how ridiculous or impracticable. In the end all that really mattered was the thought behind it, wishing to help the other even in the simplest of forms. No matter how simple they wanted to help. Even if it was just Kiibo cheering on the Survivalist to push on through one more lap than they did yesterday. Even if it was just the Survivalist sitting by Kiibo’s side as he was getting a maintenance check. No matter how simple, or insignificant if seemed, they ended up supporting the other in any way they could, hoping that in doing so the other could at least get a glimpse at just how great they could be because the former certainly could see it, and they would both agree that the other was absolutely amazing and filled with endless possibilities. They just needed to see it and they were the one who was going to show that to them.

[absclutezerc]

“I’m here- I’m here, now” -- GOD ALL I CAN THINK OF IS JOHNNY BEING ABDUCTED BY CERBERUS

Captured | Accepting; Selective @arianashepard​

   A scuffle, something simple. A battle, one he had fought before. One he had repeated over and over again in his head, wondering if he could have done something different. If he could turn the tides, if he could have escaped. He could have, couldn’t he? 

But he didn’t.

   This battlefield was not unfamiliar to him, few were. Regardless of those he fought, alleged enemies, he never saw a difference. Decades passed, centuries, and they all seemed the same. The shouting, the sound, the smell. Too many bodies, too much blood. To say he hadn’t lost control would be a lie, because he did. Jonathan had slipped, lost himself in the heat of it, and had been using his strength to tear armor from the bodies of the enemy and sink his fangs into the softness beneath. He drank until his belly was full, drank until he could convince himself if he swallowed more that he would make himself sick. He was teetering on the edge of an overdose, and he didn’t care. He disregarded the shouts of his comrades, of Ariana voicing her concern. All he could hear were heartbeats, all he could see was red, and he cast aside the discipline he had implemented.

   This battlefield was not familiar to him, few were. He was back in France, fighting in trenches and trying to stave off infections. Daring to push himself farther than his commanding officer allowed. Oh, the knowledge he gained! Oh, the tests he ran! Oh, the overflow of possibility, of creativity, of discovery! They were going to die anyway, weren’t they? Did any of it matter? Lives he took, lives he stole away, lives he saved. He was God, a messiah, a prophet!

   Body seizes, stops, skidding to a halt as his feet dig into the mud. His suit is torn, tattered, soaking from the rain and blood and sweat. He doesn’t know what is his and what is not, which splotch of crimson is a victim’s and which is not. Does it matter? To be a beast is to act like one dress like one feed like one. It was overdone, overused, overdosed. He can feel his body shutting down, can feel how his hands tremble and shake. The world is muted, everything moves in slow motion.

She’s there again, can you see her? Dressed in black, a veil over her face. Do you see her? You can see her, can’t you?

   Breath shudders, hitches in his throat, chokes him. Ariana is there, but she doesn’t know what’s happened. She too busy fighting her own war, and he had no place down alongside her. He was meant to be up aboard the Normandy, preparing for the carnage that would come back to the ship. Jonathan did not belong down on the surface, fighting against foes he never had quarrel with. Ten years prior he was coming out from his estate, dazed and confused, unsure of what happened while he slept. Part of him wishes he stayed asleep.

   There is a hand on his arm, pulling him away, but it is not toward the shuttle he came down on. It is not toward the rendezvous point. Another hand clamps around his bicep, and he feels his heels dig trenches in the mud. In his delirium, he cannot stop them. Cannot stop them from taking him, cannot stop them from pulling him away from his comrades. Is this how it felt in France, not knowing what would happen once you cross enemy lines? Part of him was always curious, but he knew better than to dare set foot across the barrier. Now, he was being thrown into their own shuttle, calling for troops to retreat. Jonathan wonders if Ariana will find him, if she knows he’s gone.

   Sunlight is all he recalls before the barrel of a gun cracks against his skull.

