#true survivors of the apocalypse

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Every time I see this post I'm cackling, then I look through the tags and cackle even more (ily fellow salty and anguished Utahns 😆):

No we are not ok 😆, let it out bbys:

Tagging all my anguished Utahns 😆:

@dcb2679 @cosmicmoths @tiredloserr @iloveyoubingobronson @violetmina @novemberocean @ficinferno @sheresh0y @jin-mukang @selkiecoded @assblastergaster @vodkacheesefries @allhailjeffreethedragskelleton @spiralcomet (others are not taggable 😭), and you too @outlawwolfe 🥰

this man killed half of salt lake city

[tinytablepodcast]

Help Us Choose Our Next Game!

We received so many wonderful submissions from the indie ttrpg community of games to play next on Tiny Table. We need your help to narrow them down! We will be taking the top 3 games to Patreon for our patrons in the Mini and Micro tier to vote on.

Reactors and Romance: Reactors and Romance is a rules-light RPG about flirting while piloting a giant robot. You only have one stat, and that is your HEAT 🔥. Your HEAT measures how hot your mech's reactor is getting, and how hot of a pilot you are 😉 Will you fight or flirt your way through battle? Can you keep your mech from overheating? What will it be hotshot?

To Infinity...: Inspired by Alien and The Thing, "To Infinity..." is a tabletop social deduction game where up to 4 players and 1 GM need to escape on a spaceship from an alien monster who killed the rest of the crew. What none of the survivors know is that this isn't just a monster, the alien could be any one of them...

Hellborn Descended: Hellborn Descended is an infernal TTRPG set in a modern Hell, inspired by comics and shows such as Hellboy and Helluva Boss. In Hellborn, players take on the role of sinners, demons, and fallen angels, working together as mercenaries to attain wealth, fame, and power, or gloriously die trying. Check out their kickstarter!

Darkest Hour: Darkest Hour is a horror tabletop game inspired by horror movies of all kinds, featuring a group of monster hunters attempting to put a stop to a malicious supernatural entity in a single night. Over the course of six rounds, known as the Hours, the hunters must use their abilities to establish benefits that will aid them even as the haunt grows in strength and the hunters become less effective. As Blackest Night envelops them, the haunt feels insurmountable -- will the hunters find the haunt's true weakness and destroy it for good, or be whittled down until only a Final Girl remains? Featuring six haunts, six locations ripe for the haunting, and six unique hunter archetypes, Darkest Hour is perfect for one-shots for 2-5 players, and can either be run by a GM, or communally without a GM.

Dawn of the Orcs: Dawn of the Orcs is a GMless dark fantasy worldbuilding and roleplaying game. Play the magical technocrats who create the first orcs as living weapons and tell the story of how the Orcs become their own people. It can be played seriously as a fantasy transhumanist Dr. Strangelove, or as a wacky game of Saruman by committee.

The Trains of the Glorious Republic of the People: The Trains of the Glorious Republic of the People is a tabletop RPG where players take on the roles of a train crew in a fictional 1930s totalitarian state. Your mission is simple: get yourselves and your unique train from point A to point B though things are never that easy on the tracks of the Glorious Republic. The game requires only d6s, pen, paper, and, above all, your loyalty to the party.

Paratype: Paratype takes place in the aftermath of an apocalypse where giant bugs have reclaimed the earth. For humans survival is a challenge-one helped by the invention of a device that grants strange new buggy abilities. Paratype is a game about survival, humanity and so, so many bugs.

Broke Wizards: Broke Wizards is a light, silly game about working class sorcery. Play as students of the prestigious Audment's Academy of the Arcane who must go delving for treasure in order to pay tuition. To cast magic, wizards must use items found around their dormitory as makeshift spell ingredients - and then use their real-life argumentative skills to convince the living force of magic that yes, actually, a dirty shot glass is a great ingredient for casting a spell of water breathing, thank you very much.

RiskTaker: RiskTaker is a GM-less system built around players making big moves with big risks. Each sessions revolves around "The Scene," a climactic event like an episode's final battle in a superhero TV show, or the aftermath of a heist gone wrong. Players take turns either doing exposition scenes to give context to The Scene and built character relationships, or Influencing The Scene, which means they take a decisive action and decide how effective that action will be. But watch out - the more impactful your action, the more things can go wrong, and the more likely it is that they will. But what's a good story without a few Risks?

'til it kills us: in ‘til it kills us, you play as a group of young, reckless queer activists fighting to make a difference in the world. you’re angry, and you’re scared, and rightfully so. not to mention, you’re all a little bit fucked up. whether you’re dealing with issues at home, struggling with mental illness, or just learning to stand on your own two feet, life isn’t easy. but you’re also in love with the world, and with each other, so you keep fighting anyway. it’s the only thing you can do. the only problem is your magic. sure, it protects you. sure, it helps you fight. but you can feel it – feeding on the most unpleasant parts of you. and the longer you have this magic, the more you fear by those feelings. you worry it might be powering but you keep fighting. what else is there? remember what you always said: we’re going to keep on fighting ‘til it kills us.

If you submitted a game to us and don't see it on the list, don't fret! We will be hosting many polls like this and your game is still in consideration. If you game is on here and isn't chosen to move on to our next poll, also don't fret! We may add it on to the next poll again.

[abbyshands]

for you

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

—

[missy4176]

Protective Instincts

Kim Dokja x Reader

Kim Dokja has always been someone who’s difficult to read, a man with a thousand faces hidden behind that ever-present, enigmatic smile. To most people, he’s an enigma, someone who effortlessly blends into the background, observing the world through his dull eyes as if he’s merely a bystander in his own life. But to you, the person he’s chosen to let in, he’s more than that. Beneath the layers of apathy and self-imposed distance, Kim Dokja harbors a deep, unyielding protective instinct—especially when it comes to you.

It’s not that you can’t defend yourself. You’ve proven time and again that you’re more than capable. The world you live in demands nothing less. The apocalypse, with its brutal trials and life-or-death scenarios, has honed your skills and instincts to a razor’s edge. Kim Dokja knows this; he’s seen you fight, seen you survive, and yet, despite that knowledge, there are moments when his concern for your safety overrides his typically detached demeanor.

The first time you notice it, you’re caught off guard. A sudden attack from a group of hostile survivors leaves you both cornered. You’re prepared, muscles tensed, ready to strike back, but before you can act, Kim Dokja moves. His body shifts instinctively, stepping in front of you, positioning himself as a shield. It’s a split-second decision, one that speaks volumes about his true feelings—feelings he often keeps buried deep within, masked by layers of self-loathing and detachment.

“Dokja, I can handle this,” you protest, even as you feel a flicker of warmth at his concern.

“I know,” he replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you.”

His words are simple, matter-of-fact, but there’s an underlying intensity in his gaze, something that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s in these moments, when his guard is momentarily lowered, that you catch glimpses of the man beneath the mask—a man who, despite his best efforts, cares more than he’s willing to admit.

It doesn’t stop there. Whether it’s guiding you through dangerous terrain, subtly steering you away from potential threats, or using his quick wit and vast knowledge to outmaneuver enemies, Kim Dokja’s protective instincts manifest in various ways. Sometimes it’s subtle, like a quiet warning before you walk into a trap, his voice low and serious as he murmurs in your ear. Other times, it’s more overt, like when he pulls you out of harm’s way, his grip on your arm firm but not painful, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“Stay close,” he often says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s not a command, not exactly, but a plea disguised as practicality. And you listen, not just because it makes sense, but because you know it’s his way of showing he cares.

Kim Dokja isn’t a man of grand gestures. He won’t sweep you off your feet or shower you with flowery words of affection. He’s too guarded for that, too aware of the fleeting nature of happiness in a world that’s constantly trying to tear you apart. But his actions, the way he places himself between you and danger, the way his gaze sharpens when someone threatens you, speak louder than any words ever could.

There are times when you catch him watching you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes, a rare tenderness that he doesn’t show to anyone else. In those moments, you realize that his protectiveness isn’t just about keeping you safe—it’s about holding on to the one thing in his life that makes him feel alive. You are his anchor, the person who reminds him that he’s not just a character in a story, but someone who deserves to live, to feel, to protect.

And so, you let him. You let him be your protector, even though you don’t need it, because you understand that it’s his way of showing he cares. You don’t push him away when he steps in front of you, don’t protest when he pulls you close in the midst of danger. Instead, you accept his protectiveness for what it is—a testament to the depth of his feelings, a reflection of the connection you share.

In the end, Kim Dokja’s protective instincts are just another facet of his complex personality. They’re a reminder that beneath the layers of detachment and cynicism, there’s a man who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always know how to express it. And in a world where everything can be lost in an instant, that protectiveness becomes a lifeline, a quiet, unspoken promise that no matter what happens, he’ll always be there to protect you—even if it costs him everything.

[augustyearroundprod]

It’s the end of Darling’s world, and she knows it. Actually, her world died three years ago. Darling is a survivor. But when Darling hears the call of another lonely girl over her radio, Darling has a choice. She can die in the bunker she calls home or find what she craves most — a true friend. 