   He woke to needles, to bright light, to pain. Blood being drawn, someone daring to press a finger against his fangs. Jonathan tried to clamp down on the digit, only to find his jaw being held open by some contraption. For a moment, he regrets opening his eyes. The blood he held, the fuel feeding the fire, was gone. He used the last of it on the battlefield, and he wishes he hadn’t. There is chatter around him, discussion, and someone presses against his jugular to feel for a pulse. You won’t find one, he wants to tell them. You don’t know what I am. They withdraw, scribble something down, and his eyes follow them. Watch what they’re all doing.

   Those surrounding him are unfamiliar, he is not on the Normandy. He is not on the Citadel. Jonathan has been taken somewhere separate, far from his comrades and far from his Commander. What would be done now, he wonders? Would they keep him or kill him? Would he become a monster for them, would they starve him? Do they know of his schedule, his diet, his needs? Was he chosen out of the entirety of Ariana’s squadron, or was it happenstance? Is it possible to reunite with her, now that he is completely and utterly alone?

   A sharp, digging pain pulls him from his thoughts. They were cutting into him, breaking through bone as he is vivisected. Perhaps it is not terrifying for them to do such, especially if they understood his affliction. Internally, he looks the same as any other human. After all, his body has not changed so drastically. He is not some horrid creature being transformed like a werewolf, no. He is human, inside and out, though he rejects his lineage and disregards his humanity. Would they understand that, would they believe him? Will they begin removing his organs, and wonder how he could survive without them?

He can’t.

   Eyes shut, breath heavy as he feels his lungs puncture on his broken ribs, how he understands what remains for him now on this operating table. They want to see how he changes, what makes him tick, but he would never give them that satisfaction. There is a murmur of scarring as they press on, and he knows full well that they can see each and every injury he has ever received. He feels a finger probe at the bullet wound on his chest, while others push through the basin of his chest to find something- anything- that makes him different from everyone else. They find nothing.

   He is pulled from his mind once more, and he is seated in an empty room. Limbs bound, his strength the same as though he were mortal once more, he cannot break free. As he tenses, he feels a dull ache, and sees a tube hang from his arm and left to drip down into a basin. It’s no good if it isn’t fresh, he wants to tell them. You’re wasting your time. His blood, as other Ekons, loses potency after it leaves the body. After all, that was why Lord Redgrave wanted him to turn Aloysius Dawson himself. And, of course, Jonathan’s Sire was a strong one. Details, details.

You see her, don’t you? You can see her, Jonathan. Donned in black, longing for you. You can see her, can’t you, Jon?

   The woman is present again, and the train of her dress drags against the floor of what he can only assume to be a holding cell. She sings a broken melody, reminiscent of the lullaby his mother would sing to her children. “Twelve dreams for the red queen under crown of stone, that she may linger longer with eyes kept closed,” Oh, how he loathed her song. How he loathed the ties to his Sire and the Morrigan. But now, it seemed, he would need only heed her voice. “Eleven thorns blooming from her troubled brow, awaiting the next harvest to be gleaned at brisk springs.” Yes, her song was a simple one.

   “Ten copper veins ripped from the belly of the earth, melted into tears flowing towards banished brothers,” He sings along with her, lost to her pull. For a moment, there is a burst of warmth. A heat in his belly that blossoms in his chest, a sensation like hot tea spilling down his throat. He wants to be consumed by it, to be lost to it, to surrender to it. “Nine glorious pyres on the scorched plain, to punish those whose hands were slow to obey. Eight voracious beasts born from eight restless nights, their backs hardened by their race with the sun!” Jonathan shouts it, his voice booming in his ears as it echoes in the room. He continues her song, and the woman in black is gone from sight.

   When he wakes, his vision is blurred. It loses and regains focus, looking at the lights above him. There is a weight on his chest, pressing against his shoulders. A dull sting on his neck, and, for a moment, he feels a pulse. Part of him assumed it was his, while the rest would be whatever had made a home against him. There is a gulp against his ear, warm breath on his throat, and he realizes what was occurring. Someone was feeding off of him, and he was too weak to throw them off. Too weak to consider how long it had been, how many it had been. A moan escapes his throat before eyes roll back in his skull.

   Jonathan is threatened when his front is covered in red. Threatened with punishment, threatened with ultraviolet rays, threatened with fire. He doesn’t care. A guard, doctor, scientist, prey dared to stand too close to him, and he fed. He was starving, after all. It was the only way for him to tell how long he had been captured, the blur of memories not cohesive enough to answer his coherent questions. How could they? Too much time was spent fading in and out of consciousness, too much time spent fading in and out of his mind. Perhaps it was a skill he forgot he possessed; the ability to retreat within the confines of his cranium so that he needn’t worry about his physical surroundings. The disconnection of mind and body, letting his form run wild as his consciousness recessed and walled itself off. How much time had he lost doing exactly that? What day was the battle, how long had it been?

Feel her on your skin, Jonathan. Feel her lips press against yours. Our Crimson Lady, our Red Queen, our Morrigan. Do you feel her touch, Jonathan? Do you long for her embrace?

Yes.

   His body is beaten and burned, subjected to each and every brutality they can attempt. The recent feeding lets them be harsh, lets them be cruel, lets them have their way with him. What did it matter to them, he was nothing. They had their solution, they had their soldiers. The brief moments of quiet as they drew his blood let him ponder their experiments. They wanted his power. They knew Commander Shepard had an ace up her sleeve, and now they had it in their hand. They need only lay it on the table, parade it around like some trophy they had won. That’s all he was to either side, after all. A prize to be fought over, a secret weapon. Yes, a weapon. A machine that needed fuel to perform its basic functions, from there one would need only point it toward the target and let it loose.

   Even now, as he cries out in agony, he feels her against his skin. Even now, as his ribs are bruised and broken, as his bones protrude from skin and spill crimson down on the floor beneath him, he wishes he could feel her kiss. Give himself up to her, and let her breathe into him new life. Even now, as he is lifted up onto the freezing operating table. Even now, as the last remnants of his clothes are torn from his skin. Even now, as snarls and snickers resound in his ears. Even now, as ultraviolet rays singe his skin and his voice tears his throat. Even now, as the scent of burnt flesh and the feeling of his body trying to repair the damage nearly forces him to black out. Oh, agony! How sweet, how decadent! Oh, pain! How human, how mortal! Oh, fire! Cleanse this sinful skin, purge this hellish body! Burn it, raze it, char it! Let it regrow into something fresh, something pure!

   Hair hangs down, stringy with the mixture of blood and sweat. Repugnant. Abhorrent. Disgusting. His wrists are bound above his head, strength had seeped from his body long ago. His figure is burned, scalded and unsightly. He feels his skin flake and peel, feels each crack in his flesh. For a moment, he is thankful cloth does not hang from his limbs. It would only worsen the pain.

   Arms ache, wrists sting as metal bites into skin. If he could only feed, he would break free. If he could only feed, he could escape. If he could only feed, he would drain this entire base. Eyes glaze over as he fantasizes, mind running wild with the imagery of his chest coated in crimson. She is there, however brief, and her lips press against his. They are warm against his, and her aura alone is enough to pull him from his mind. Before him rests the Morrigan, her form a deep black with crimson eyes. Of all the times he had seen her, not once has she taken this form. It’s curious, but he lacks the strength to continue the thought.

Your salvation rests far from you, my Childe, but fret not. I am here alongside you, I ache as you do. I starve as you do. Oh, Champion, understand me, for I have seen your future. I have lived in your mind, in your skin, I see your desires. Champion, hear me. Your affliction will hinder you, but give in. Give yourself over to the thirst. Disregard your discipline, embrace me. Embrace me, my Childe.

   Jonathan shakes his head, disagreeing with her pleas, and she vanishes with a frown. Moments pass, and he accepts that he is alone once more, and he cries. Tears cut through the filth plastered to his skin, the only sign he has truly shattered. The only sign he ever lived. This was not living. This was pitiful, this was hollow, this was empty. This was nauseating, unsightly. If only he could free himself from his restraints, everything would be different.

Things could be different, couldn’t they?