Written By: Katie Rose Rogers Narrated By: Katie McGrath

Well well well the dream team is back, and magic was once again made! I don’t think I’ll ever have enough wonderful things to say about the Katies! But I shall continue to try. @katierosietoesrogers is a creative savant, a writing powerhouse, and a dream of a human being! You can count me forever as her biggest fan! And Katie McGrath, who has so healthily escaped social media… I mean what a truly remarkable actress! Everything she touches is elevated. And once again, she breathes such life into this story! I’m honored these two continue to come of this journey with us!

I can’t wait for you all to listen to HOW TO SURVIVE THE APOCALYPSE!!

[pinievsev]

hii can you write a seokchan (sweet home) fanfic where reader/oc is being harmed by other survivors in the stadium and seokchan happened to be there so he teaches them a lesson. kinda touch her or I'll kill you vibe, knowing seokchan is a gentleman and doesn't resort to violence i think it'd be hot to see him being protective of his girl

mine to protect

Pairing: Kang seokchan x reader (can be viewed as any gender)

Warnings: blood and violence, not proofread (in desperate need of a proofreader)

Genre: angst + fluff

Story under the cut

© The lemon bot on Tumblr

It's been happening for a few weeks now, you thought you had it under control, you thought you could deal with it, but it's been getting bad lately.

You see, near the begining of the apocalypse you'd gotten with your boyfriend, kang seokchan, who just so happens to be a member of the platoon.

You'd kept it a secret for a while, no one had a clue, yet somehow another survivor in the "base" had saw you two together and word spread quickly.

People accused you of being with him so you could get extra food or things after the platoon's expeditions, or have extra protection and be a priority.

Of course it wasn't true, you genuinely love seokchan with all your heart, he was there for you and you were there for him since the start. Since the world started going to shit he's all you've had and you're all he's had.

You rested your head on the wall you were sitting against, not bothering to stop your nose from bleeding any further. You licked your lips, a strong metallic taste left on your tongue due to the red liquid that stained your face.

A few minutes ago, you were simply minding your business, making your way back to your makeshift bed after helping an elderly lady get back to hers, when a group of about 5 other survivors attacked you, screaming profanities your way and landing hit after hit on you with all the strength they had left in them.

You tried to fight back, but 5 against 1 wasn't exactly a fair fight. So you let them. 'it'll be over soon' you told yourself.

What you had failed to notice was a young kid hiding behind a corner, watching the brutal scene unfold Infront of him. What you also failed to notice was the way he scrambled to his feet, sprinting towards the room the platoon members usually gathered in, dodging people on his way and even bumping on to a few, focus on his goal. Finding your boyfriend.

Your eyes snapped open at the familiar voice booming down the hall, getting closer and closer accompanied by the sound of quick heavy steps.

You looked over, turning your head causing pain to shoot up the back of your neck. Seokchan messily halted to a stop Infront of you, kneeling down to your level, worry and concern visible on the man's features.

"What happened?!" He questioned as he helped you sit up properly and checked your injuries. You hissed in pain but kept your lips sealed. He already had alot to worry about, you didn't want him to worry about you either.

His eyes found yours and he placed a hand on the back of your head gently. "Tell me. Please." You shook your head the action barely visible as moving at all made the pain was unbearable.

He sigh at your stubbornness and shook his head. Just as he was about to speak again a quiet voice interrupted him "they were attacked sir." The same boy that had barged inside the room cutting off the Sargent's speech said.

Seokchan looked at the boy, urging him to explain further. You also averted your gaze to him, pleading for him not to say anymore, but to your dismay he did. He explained everything, from how people have been treating you to what they thought of you and what they say about you.

Seokchan's breath hitched, getting cough in his throat he simply nodded towards the kid who took that as a sign to leave.

Once his small frame disappeared out of sight he turned back to you. "How long?" You sighed and closed your eyes before speaking "a couple weeks".

You heard him groan and mumble something "come on" he helped you to your feet and slung your arm over his shoulder, supporting you as you walked back to his room where he had you sit down as he patched you up wordlessly.

You watched him as he worked, the way his brows furrowed in concentration and the way he licked his lips every few seconds.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked suddenly catching the man of guard. He didn't respond until he finished his work.

"Why would I be mad at you?" He asked placing everything back in place. "For, you know, not telling you." He shook his head and looked at your, smoothing out the plaster on your right cheek

"I'm not. I would never be mad at you honey. Maybe, I am a little sad but not mad, never mad" you breathed out in relief, a breath you were unaware you'd been holding.

"I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want you to worry, you already have so much on your plate and you risk your life every day-"

"Don't worry about that. No matter what you'll always be my top priority, like you've always been my love." He assured you.

Moving to sit by you on his bed he snakes his arms around your waist, bringing you close to him and laying back with you in his arms.

"For now, you just get some rest and when you wake up, I'll need names." You chuckled at the man's words "seokchan-"

"I'm serious." You shook your head but agreed nonetheless. You closed your eyes, quickly drifting off. From now on, you won't care what anyone thinks of you, you'll Stan up for yourself and won't depend on anyone to fight on your behalf. Not as long as you had Kang seokchan by your side.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

A Second Chance pt.4 {Blurb}

Poly!Marauders+Lily x Fem!Reader - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Summary: Avoiding spoilers

Cw; Guns, death, zombie apoc typical violence)

a/n- I restarted this three times

Wc-2464

Amazing People- @mooonyxoxo @sippinpeachtea @amethyistheart @zjasminelouvre3 @idonotknowenglish @le-clair-de-lune @shylahstarzz @losttoliterature

Masterlist

The path to the stream was familiar, each step resonating with memories of your own journeys back and forth. The subtle breeze welcomed you back as you tried to alcamate to your new normal. The wind smelt fresh, like weeds and wet rocks, the song birds were singing despite how late it was, and you could hear the sounds of creatures around you simply living. It had been a while since you considered yourself, and other survivors for that matter, on the same level as the common rat and squirrels. 

Yet, the presence of Sirius didn't bring you the same comforts as the common chipmunk. The forest, usually a haven of tranquility, felt different today, alive with an undercurrent of tension. It didn't help that you still felt the hair on your neck rise with discomfort. Still unable to shake the feeling that there was more than just Sirius’s eyes on you.

Sirius, despite your warnings and slight nagging, stayed casual, his eyes wandering the surroundings with a curious hum that shouldn't have been annoying as it was. He seemed less affected by the pressing silence and more intent on making conversation.

"So, {Y/N}." Sirius began, trying to cut through the heavy quiet. "How long did you say you've been out here alone?"

You sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the question. Sirius's voice, though casual, seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest. You wished you could just ignore him. You wanted to. 

After what happened to Peter you didn't have time to stop and think about how unfair it was for you to blame him solely for it; so you stayed high strung. You just wanted to make it back to Hermione.

Everything within the last 24 hours was too much and in truth, you just wanted a break. So the conversation wasn't horrible.

"About a month since my camp was attacked.” You mumbled, keeping your tone even. You didn't want to delve too deeply into the memories of that night, but it was impossible to ignore the shadow it cast over you. Your heart ached helplessly at the memory of some of their faces. Seeing flashes of Regulus’s bloodied face would haunt you for days.

"That's rough." Sirius responded, his voice softer this time. He seemed to recognize the tone you were taking. “Listen-”

“I don't need your apologies.” You quickly cut him off and he scoffed a bit.

“Just listen.” He rubbed his face with both hands before he pulled his hair back. “I didn't truly know what was going to happen. If I did, I would of said something, I swear it.”

“Nothing you can do about it now.” You dismissed him quickly and he huffed in disbelief.

“We are in the same boat. We are the same.” He challenged and that's when you stopped, looking around you as that feeling you got at the front of the house only worsened. No longer just paranoia, true fear rocked through you.

“Sirius, stop talking.” You hissed at him and he shook his head.

“No! I get it, I fucked up. But we are the same. We would both do anything to protect our people, I can see that in you. I think you can tell you're a hell of a lot like me too.” He insisted and you continued to shush him.

Your head snapping around to look behind Sirius when you heard a twig snap behind him. Not a normal one, like one you'd soon hear scurrying after as a rodent scared itself. No. It was something else.

“What?” Sirius huffed before he turned to look. 

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. You felt a metal rod against your throat. It was a gun. A gun someone was using to force you back against them, threatening to choke you if you squirmed too much.

You looked up and watched as another person shot out from behind you.

“Sirius!” 

And like that, the figure hit him hard with the butt of his gun, making him fall to the ground.

“Fuck! {Y/N}!”

The forest seemed to close in around you as the situation escalated, the once familiar path now a stage for a dangerous confrontation. Your heart pounded in your chest, and every instinct screamed for you to fight back, but the cold metal against your throat held you in place, a chilling reminder of the peril you were in. You didn't notice how the figures seemed to tense up at your name. Like they knew who you were.