   Dragged from his mind by gunfire, by shouts, by an explosion somewhere distant, he knows danger was fast approaching. Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to care. What harshness may follow would be kinder than that he had endured, that he had grown used to. It had become normal for him to fear lights, normal for him to fear raised voices, normal for him to fear metal clangs. Even now, with his bare torso against the wall, all he can feel is the metal operating table. He wonders when they will enter with surgical equipment to tear him open once more, to see if his insides have changed since he hasn’t been fed in weeks. His mind teeters on the edge of sanity, his stomach in knots. For a moment, he thinks of blood running down his throat. Tongue flicks over his lips, coating the chapped skin, before his head comes to rest against his suspended forearm. He can feel the grime on his body, the coating of dirt and sweat and blood. Ever briefly he thinks of his mother and sister. Ever briefly he swears he can see them both stand above him. Ever briefly do they lower a hand down to him, and he wants to take it. To be whisked away to wherever they had gone after their death. Even it were Hell, it would be better than where he sat now. His eyes drift closed, and he imagines himself taking their hands and moving on into the beyond.

For a moment, he swears he does. For a moment, he wishes he had.

   Sight returns, and his bonds have been broken. Hands cup his cheeks, head jostled slightly to rouse him from his slumber, and he sees red hair and green eyes. His expression softens for a moment, and he convinces himself it is another apparition to haunt him. Perhaps the Commander before him is nothing more than a ghost, having died trying to stop her war. A war he had no part in, a war he had no place in. He was a weapon for her, wasn’t he? Why would she come back? He was broken, couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she see his missing pieces, his broken parts?

   “I’m here-- I’m here now.” Her voice resonates in his skull, and he knows now that she is no ghost. She is here, standing before him, and she is pulling him up to his feet. Pulling him toward freedom, even if his legs cannot support his weight. Even if he cannot open his eyes fully, even if his lungs sting with each breath he takes. Perhaps she believes he can be fixed, perhaps he is still useful. What did it matter?

He was going home.

[softboyuris]

Nerves

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Reader

Warning: Implied smut, probably swearing

Word Count: 2389

A/N: This is really choppy, I apologize. There was more but I chopped it off at the end. Also, I am considering posting my series rewrite for TWD and maybe Supernatural, anyone interested?

Description: Reader lies down for a nap in Carl’s room. Little does she know her mind is in a different place than she would have liked.

Y/N was sitting on the edge of Carl’s makeshift mattress, Negan having taken most of them away when he came for “his shit” the week prior. She was fiddling with her fingers, wringing her hands together or clasping and unclasping them awkwardly.

Except, she wasn’t uncomfortable. The situation wasn’t awkward. And even if it was, Y/N wouldn’t have felt the same because she never got nervous or awkward. She believed that a situation is only made awkward if you make it so.

Carl, on the other hand, was feeling a tad uncomfortable. He wasn’t use to these types of situations and didn’t know how to handle them so he therefore resorted to feeling nervous.

They were only in their current predicament because Y/N and Carl did not understand what privacy meant. It was neither of their faults; they would come and go from each other’s rooms so often there was never a need for knocking. Hell, she spent more time in his four walls than her own, it was practically a shared room.

But today, despite the strange noises, he didn’t knock, he barged right the fuck in. It was his room after all, and saying Y/N was more than embarrassed would have been an understatement.

She didn’t do anything wrong, she actually wasn’t even aware she was making any noises until Carl has shaken her awake. He had never heard his name called out like that before and the quickened beating in their chests had yet to return to normal as Carl stood in front of her, cheeks burnt red.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, with Y/N. She had been having the same dream once or twice a month since they arrived in Alexandria and she finally got some actual sleep, but this time was different. She had never, never caught herself verbalizing the things that happened in the dreams.

She had told Maggie about them, she was the closest person not only to her age but to Y/N herself. They had grown to be quite the pair and she went to Maggie when something happened and she couldn’t go to Carl, normally things of this nature.

She helped her to cope with it and Y/N never felt the need to inform Carl of her dreams, despite them becoming more real with each passing month.

Y/N didn’t mean to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but she hadn’t gotten that much sleep the night prior and with the knowledge that Carl was outside the door keeping watch, she had fallen into a deep slumber.

If she had known today would be the day she was going to have the dream again, she never would have let her eyes close. Not for a second. And this time, it felt so real.