Sirius lay on the ground, dazed but conscious. He groaned, trying to shake off the blow, but the figure who had hit him stood menacingly over him, gun still drawn.

"Don't move.” The voice behind you commanded, harsh and rather loud in your ear. Instead of listening to reason, you began to squirm, the gun tightening on your neck. It was a man’s voice, edged with authority and a hint of desperation. You could feel his breath on your neck, the tension in his grip. You had been in this position before, you absolutely hated it. “Knock it off!” The voice snapped at you, tightening the gun just enough to earn a desperate gasp from you. "We don't want to hurt you, but we will if we have to."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "What do you want from us?"

“Us?” He chuckled. “Just you and that other lady back at the house is all. And your kids.” He chuckled and your face paled. Glancing down you felt your stomach turn helplessly, they had the mark of a death eater. 

By the time you noticed Sirius seemed to as well, trying to get to his feet, only to be kicked back down by the other figure. 

The Death Eaters, in their twisted minds, sought out 'religious renewal.’ 

One of those things they preached about was sanctuary for women.

No one was stupid enough to truly believe that they had their best interests at heart, certainly not you. Especially when they started hosting public ‘purity unions’ for anyone brave enough to travel to their base.

Again, a trick you hadn't fallen for. The simple idea that you were able to avoid them this long and was about to be dragged there now of all times was terrifying.

Your mind raced, desperate for a way out. The weight of the gun and the cold threat in the man's voice made it clear that any rash movement could be your last. But the mention of Hermione and the others ignited a fierce determination within you. That meant they knew where the house was. They had been watching. They waited until you and Sirius were gone. You couldn't let them fall into the hands of these monsters.

Sirius, despite being kicked down, managed to lock eyes with you. There was a silent understanding between you two. You had to act, and you had to act now.

"Listen.” You pleaded, swallowing thick, trying to buy some time. "We don’t want trouble. We’re just trying to survive. Just like you."

"Talk?" The man behind you spat, his breath hot against your neck. You wanted to hurl. "There's nothing to talk about. You’re coming with us, and that's final."

Sirius, now on his knees, glanced at you, licking the blood from his lip. You could see the gears turning in his head, formulating a plan. You just needed to give him a bit more time.

Time. You could buy him time. You prayed to god he was trustworthy enough for this.

"Please.” You whispered, your voice desperate. "We have supplies. Medicines. Food. We can share it with you. But if you take us by force, you’ll get nothing because the rest of our group will hide or destroy it."

The man only laughed at you, something that filled you with dread. You didn't have many bargaining chips to begin with. It was a slim window, but it was all you needed. "Is that so?" He taunted, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Good thing we have some people there already, yeah?” He breathed heavy on your neck and as if to punctuate his statement you heard a gunshot coming from the farm house.

You gave a sob, choked up and quite as you began to hear babies crying. Faint, desperate, and so fucking far away. The men laughed at you, the one over Sirius raising his gun to Sirius’s head.

Sirius took the opportunity. With a sudden burst of movement, he lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun aimed at him and twisting it with all his strength. The attacker, caught off guard, stumbled, giving Sirius the opening he needed. He delivered a swift kick to the man's knee, causing him to collapse in pain.

Taking advantage of the chaos, you threw your head back hard, connecting with the face of the man holding you. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip just enough for you to twist out of his hold. You dropped to the ground, rolling away as he swung the butt of his gun at where your head had been moments before.

"Run!" Sirius shouted, his voice raw with urgency. He managed to wrench the gun from his attacker, firing a wild shot into the air. The deafening crack echoed through the forest, startling birds into flight and momentarily disorienting the Death Eaters. 

You didn't need to be told twice. Pushing off the ground, you scrambled to your feet and took off running, your heart pounding in your ears. You could hear Sirius struggling behind you, but you couldn't think about that. Your first priority had to be Hermione and little Harry.

The forest blurred around you as you sprinted, branches whipping at your face and arms. Your mind raced with frantic thoughts, but you forced yourself to focus on the path ahead. You had to get to the farmhouse, had to make sure everyone was okay. 

When you made it there the door was wide open, and there was a dead body in the grass. You slowed to a stop, giving a shaky sigh of relief when you didn't recognize the figure.

You looked him over and cursed when you didn't see a gun, but the pleading from inside hit your ears hard.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. 

Creeping closer, you tried to make as little noise as possible. The pleading voices grew clearer, more desperate, and you could hear Hermione's little cries among them. Your heart clenched with both fear and determination.

Peering through a broken window, you saw a scene that made your blood run cold. Two Death Eaters stood inside, their guns drawn, while Lily clutched little Harry and Hermione protectively. The children were huddled in her arms, their faces bright red with tears and snot.

James stood between them, and Remus was sitting on the seat you had left him in, unable to move with a gun to the back of his neck. You could barely make out James pleading.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm despite the terror gripping you. Your mind raced, trying to formulate a plan. You needed a distraction, something to draw their attention away just long enough to give them a chance.

Your eyes scanned the room through the broken window, taking in every detail. James was trying to reason with the Death Eaters, his voice steady despite the tension. He didn't seem to just back down and roll over like he did with you.

Remus, though immobilized, seemed to be quietly assessing the situation, his eyes flickering between the intruders and the small clan. Then, his eyes flickered to the window. Both of your eyes locked in a second, yet he remained calm and simply averted his gaze.

Remus never failed to impress you.

You took another deep breath, feeling a surge of resolve. His calm reaction gave you the reassurance that he trusted you to act. You couldn't let them down.

Your eyes darted around, finally resting on the pile of firewood. If you could create a loud enough distraction, it might give James and Remus the opening they needed. You picked up a handful of small rocks from the ground, weighing them in your hand. This had to work.

With a steadying breath, you hurled the rocks at the pile of firewood through the broken window. The clattering noise was loud and sudden, echoing through the farmhouse. The Death Eaters whipped around, guns raised, their attention momentarily diverted.

James took the opportunity, lunging forward to tackle one of the Death Eaters, and you rushed the back door to come help.

Only, you rushed in to watch Remus, moving with calm and swift determination, stand and snag the gun from the stunned intruder. In the same motion, put a bullet through his head. Without flinching, he then turned and fired at James’s tussle buddy with that same overwhelming calm.

You stopped dead in your tracks, the back door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The scene made you take a full pause, you had always assumed Remus was the softest of them all but his actions were precise, calculated. Like he had done them a million times before. The Death Eater's body slumped to the ground, and James quickly disarmed the other, pinning him down.

The sudden silence was deafening, punctuated only by the ragged breathing of everyone in the room. Hermione and Harry were still crying, clinging and shaking as Lily clutched them tightly, their faces bright red and distressed. James stood over the fallen Death Eater, his chest heaving with exertion.

Remus, still holding the gun, looked up at you with a grim expression. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice steady despite the tension.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "We need to get out of here.”

“Damn right.” James hissed and stood, turning to face you before furrowing his brow. “Where's Sirius?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind you. You turned to see Sirius emerging from the trees, disheveled but alive. Relief washed over you as he jogged up, his eyes scanning the scene inside the farmhouse.

"I'm here," Sirius said, slightly out of breath. "But we need to move, now. More of them could be on the way."

James nodded, looking at the rest of the group. "Right, we can't stay here any longer. Grab whatever you can carry. We need to find a safer place."

Lily, still holding onto Harry and Hermione, stood up, her face set with determination. "We need to get the children to safety first. Then we can figure out our next move."

Remus, still holding the gun, moved to help gather things, before you finally managed to croak out.

“Car. I have a car. It's shitty, probably can only take us a few miles but-”

"That'll have to do." Sirius interrupted, his voice steady despite the chaos. "We just need to get out of here. We can worry about the rest later."

The second you were all finished packing you left. Didn't take longer than ten minutes.

You turned quickly, leading the way through the back door and out into the cold air. The forest felt different now, less like the home you made of it and more like a looming threat. The shadows seemed to stretch toward you, and the distant sound of rustling leaves began to sound like whispers of danger, warning you of the trouble that might still be lurking just beyond the trees. Still, you suppressed your emotions. The growing fear at knowing you had been being watched, the feeling of the gun to your neck, the feel of his foul breath on your skin-

“{Y/N}?” Lily’s voice called out to you, almost grounding you to the moment. You gave a small steady breath, smiling and reaching out for Hermione. 

Lily gave you a worried look before you took her and looked down at the girl in your arms. She had cried herself to sleep, her little body curled against you, her face streaked with tears. You gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, wishing you could wipe away all the fear and confusion swirling in this world around you.

“We’ll get through this.” You whispered softly, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to comfort her or yourself. Your heart was racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but you forced yourself to focus. 

Sirius, James, and Remus were already moving ahead, keeping an eye on the surroundings. You could see the tension in their shoulders, the way they scanned the trees as if expecting danger to pop out again. Lily moved that much closer to you, but you all stayed silent.

“Over here.” You called to the boys as you guys made it to the barn that was hardly standing. You gestured to it and Sirius walked over to open the swinging doors, grimacing at the rusty old bucket of a truck.

“Is it quiet?” He turned to you and you scoffed.

“Not at all. But it's fast as hell.” You confirmed before you walked over. James opened the back seat and helped Remus into it. He then lifted Lily up with Harry next, turning to you. He held out his hand and you hesitated for a moment. 

Turning to Sirius and noticing his cut lip was still bleeding, he had a bad bruise forming on his head and a few scratches from the tussle. 

James looked between you two before he tilted his head to the passenger seat before he got in the back. You took a deep breath and climbed into the car, still securing Hermione as you shifted your weapons to the side. Opening the dash to toss Sirius the keys.

“Are we ready?” He looked back at the group, the back seat particularly squished with everything- and everyone. 

There was a thick silence before Sirius huffed. “Let's get the fuck out of here.”

~~~

Back in the once still forest you left behind, none of you were aware of a shadow slothing his way through the tree line.

One of the men Sirius had managed to get down wasn't quite dead yet. After fighting off the zombified version of his partner, he watched you and the rest of the group drive off. 

In a car that looked painfully familiar. 

The walk home for him was hell, his wounds were still fresh and bleeding, each step sending waves of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth against the agony, his mind racing with thoughts of vengeance and the need for retribution. 

The memories of the skirmish replayed vividly in his mind- Sirius’s sudden burst of movement, the way you had fought back with a ferocity that surprised him. He had underestimated you, and that was a mistake he wouldn't repeat. But at least he could come back with something. Having found the elusive {Y/N}.

When he finally made it back to the mansion, the sun had rose behind him. Stumbling in, half bloodied and bordering on unconscious.

He pushed through the heavy door, the creaking wood protesting against his weight. The moment he stepped inside, the air shifted, the atmosphere thick with tension and the lingering scent of fear. It was a stark contrast to the familiar, almost cozy feel of the mansion he had once known. His old home. 

“Where the hell have you been?” A voice barked from the shadows. It was Lucius Malfoy, leaning casually against a wall, his eyes narrowing as he took in the state of the man before him. “Father Tom isn't happy. You’re supposed to report back! What happened out there?”

Avery winced, clutching his side where a deep gash throbbed, blood seeping through his fingers. “We... we encountered them. They were not alone.” He forced out, each word a struggle. “That girl at the barn down the road. She had a group with her.”

Lucius's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing further as he processed the information. "A girl? With a group? This is unacceptable, Avery. You let them escape? You know what Father Tom will do if he finds out about this."

Avery struggled to hold himself upright, the pain coursing through his body threatening to overwhelm him. "I... I tried to capture them. But they fought back- hard. Sirius Black was there, and he wasn't alone. They’ve become more organized, more dangerous. He was with that James Potter and his goons.”

Lucius took a step closer, his condescending demeanor shifting to one of intense interest. “Sirius Black? So, the traitor has resurfaced. And you say this girl, this survivor, is connected to him?” He paused, a calculating look crossing his face. “What if she’s more than just another survivor?”

Before Avery could respond, a third figure emerged from the shadows- a tall man with dark hair and sharp features that seemed to cut through the dim light of the mansion. 

It was Barty Crouch Jr., a (now) high-ranking member of the Death Eaters, his presence commanding and terrifying, considering all he's already done for the organization. He stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he assessed Avery’s battered state.

“Sounds like the perfect gift for Tom, doesn't it? After such a momentous mistake. Oh Avery, run in with a bunch of kids? You get sadder every time I see you.” He taunted, crossing his arms. “Did you really think you could take on Black and a bunch of survivors? How cute.” His smirk quickly turned deadly, relishing in the familiar deranged anger they had grown to know from him. “Where is he?”

Avery winced at Barty's taunt, his frustration boiling beneath the surface. “I'm sure you heard as you were eavesdropping, Crouch.” He snapped, “We were caught off guard. Black put a fucking bullet in me and that damn girl broke my nose, least you could do is go fetch Narcissa.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re wounded and still trying to bark orders? I’d be careful with that tone, Avery. You’re lucky to be alive after failing so spectacularly." He leaned against the staircase, smirking at Lucius. “You heard the boy. Go fetch your wife. Though, if it were me, I'd let the bastard bleed. I bet it will feel wonderful compared to what Tom will do to him.”

“That wasn't all.” Avery finally piped up as he leaned back against the marble wall, looking up at the ceiling as he panted. “I got her name.”

Lucius's interest piqued as he leaned closer, curiosity mingling with irritation. “What do you mean you got her name? Who is she?”

Avery took a moment to catch his breath, the pain in his side sharpening with every second. “She’s {Y/N}. The girl from the camp. She had the truck we left behind, it's her. I'm certain of it.”

Barty’s expression suddenly darkened and his face fell hard. “What?” He whispered.

Lucius gave a weak scoff. “You may have just saved your own ass with that, Avery.”

As the atmosphere in the room thickened with tension, the heavy door creaked open from down the hall. 

First out was Narcissa, who gawked at the boys in front of her before hurrying over to help Avery. “What are you guys doing? He's bleeding.” She spoke in a firm tone.

Behinder her, there was the soft sound of a baby’s cry and Evan Rosier stepped into the light, followed closely by Regulus Black. Regulus holding up a little blonde kid on his hip.

Evan's demeanor was lax, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of a threat, while Regulus’s face bore a grimace of pain, a bandage wrapped around his head where a nasty gash marred his brow. Still, the kid seemed unbothered by his angry expression. Evan had to charge himself forward to stop Barty from taking down the bleeding bastard.

“You better not of fucking touched her!” Barty shouted as he tried to jump past Evan who eventually had to tackle him against the wall. Holding his shoulders and looking at Barty with a hard look. 

“The hell mate!? What's gotten into you!?” Evan shouted and Barty was panting, glaring at Avery. 

“Bastard attacked {Y/N}! Got that fucking shiner to prove it!” He shouted and Avery huffed.

“I did my job!” Avery snapped back.

Regulus took a step forward, his eyes wide with shock as he absorbed the situation. His face switched from his hard scowl to soft and almost vulnerable at your name. “Wait, wait. {Y/N}? Our {Y/N}?” His voice wavered slightly, and there was an urgency in his tone that caught everyone’s attention. 

Avery's eyes narrowed, irritation flickering on his face. “Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying. She was with Sirius Black and they’ve formed some sort of group. She fought back, fucked me up, but she's alive.”

Regulus’s expression darkened, a mix of concern and anger. She was with his brother? His brother was still alive? That meant the Order could get back together. 

But mostly, that meant you were okay. The men he sent out looking, the days he was losing hope, you were out there. “But she was here? Down the street the whole time?”

“What the fuck have you idiots been doing? We send you to get one girl and you come back empty handed and four men down!” Barty snapped at them from where Evan had him pinned. 

“An entire month and she was right there.” Regulus snapped as Narcissa led Avery to the back room as he began to stumble, the adrenaline wearing off.

The three watched Avery retreat to the back room, Lucius gathering Draco up as he passed Regulus. 

The three boys exchanged looks between each other. There was a long silence before Evan finally let go of Barty.

“I'll kill him.” Barty mumbled and Evan gave him a toothy smirk.

“Leave it. She's alive mate.” 

“Alive and with Black.” Barty snapped and rubbed his face. “Who's to say what's going on? What's happening?”

“We'll find her.” Regulus affirmed. The two looked at the shorter boy who was staring at the door. 

“We’ll just send someone more competent.” He mumbled and both boys turned to look at Even.

[luveline]

Anything with Zombie apocalypse! Peter Parker, like how Peter and reader survive or how they met each other just Anything please

Shuffling, a tired groan. Dragging footsteps. A body drops down next to yours. 

"Hello," he says. "Can't you sit somewhere normal?" 

"Hi, Pete." You point down at the group of your survivors. "She's the one who stole my camera. I know it." 

"What's your evidence?" 

Peter brings a knee up to tuck the bottom of his pants into his socks. It helps stay warm in the cold, as does tucking your shirts in, even if it makes for ugly outfits. You pluck a leaf from his unruly hair. "She was– you know how when someone asks you about something and you know you didn't do it but you try not to sound guilty anyways? She was the only one who stayed casual when I asked." 

"So you think she's guilty because she sounded not guilty?" 

You shake your head in defeat. It's a stupid theory, but it's true. She one hundred percent stole your camera because she's a klepto. "It didn't even have any battery left. She just stole it 'cos she knows it's special to me." 

"Maybe you lost it." He unzips his coat and digs through the front pocket. "Left it behind." 

"I wouldn't have," you sigh. "Trust me. It's the one thing I wouldn't forget." 

Peter pulls a lump from his pocket and offers it to you. "Wouldn't be this, would it?" 

Your camera is small and silver in his hands. It looks foreign. The world grows greener by the day as plant life encroaches the streets and skyscrapers shatter in the bad weather. Technology is everywhere but useless, discarded, cars burned to shells and cell phones dropped useless in gutters and eaves. Your camera doesn't work anymore, powered by eight double AA batteries that are impossible to find out here. 

You take it eagerly, a laugh sneaking out and echoing loud enough to make the others camping down look up at you where you're sitting. "Be careful!" Macy calls. 

"Where did you–?" you ask, shocked.

"It's not classy, but I went through her stuff. After you went to sleep last night I asked around and she was being too calm." 