For a moment, when she woke up, she could have sworn it had actually happened. Probably didn’t help all that much that Carl had been the one to wake her. But nonetheless, she could still feel his hands on her body, exploring every inch and devouring her lips as if they had little time to live. And in all honesty, it was true.

She didn’t like Carl, not in that way. She was sure of it, or ar sure as someone who had never caught feelings before could be. They were best friends, that’s all. And they lived in a world ravaged by the dead, them being two of the three teenagers who still lived, or that they were aware of. She would not let herself ruin their friendship over some stupid dream that was just her hormones going untamed.

Carl had different plans, unknown to Y/N at the time or else she would have chosen her words differently when she finally did speak up. Or more when he asked that question.

Y/N didn’t really hear him at first, mumbling a response she figured he would be happy with, and she wasn’t all aware of how she came to say what was said, but it was out there and there was no turning back now.

“I don’t know Carl. You give me the feels. The good, the bad, and the sexy. And I love it. I love you.” It had all come out in one rushed sentence, and as soon as she realized the words that had fallen from her mouth, she was mortified. She stared at him blankly, blinking once, mouth open slightly in shock.

Carl had never seen the girl nervous before, or at least not this nervous. She had been once, but he didn’t notice it at the time because she was so damn good at covering up how she really felt about a situation. He only found out when she had gone to him later that day, apologizing for being so antsy.

The confused expression on his face when she said that was all she needed to know that she had aced the skill of hiding what she felt and she would have been damned if she didn’t utilize it later on.

She had gone back to wringing her hands together, staring intently at the desk table thing Carl was leaning up against with his arms crossed. He narrowed his eye at her. This was new. This was another situation in which Carl had no experience. IT’s not like they hadn’t said those words to each other before but it was always in a different context; it was a friendly sort of love, Carl wasn’t so sure that’s how Y/N meant it.

He didn’t understand why he was doing it and she didn’t know why she felt okay with it but his brain no longer in control, he had taken a few steps to close the distance between the two, crouching down so he could bring himself closer to the girl he had called his best friend since the world went to shit.

It’s not like he hadn’t considered it. He was living in a freaking apocalypse and she was the only girl his age, of course, he had thought about it, but he never thought it would actually happen.

But then his lips met hers and he suddenly felt whole again. After everything he had been through, getting shot twice, being attacked by multiple communities and surviving, being on the run from the walking dead, having to deal with his eye and Negan, he actually felt happy.

It was right in front of him the entire time, the person who was always right by his side in everything he did, always supporting him and making him feel better when he felt like shit. How could he not have noticed? His key to all things good in life had been with him for years but he never stopped to look.

Her lips weren’t soft as most girls would be; she had a tendency to bit on them when tension would rise, leaving them scarred and rough, almost calloused. His, however, were. They were soft and plush and Y/N never wanted to pull away. But he kissed roughly as if he had been waiting for her to make a move for ages, and she kissed back with a soft, calm passion, bringing her hands to rest on the back of his neck as she pulled him closer.

Neither noticed the change in position as Carl leaned more into the kiss and Y/N fell backward onto the blankets, bringing Carl with her. They parted only long enough to bring air back into their lungs but it was a millisecond of a pause before they were connected once again.

Their lungs burned but they ignored it, they had enough oxygen to avoid passing out and they had subconsciously been waiting for this to happen longer than was even comprehensible.

They never wanted to be farther than a few feet from each other ever again. In fact, both were pulling the other closer despite no room being left between them.

Maybe it was the lingering memories and the too real-feeling touch of Carl’s hands on her from her dream. MAybe it was the fact that said dream was becoming a reality, Carl’s hands caressing every inch of Y/N he could reach, settling comfortably on her waist, or maybe it was the throbbing close to the bottom of her stomach that intensified with each kiss. Whatever the culprit, the world around them seemed to fade away and for a moment, the dead didn’t roam the earth, Negan wasn’t looking to kill every last civilian in Alexandria, and Carl’s dad and Michonne weren’t downstairs in the living room, the potential of them barging in at any moment wasn’t on their minds.