"I knew it," you say, hugging the camera to your chest. There are photos on here you don't want to lose. One day, when you find batteries, or even luckier a computer that works, you'll get to see them again. "Peter, you don't know what this means to me." 

"It means everything, right?" he asks with a shrug. 

You put it down gently and offer your arms to him. He moves in quickly, almost laughably quickly, but his hug is light and breezy. "I didn't do it for you, I'm all about justice," he says. 

"Yeah?" 

"For sure. The people need a vigilante, right? Now more than ever." 

You kiss his cheek. "You're my hero, Parker." 

"Hey, kids!" someone calls, "Get down here!" 

"I'm twenty one!" Peter shouts back. 

"Come on! We need to go before it gets dark." 

When it's dark, bad things happen. The mutes come out to play. Peter gives your shoulder a last rub before he stands, and together you climb down the crumbling metal steps down to the streets again. "What happens when she notices the camera's gone?" you murmur to him. 

"She didn't have it," Peter says, hand ghosting the small of your back, "so she can't lose it. Right?" 

You offer him a private smile. "Right." 

[niniiiitiiin]

MORE AND MORE ART OF THE DAY THE WORLD BROKE BY @saladmix BECAUSE IT'S NEVER ENOUGH WHEN IT COMES TO THIS MASTERPIECE 🗣‼

This time I bring you some designs of the boys in the first chapters (with some doodles included), I really like designing, I enjoyed doing this

Now I'm going to digress a bit so you can go straight to the art :]

Since I started reading I more or less imagined their outfits, I love how you don't describe exactly what they're wearing, but you leave it in dialogues subtly

With Leo I imagined him exactly like in that concept art, with a type of sweater/jacket, and with Raph it was the same (same concept art), in fact I imagined him exactly as he looks at the end of the movie, we love their outfits, unfortunately they didn't last more than 3 chapters, justice for Leo's sweater 🙏

With Donnie I did a copy paste of his outfit at the end of the movie, it's his JoJo sweatshirt, with his iconic crocs (the true survivors of this whole Apocalypse)

And with Mikey I put on his colorful orange shirt with colored spots, I don't know if you can tell but they're blue, red and purple. For his jeans I put these patches (? I don't know exactly their name but they stick to clothes, he used them a lot before and I don't know why I feel like Mikey would fill his jeans with those

And well!! I keep trying to carry out the style I wanted, plus I would like to design their different outfits throughout the story, I love how they don't wear "appropriate" clothes for the Apocalypse because the poor kids just wanted to go eat burgers and fries

I hope you like it!!!

(English is not my first language so please forgive any mistakes)

[mrsparrasblog]

Mission save the human race Pt1.

Pt2

2090 Days since it happened since your life changed completely. You can still remember the day of the outburst like it was yesterday. You were stuck performing an appendectomy on a five-year-old, and then there were shots – the military evacuating us. You didn't take it seriously at that time; thought it would be like every pandemic, and there would be a cure soon. But after weeks spent with your family in a military camp, you knew it was nothing like this. You remembered how the military shot women who even got near to a zombie – too much of a risk that they could get infected. The irony of the whole thing was that women were the carriers of this unknown virus, while men only turned when they got bitten. Women turned by a simple scratch of a zombie, or when they died of any cause, they would turn in a glimpse of a second into these brainless creatures.

After it went completely downhill and more healthy people got shot without any remorse, your dad, brother, and you tried to flee out of the military base, resulting in your dad and brother getting shot, screaming you should just take their gun and leave as fast as possible. You never felt more remorse than leaving their corpses behind, but you had more than enough years to mourn them and pray for forgiveness. On the way to a safe place, you noticed small details, weird details. You got scratched, even bitten on the way, expecting to fully turn into a brainless monster – but you didn't, and to this date, you didn't know why. Well, there wouldn't be a lab anymore to find out anyway, so you just accepted it as a blessing first. But after a while, you learned the true curse of living in this shithole.

The survivors were scarier than the zombies and almost as inhuman as them – while most didn't try to hurt you since a surgeon always could get handsy in a zombie apocalypse, you still saw the horrors of self-proclaimed "Leaders" who killed in the most inhumane way just to prove their dominance. They weren't better than animals. You saw how different groups tried to start wars with each other to win resources and territory. There was still enough place and enough resources in the world for both of them to survive, so it was just a power play. If you had had a say in this, you would have tried everything to start a civilization with many people trying to rebuild humanity with strong people as guards, people farming, and people working in the infirmary, but no one ever listened to you. Why should they, as the Apocalypse proceeded, the hatred of women got only worse – "The reason for the apocalypse," resulting in women getting used, tortured, and raped if they weren't useful in other ways, and you thanked every day your mother who practically forced you to study medicine instead of law.

After months, you finally had enough and ran away from the camp – not tolerating the inhumane ways. You wondered if you were the inhuman one for leaving people there who you could have healed if you had stayed, but sometimes you needed to be egoistical, and you at least tried to stay as innocent as possible through the apocalypse. You lost everything but not your good heart which made you incredibly proud of yourself.

You didn't know how you survived this. You didn't have a particular skill set; sure, you were a pediatric surgeon before all of this, you were capable, you were smart, which probably led you to survive. But you weren't something that was of use like a soldier or police officer. God, before this Apocalypse, you didn't even carry your groceries to your apartment. You were screwed but somehow you still survived, with your one handgun that you nicked off the corpse of your dead dad. The irony was you didn't even use it in three years; you never used your gun – god, did you even know how to use it? You highly doubted it.

You claimed yourself a small cottage in the forest. It wasn't much but pretty well-hidden, and you built-in safety measurements so no walker could surprise you by night. You lived in a shithole but at least in a comfortable manner. The house had three small bedrooms, a kitchen with a tiled stove, a fireplace, a water source, and enough space outside so you could grow all sorts of vegetables and fruits. Pumpkins, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, strawberries, and raspberries highlight your perfect garden. You even had some apple and cherry trees you took great pride in. Before all started, you couldn't say you were good at gardening; even your cactus didn't survive the neglect you put them through – but you used all your remaining time learning about farming and providing for yourself, growing plants you can use as medication. In your imagination, you would somehow manage to have some chickens and cows, but you knew it would draw way too much attention, and you liked your hidden lifestyle way too much for this to happen. You were quite naive; you thought this would stay this way until-.

You heard sounds from your garden – nothing unusual since some local animals came and tried to steal a carrot or two, but then the sounds of multiple men echoed.

"Fuck."

They blundered in weird ways, talking about finding a safe place and raiding something. You ran upstairs, grabbed your handgun, and hid in the closet.

"Fuck, here isn't anything useful," a man with a hoarse voice and a British accent cursed all my cabins violently.

"Johnny, you will get through this; you won't die on me," a man said with a worried voice.

"He has a fucking bullet in his shoulder; how can he fucking survive this?" A bullet in his shoulder, probably not gone through. If it didn't hit anything major, his survival rate would be 80% in a normal world, depending on the material of the bullet; he could survive or die. If it's lead and stays inside his body, he will be dead in at least 4 days from lead poisoning. If the wound isn't properly cleaned – blood poisoning. If they take it out of him and don't properly sew him – death. This man hasn't a high chance of surviving. You could at least triple the chance of his survival, but if you get out there, you would probably lose the chance of survival by several digits. Your morale was high; you swore an oath to help every human you were capable of saving, but was it worth more than your own life?

"Shut the fuck up," the worried man screamed at the other.

You decided to stay in the closet, a choice you'd later regret, your lack of courage weighing on you as survival seemed uncertain. Tears slowly started to fall from your eyes, running against your soft rosy cheeks. Your handgun was clutched tightly in your sweaty palms, your breath trembling from pure horror, convinced that today might be your last.

With a sudden grunt, the closet door swung open. Before you stood four imposing men, each holding big machine guns, and a fifth man, held by another, similarly armed.

In front of you was a middle-aged man with brown hair, a fishing hat atop his head, and the most amazing blue eyes you had ever seen. He was tall and muscular, with a well-groomed beard for an apocalypse. Handsome and scary simultaneously.

The second man was one of the most attractive individuals you'd ever laid eyes on. He had brown-golden skin, trusting brown eyes, and a cap perched on his head. His gaze held a mix of awe and confusion as he looked at you.

The third man was colossal, ripped with muscles, and possibly the tallest person you'd encountered. He sported a blonde buzz cut and blue eyes that glowed red, giving him an intimidating aura. With an unhealed scar across his eyes and some stubles, he probably was incapable of growing a beard because of the scar tissue.

The fourth man looked similar to the one with the fishing hat; the only difference was his dirty blonde hair and tattoo sleeves. You noticed the prosthetic leg and wondered whether it had been dealt with properly – you sure as hell could help him too.

The last one was the man who got shot, and held by the scary men. He was the shortest of the group but still taller than you by several inches. His hair was in a funny mohawk, and he was ripped – not a bit; he was built like a fucking powerhouse. You couldn't shake the thought away that if you had known him through med school, learning anatomy would have been different – all those muscles – focus.

You thought that your potential killers were all good-looking, each in different ways. Despite this, you still pointed your gun at them, and they held their machine guns at you.

"A woman – I thought they were all dead," the man with the cap said, making you curious. All dead? When you last left your forest two years ago, there weren't many women, but there were still some out there.

You gathered all your remaining courage, shaking as you said, "Leave me alone, or I shoot." They laughed at you. Okay, they had more people and bigger guns, but you could still harm at least one of them.

"Oh, dove, your gun is still secured," the man with the fishing hat said, trying to hold out a laugh.

You tried to fidget with your gun, but you didn't know how to unsecure it. So, you just lowered it and held your hands up in the air.

"We don't have time for this shit. Knock her out or something; we need to fucking save Johnny," the scary man said, sending shivers down your spine out of fear.

"If you don't kill me, I'll save your friend." Win-win situation; you'll survive, and your morals are saved.

"Shut the fuck up. How could a stupid girl who can't even use a gun save him?" the scary man screamed. You were sure that he had a special bond with this Johnny, sure as hell best friends or lovers by how he acted.

"I'm a surgeon; I can remove the bullet," you said.

"You're a surgeon?" the tattoo man asked in disbelief at your claim.

"Which field?" the scary man asked you.

"Uhm, I was a pediatric surgeon."

"Does he look like a fucking child to you?"

"Simon, we don't have much choice. It's better than nothing; he will die if we don't do anything," Fisher hat man tried to convince Simon.

Simon agreed. "What do you need?"

You were afraid to be a bit rusty, but you'll make it. "Okay, one of you will bring me as much water as he can gather, one needs to guard the door. I don't need any interruptions in my surgery. One needs to stay in the room; this will hurt as hell without proper numbing. My surgical equipment is in the closet by the bathroom, as well as the medication I produced. You need to tie him to the bed; I don't know how, and I don't care, as long as he doesn't try to kill me while I try to fix his shoulder, and I need a promise that I won't be killed if he doesn't survive."

"Yes, ma'am," the tattoo guy said and was on his way. All the men worked efficiently, making you wonder if they had some military background since they listened better than my old residents, at least.

The man who introduced himself as Kyle - by the way, the only one who introduced himself to you - tied Johnny to the bed. Everything was now prepared, and you tried to make this place as sterile as possible.

You sat down on Johnny since you couldn't stand properly by the bed for the surgery and had the advantage of holding him down with your body weight.

"Hey Johnny, this will hurt a bit, okay, but you need to be strong, okay?" You talked to him like with your child patients, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, it mattered to save him.

Johnny spoke completely drowsy from the pain, "Am I deid, Lt? Or how come dae I see an angel oan tap o' me?" You chuckled; even in pain, you noticed that that man was a total flirt.

"Shut up, Johnny, and survive," Simon said.

"Love ya, Lt."

"I love you too, idiot." You were right in your thoughts; they were indeed a couple and a handsome one. You couldn't shake the feeling away, though, that he probably would kill you in the most vicious way if Johnny didn't survive.

You slid your scalpel through him and started the surgery after at least six terrible hours of fear and exhaustion; you were finished; you saved him. You were a bit envious of Johnny; Simon stayed the whole time by his side without being grossed out or yawning for a second; they loved each other. You never experienced that kind of love and never will...

Now he only needs to survive the aftermath of the surgery, which will be harder for his body than the actual surgery since the adrenaline wore off. You were glad that you were able to nick some antibiotics and real medication from a nearby emergency station. You were always better safe than sorry.

You removed the blood from yourself and washed yourself with cold water, which felt like an eternity till you pronounced yourself clean enough. You put on some cozy clothing and walked to the living room where three men sat sandwiched on the small couch. Simon stayed by Johnny.

You planted yourself across from them and looked at them until Fisher Man Hat spoke.

"Thank you for saving our man; I'm John, by the way."

"Alex."

"Well, you already know my name; how can we call you?" Kyle asked you.

"Uhm, everyone always called me Dr. Angel, since the kiddies compared me to one," you replied, telling them the truth.

"Beautiful nickname for a beautiful woman," John said.

You couldn't hide a blush, and Kyle asked you how it came that you lived alone. You explained your life story without boring them for one second.

"Tell me something about the six of you."

"Uhm, we were special forces back in the days before everything went downhill. We protected some scientists who worked on a cure, but they didn't make it and died in one of their experiments. We are originally seven, but the other two are on a raid right now for our camp. I know we probably scare you, but if you want to, you can stay with us, no strings attached. We know how humanity changed, and being the only woman alive makes it even scarier, but we will protect you since you saved one of our own," John explained. You were still confused, only woman alive? How is this possible? Well, you were immune to the virus, but you didn't need to tell them right now since this would make you even more vulnerable.

"Only woman alive?"

"Yes, dove, the woman's got instinct with them, the human race." You gulped; your moral codex spoke to you again. Shouldn't you prevent that from happening? Or is this nature's plan? You didn't want to think about it further.

"Does anyone of you want to eat something? I'm starving," you exclaimed, trying to change the subject to something less uncomfortable.

"You don't have to feed us; you already did enough," Kyle said.

"Nonsense! I'm hungry, and I have more than enough vegetables to feed a whole army," you protested and walked towards your kitchen. You took out the preserved tomatoes and potatoes and wanted to slice them, but a tall figure already removed your knife from your hands.

"Let me help; it's the least thing I can do after you did so much for us," Alex said and started to slice the vegetables while you tried to heat your pot. The other two put plates on your small kitchen table, making it feel incredibly domestic for you. They looked like husbands caring for their wives, and you wanted to shake out the thoughts in your head. You were just underfucked from the whole apocalypse, but deep down, you knew they did something to you, made you feel a tight knot in your stomach.

You took one portion up to Simon, who still gathered around Johnny's bed. With a sudden movement, the tall man hugged you tight, almost crushing you with his sheer strength.

"Thank you for saving him and sorry for being mean to you."

"I understand; I'd do the same if someone I dearly loved would be injured in this hell of a life," he tried to pull a smile at my words. "Here's some hot food, and give Johnny his antibiotics in an hour, okay?"

"Hot food? I haven't had that since forever."

I laughed, "Get used to it, big boy." He raised a brow but didn't question it.

You went downstairs and saw the men laughing while waiting for you like true gentlemen. Kyle blushed a bit when you came down, and they instantly stopped their talk. You asked yourself what they talked about, maybe something that would be dangerous. They ate like starved men and told you how long they didn't have anything warm in their bellies, making you realize how lucky you were in your cottage with your grown food. The only thing you were missing was someone to warm your bed—stop it, you said to your inner thoughts.

You gave the remaining boys some blankets and showed them enough places to sleep, and as they didn't mind sharing, everything went perfectly. Alex took the patrol for the night, telling you it needed to be done even if you never patrolled for the last two years. The other men called you naive for it. You checked one time on Johnny if he had a fever or anything like that, but to your luck, he was fine, still asleep and high on medication. Simon slept beside him, and you couldn't stop yourself from putting a blanket on top of him. He deserved the comfort after taking care of his boyfriend that way.

John walked you down to your room, talking a bit to you, which gave you more comfort than you wanted to admit. You were a human after all, and humans missed humans when they lived two years in isolation to survive.

"Did you ever think about what it means for you to be the only woman alive?" he asked you.

"It's pretty weird to think about it."

"Kinda."

"I guess the human race will go extinct then."

"There are ways if you decide to—you know, save the planet and everything. You seem like a girl who always wants to do the right thing."

"You mean getting pregnant?"

"Exactly, saving the human race and everything."

"Would it be selfish if I let it die?"

"A bit, but it's your choice. I will always protect you from everyone who wants to take advantage of you. You're part of the team now."

"And what if I decide to want to save it?"

His eyes lit up. "Then, of course, I'd support you, like every man on this team. I think most of my boys wouldn't be repulsed by helping you to reach this goal." You blushed hard. Did he just tell you—shit.

"And what about you, John?"

"I'd be more than willing to participate. You're incredibly looking, dove, and I'm just a man behind all this."

"I'll think about it," but you couldn't shake away the feeling of them—you could have all of them.

"Take your time, dove." He kissed you on your rosy cheek and left you completely crazy alone with your thoughts. It was too long ago, and you felt the familiar feeling building up inside of you. Fuck it, you thought and decided to speak with them about it tomorrow. You're a good person after all, right? And that's what a good person does?

[jcxbliss]

“til my legs give out’ teaser

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader

Genre- Apocalypse, Horror, Survival

Synopsis- In a world ravaged by a zombie apocalypse, you struggle to survive amidst the chaos. While scavenging for supplies, you encounter a mysterious guy, a wary yet resourceful stranger who offers a cautious alliance. Together, you navigate the dangers of the undead and find fleeting moments of hope in a shattered world.

Warnings - Graphic violence, strong language, explicit sexual content, substance abuse, disturbing imagery, and intense psychological horror, exploring mature themes and the brutal realities of survival.