Things escalated quicker than expected. It was supposed to be one kiss, one kiss to show that he was okay with the thought of Y/N and him together, maybe even like it, wanted it, but he didn’t mind when she had given the reigns a pull and his body merged with hers, his hips grinding softly into hers.

It was a new feeling, being so intimate with someone, but he was enjoying it, little to his knowledge, Y/N was enjoying it even more. So it went without protest when Y/N’s hands traveled down from his neck to his hips, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, knocking his hat, which had surprisingly stayed settled, lopsided albeit, off his head.

He had let out a whine of protest when he had to pull away from her to get his shirt off which was quickly followed by a laugh from the two as his hat fell on her face, the corner nicking her eye. “My, that hat is dangerous.” She laughed, briefly rubbing at her eye.

“Are you okay?” Carl tried sounding genuine in his concern but she could hear the laugh bubbling up in his throat and lacing his words in silk strands. She smirked before pulling him back down to her, lips coming together once again.

Her hands were back on his neck, pulling him as close as she could as her fingers played with his hair. It was unclear who had let out the first moan, but once one started, the other followed, capturing the others moan in their mouth, a good effort to keep each other quiet.

Carl subconsciously squeezed Y/N’s waist followed by his hips rolling into hers and she wanted nothing more than to get those pesky jeans off the boy on top of her. Or at least hers. The more friction the better, that she knew.

Carl moved his lips from hers to her jawline, traveling down until he reached her collarbone and nipped, a particularly loud moan leaving Y/N. Her hands were now close to his bum, thumbs looping underneath the rough fabric of his jeans, resting there when she stopped her movement as Carl’s lips had found her neck.

When the loud noise left her mouth, she could feel him laugh, vibrations running through her chest and warming both her heart and the feeling in her stomach.

He smiled against her skin, shushing her. “Stay quiet or we’ll be interrupted.” He muttered, still attacking the delicate skin on her neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure. Moments later, Carl’s lips return to hers, leaving the now wet skin on her neck exposed to the cool air.

His breathing grew heavier as Y/N trailed her hands down his bare chest. He was now on his back beneath her, only wearing his boxers. She had finally gotten his jeans off and was smiling into the kiss as she flipped them over so she could be on top, letting out the girliest squeal when Carl pulled her hips down to meet his and the tent that greeted her still clothed area.

His fingertips lightly drew up from her hips to her shoulders, and then settled on her waist. He let out a deep chuckle into the kiss when she squealed, never having heard her make a sound of that pitch before. His hands weren’t left in one position for too long, moving up and down constantly, eventually bringing her shirt over her head and tossing it beside them.

Y/N kissed his jaw, pushing herself up so she could look at him, remembering every feature, movement, and sound; remembering the moment for everything it was. His eye met hers and he smiled. “My dad’s downstairs…” Carl mumbled as she brought her lips back down to his. “We should stop.” His actions were louder than his words, however.

He shifted her hips away from his and onto the sheets beside him and began crawling onto her once more. His knee nudged her legs apart, allowing him space to settle between them. Their lips were back together once again, Carl’s thumbs resting underneath the fabric of her bra as she brought his hips down to meet hers.

The door creaked open, and Y/N pulled away from Carl, not daring to look anywhere but into the eye of the boy above her. They had been so caught up in the moment that they didn’t hear their names being called from downstairs; it had been going on for the past five minutes.

Someone cleared their throat, but she wasn’t sure who, although she had a pretty good guess. Carl was staring down at Y/N with a wide eye. He flattened his lips, closing his eye and shaking his head slightly in what Y/N could only guess to be disbelief when the person in the door spoke.

“Get dressed quickly. And then join me downstairs, please.” Rick ordered and Carl’s head fell into the crook of Y/N’s neck when he heard the door shut, eye still squeezed shut.

Y/N let her head fall to the side, forcing out a breath of air through her mouth. “Told ya,” Carl muttered, muffled by his position.

“Yeah, you did.” Y/N said, pushing the boy off of her so she could grab her shirt and pull it back on. “Come on. No need to keep him waiting.” A reluctant Carl pushed himself up so he was standing in front of Y/N, she didn’t look nervous at all.