Authors note - This story is not for minors so don’t not interact. If you enjoy darker fiction this will be for you, if you don’t I advise you to skip this series. This is also a slow burn so please please bare with it! Love ya all!❤️🫶

Three years ago, the world was torn apart in a nightmarish wave of chaos. It began subtly enough—a strange illness spreading rapidly, affecting millions. The initial reports described it as a virulent flu, but soon the true horror became apparent: the infected were no longer alive in any conventional sense. They became grotesque, mindless creatures driven only by an insatiable hunger.

You remember the day society crumbled vividly. It was an ordinary morning when the first outbreak occurred. You were at work, watching in disbelief as the news flashed across the screens: hospitals overrun, cities in lockdown, and the government declaring martial law. At first, there were frantic calls to stay indoors, to shelter in place, but the situation spiraled beyond control.

Your once-bustling city turned into a ghost town. The streets, once filled with the hum of daily life, were now eerily silent except for the occasional screams and the relentless groaning of the undead. In the initial days of the outbreak, you tried to reach your family, battling through gridlocked traffic and marauding mobs of infected. Each attempt to call them ended in desperation, as you watched helplessly from a distance as the world descended into anarchy.

The government’s efforts to contain the crisis were futile. Quarantines became death traps, and safe zones were overrun within hours. The infected, relentless and insatiable, breached every barricade, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. You found yourself fleeing from one temporary refuge to another, each more perilous than the last.

One particularly harrowing night, while scavenging for supplies in a crumbling supermarket, you heard the frantic cries of someone else in the building. You found a group of survivors huddled together, but their numbers had dwindled rapidly as the infected breached their makeshift barricades. You escaped with a few others, narrowly avoiding death, but the cost was steep. The faces of the lost haunted you, a grim reminder of the world that once was.

As the days turned into months, your survival became a series of narrow escapes and fleeting alliances. Trust became a luxury you could no longer afford.

Today was supposed to be a simple run for supplies. You had done it countless times before—scouting abandoned stores and gathering what you could to keep yourself alive. This time, though, something went terribly wrong.

You had chosen a small, out-of-the-way supermarket, one that you knew was less likely to be overrun. Everything was going smoothly as you made your way through the aisles, filling your backpack with canned goods, bottled water, and other essentials. The quiet of the empty store was almost unnervingly peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos you had grown accustomed to.

But then you heard it: a sudden, deafening crash from the back of the store. Your heart leapt into your throat as you froze, listening intently. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans followed, growing closer with each passing second. You cursed under your breath, quickly stashing the supplies and grabbing your makeshift weapon—a metal pipe you had found a while back.

The supermarket’s back door had been forced open, and as you peeked around the corner, you saw a group of infected pouring in, their twisted forms staggering and clawing at anything in their path. Panic surged through you, and you turned to flee, but the sound of more crashing from the front of the store told you it was already too late.

You darted through the aisles, your pulse racing as you navigated the maze of shelves. The infected were closing in, their growls echoing through the once-familiar space. You reached the exit only to find it blocked by a fresh wave of undead. Desperation gripped you as you searched for an alternative route, adrenaline pushing you to the brink.

In your frantic escape, you knocked over shelves, sending a cascade of cans clattering to the ground. The noise only drew more attention. Your only option was to head for the back storage area. You slipped into a narrow hallway, your breath coming in ragged bursts, and tried to find a way out. Behind you, the moans of the infected grew louder, their hunger palpable.

You spotted a small window high up on the wall and knew it was your best shot. Using a stack of crates, you managed to climb up and push the window open. You barely had time to squeeze through before a swarm of infected burst into the hallway, their claws scraping against the walls.

The drop from the window was jarring, and you landed awkwardly, but you didn’t stop to assess the damage. You ran into the forest, your heart still pounding from the near-miss. Now, as you flee through the trees, the terror of the failed supply run clings to you like a shadow. The forest is your only sanctuary, but it’s also filled with its own dangers, and you know that survival in this world is a constantly shifting line between safety and horror.

As you sprint through the forest, the undergrowth becomes increasingly tangled, each step more labored than the last. The ground beneath your feet is a treacherous mix of roots, rocks, and fallen branches. Your mind is fixated on escape, but the physical exhaustion and sheer terror are taking their toll.

A particularly thick branch lies hidden under a pile of leaves. Your foot catches on it, and you go sprawling forward, crashing onto the forest floor. Pain erupts in your ankle as you twist it awkwardly upon impact. You wince, the jarring shock almost making you gasp aloud. Dirt and leaves cling to your clothes, and a sharp, stinging pain radiates from your twisted ankle.

Panic flares as the guttural moans of the infected grow closer, and you know you can’t afford to linger. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you push yourself up with trembling hands, feeling a wave of dizziness from the effort. You force yourself to stand, leaning heavily on one leg as you test the injured ankle. It throbs with each movement, but the distant sounds of pursuit drive you to continue.

You begin to hobble through the forest, your gait uneven and labored. Every step sends a jolt of pain up your leg, but you refuse to stop. The infected are still out there, their relentless groans a constant reminder of the danger. The forest seems to close in around you, the shadows deepening as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

Despite the pain, you push through, each step a battle against your own body. The pain in your ankle grows sharper with every movement, but the adrenaline coursing through you keeps you moving. You force yourself to focus on the immediate goal: finding safety, even if it means stumbling through the forest with a throbbing, injured leg.

As you continue, the trees begin to thin, offering a glimmer of hope. You spot a small, overgrown trail leading deeper into the woods and decide to follow it, hoping it might lead to a better hiding place or an escape route. Your progress is slow and uneven, but the urgency to avoid capture propels you forward.

Eventually, the trail opens into a clearing with an old, abandoned cabin. You carefully make your way toward it, pushing through the pain as best as you can. The cabin offers a brief respite from the relentless pursuit, and you collapse inside, panting and wincing from the pain.

You take a moment to catch your breath, assessing the damage to your ankle. It’s swollen and bruised, and you know it will be difficult to move if you have to leave again. But for now, the cabin’s shadows offer a temporary refuge from the danger outside. You brace yourself, knowing you must stay alert and ready to move again if the infected come closer.

As you sit on the cabin floor, tending to your swollen ankle, the sudden creak of the door makes you freeze. The door swings open, and a man steps inside, his dark silhouette framed by the dim light outside. His rugged appearance and worn clothing suggest he’s been surviving on the edge, but his presence alone is enough to set your nerves on edge.

You scramble to your feet, the pain in your ankle making each movement sharp and labored. You clutch the metal pipe tightly, your knuckles white. “Don’t come any closer!” you warn, your voice strained with fear and pain. “I’m armed, and I will use this if I have to.”

The man raises his hands in a gesture of peace, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “I was just looking for a place to rest. I heard the commotion and came in to check it out.”

You keep the pipe pointed at him, every muscle in your body tensed. “How do I know you’re not a threat?” you demand, your gaze never leaving his. “I’ve had enough encounters with people who say one thing and mean another.”

The man’s eyes flicker with a hint of frustration, but he remains still. “Look, I get it. You’re cautious. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need somewhere safe to catch my breath. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have walked in with my hands up.”

You remain unconvinced, your grip on the pipe unwavering. “I don’t care about your hands. For all I know, you’re just looking for a chance to attack. I can’t afford to let my guard down.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes a cautious step back. “Alright, alright. I’m not here to push my luck. I’ll stay back if that’s what you want. But I’ve got some supplies here,” he says, gesturing to the small backpack on his shoulder. “If you need anything, it’s yours. I won’t interfere.”

You glance warily at the backpack, the promise of supplies tempting but not enough to ease your suspicion. The man’s offer could be a ploy, and you’re not about to risk lowering your guard. “I don’t need anything from you,” you say sharply. “Just stay where you are and don’t make any sudden moves.”

He nods slowly, sitting down on a chair across the room, his posture relaxed but watchful. The silence in the cabin grows heavy with unspoken tension. You resume tending to your ankle, casting occasional glances at the man. His presence is a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk even in seemingly safe places.

The pain in your ankle is a constant reminder of the precarious situation you’re in. You’re wary and on edge, fully aware that in this unforgiving world, trust is a luxury you cannot afford.

[bzurk]

dog eat dog world

You stalk through the decaying remnants of humanity, a ghost in a world gone feral. Every step is muffled by the eerie silence that has settled over the earth, bearing witness to its downfall. You have become a nomad, constantly on the move in search of a glimmer of civilization. As the days blur into nights and back again, you cling to the hope that there is still safety somewhere, waiting for you to find it. And find it you do. You'd rather face a thousand zombies.

You stalk through the decaying remnants of humanity, a ghost in a world gone feral. Every step is muffled by the eerie silence that has settled over the earth, bearing witness to its downfall. The air is thick with the stench of decay and smoke, a constant reminder of the destruction surrounding you. You are not alone in this desolate landscape; your loyal four-legged companions pad silently at your side, their senses sharp and ready to protect you from any lurking threats.

In the early days of the apocalypse, chaos reigned supreme as society crumbled and humanity showed its true colours. As a woman, you faced not only the ravenous undead but also the predatory living who sought to exploit weakness wherever they could find it.

In the turmoil, you found strength, protection, companionship. Trained in combat and personal protection, your canines had become more than just companions; they were your lifeline, your guardians. Your dogs sensed danger before you did, their growls and barks a warning system that kept you one step ahead. And when the danger was human, their presence was a reminder that you were not to be trifled with. In the right hands, they were a weapon, gnashing teeth and pure muscle. With each passing day, your bond with them grew stronger, and your pack expanded as you encountered abandoned dogs during your travels. These new additions integrated seamlessly, creating an ever-growing arsenal of loyal guardians.

Settlements come and go, offering brief respite before the road calls you back when unease and distrust prickle beneath your skin. You move from one to the next, never staying long enough to become anything more than a fleeting memory. Your eyes are always scanning, assessing, the instincts honed by years of military training and survival now serving a different kind of war. Each new place is a potential haven or a deadly trap, and you navigate them with a mix of caution and confidence, your dogs at your side, ever watchful.

Distrust is your armour, forged in the crucible of combat and sharpened by the betrayals you've witnessed since the world fell apart. You’ve learned the hard way that trust is a rare commodity, often paid for in blood. Your instincts, once honed in the field, now serve to keep you and your pack alive in this wasteland.

You have become a nomad, constantly on the move in search of a glimmer of civilization. But until then, you rely on your military training and hardened instincts to keep you and your pack alive in this harsh world. As the days blur into nights and back again, you cling to the hope that there is still humanity left somewhere, waiting for you to find it. Until then, you’ll keep moving, keep training, and keep surviving. For in this new world, you are not just a survivor; you and your pack, your army - are a force to be reckoned with.

In this hellscape, trust is rare, and loyalty is everything. And you’ve got them in spades.

Winter grips the world in its icy embrace, turning the landscape into a frozen wasteland. The sky is a perpetual grey, a heavy blanket of clouds that never seems to lift. The sun, when it does manage to pierce through, is a pale, distant orb that offers little warmth.

Winter is always tough. The frozen ground makes survival a daily struggle, as game becomes scarce and the cold seeps into your bones, exacerbating the aches and pains in your older dogs. Weeks had turned into an agonizing blur, as monotonous as the white sheets of snow.

Each step is a fight, the ground hard as iron and covered in a thick blanket of snow. Your boots sink into it with each footfall, making progress slow and laborious. You move through a dense forest, the trees stripped bare, their skeletal branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. Snow crunches under your boots, each step a reminder of the bitter cold that gnaws at your bones.

Your breath comes in visible puffs, mingling with the cold air. Your two remaining dogs are by your side, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Their fur is thick, but even they are not immune to the biting cold. You can see the fatigue in their eyes, and the way they shiver slightly despite their endurance. But they press on, loyal and determined, their eyes always scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.

Food is scarce. You haven’t seen game in days, and the rations you carry are dwindling. Each meal is a sparse affair, shared among the three of you with careful rationing.

(The dogs always get the bigger share. Their ribs are getting too pronounced. You worry for them in the cold.)

The hunger gnaws at your stomach, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

The forest is a maze of shadows and stillness, broken only by the occasional crunch of snow underfoot or distant howl of wind. Every rustle or snap sets your nerves on edge, but your dogs serve as vigilant sentinels. Their ears twitch and their noses sniff the air, sensing danger long before you do. They’ve never led you astray before.

Your hands are numb and your face is raw from the biting wind. You pull your coat tighter around you, but it does little to ward off the chill, pocked with holes and pushing threadbare. The dogs press close to you when you finally rest, their body heat a small comfort against the freezing temperatures.

The morning creeps in, a menacing cloak of grey and cold that blankets the forest in an eerie shroud of fog. Hastily, you pack up your camp, erasing any evidence of your presence before setting off on your journey once again. You knew there was a base out west. Visited it once, even - before the world collapsed.

As you trudge through the changing forest, everything seems to grow thicker and denser, the trees looming overhead like giants. But there’s a sense of purpose, a feeling that you’re getting closer. You had to be.

Suddenly, Rex's ears perk up and his nose twitches with urgency. Dino follows suit, her body tensed for action. Your heart races as you freeze, listening intently for any signs of danger. At first, all you hear is the howling wind whipping through the trees. But then, faintly but unmistakably, you catch the sound of human voices murmuring in the distance.

Hope flares in your chest, but you temper it with caution. You move forward slowly, your dogs at your side, every sense on high alert. The voices grow louder, clearer. You catch glimpses of movement through the trees, the glint of metal, the outlines of figures.

You crouch behind a thicket, peering through the dense branches. Your heart is a drum in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears. The dogs are tense, their muscles coiled like springs.

As you cautiously approach, the figures become clearer in your sight. Two individuals, clad in military gear, move with practised precision and alertness. Their weapons are held at the ready, prepared to fire at any potential threat. Your eyes scan their faces, searching for any hint of familiarity or recognition, but they remain strangers to you - their expressions firm and guarded. The leader of the pair, a burly man with a grizzled beard and sharp, calculating eyes, is easily recognized when he speaks in a commanding hush that is barely audible over the howling wind.

A spark of hope ignites in your chest, spreading warmth and vitality throughout your body. It's clear from the amount of gear they carry that these two must be from the base: winter camouflage fatigues adorned with plate carriers and vests full of ammunition and supplies. Knives glint in the fading sunlight, guns strapped securely to their bodies. You easily command your dogs to stay put before cautiously moving closer, using the dense cover of the surrounding trees to hide your approach.

It would be stupid to sneak up on them, these men armed to the teeth. It would also be stupid to approach plainly, only armed with the bolt-actioned rifle strapped over your back and a handful of assorted knives. People are rarely kind.

The decision is made for you when a deep growl carries on the wind, animalistic and familiar. You whip around, but it’s too late. A third man, dressed similarly in military gear, emerges from the shadows behind you, his face covered and devoid of any emotion.

Before you can react, he strikes, his muscular arms coiling around your neck and waist like a deadly serpent. He pins one of your arms to your side with ease, his grip unbreakable as you struggle against him, you raise your legs and kick off the tree in front of you, but he hardly budges.

You manage to twist your head and whistle between quick breaths, a sharp, commanding sound that cuts through the air. Your dogs spring into action through the snow, their growls turning into furious barks as they charge toward the attacker.

Their unexpected arrival catches the assailant off guard, loosening their grip for a split second. You seize the opportunity, twisting your body and throwing an elbow into his ribs. He grunts in pain, his grip slipping further. You twist and writhe, using every ounce of your training to break free, but the man is strong and well-trained himself. His grip tightens again, but you keep fighting, knowing that giving up is not an option.

You kick back, aiming for his shins, and manage to connect. He stumbles, and you press the advantage, turning and driving your shoulder into his chest. For a moment, you’re almost free, but he recovers quickly, his arm snaking around your neck, pulling you into a headlock. You gasp for air, your vision blurring slightly from the pressure.

The dogs are barking furiously now, their growls a low, menacing rumble. You struggle to stay on your feet, twisting and turning in his grip, but he’s too tall and your boots barely skim the snow. He’s trying to get you to the ground, and you know that if he succeeds, it’s over.

You can hear the snap of jaws, accompanied by a consistent growl. You both go down in a tangle of limbs, the snow cushioning the fall. You thrash and kick, trying to break his hold, but he’s got the leverage now, tossing aside one of the dogs and you flinch violently when you hear a splitting crack and a loud yelp. His legs wrap around yours, locking you in place, and his arm tightens around your neck in a full-body hold.

One dog skids to a halt by your side, their teeth bared and snapping at the air, muscles taut and ready to spring back in. You can see the other rise slowly in your peripheral.

The two of you are locked in a tense stalemate, your heartbeat thundering in your chest, his arm around your jugular and your dogs poised to strike should he move.

“Call them off,” he growls into your ear, his breath hot and ragged, yet still steady, unphased.

You can feel your strength waning, the cold seeping into your bones. The man’s grip is unyielding, his hold like a vice. Your dogs circle, their eyes locked on the attacker, ready to pounce at your command.

“Fuck you, let me go!” You screech, but it comes out more of a winded rasp, wheezing from your chest. He squeezes harder. Your dogs snap at his legs in warning. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Jesus,” the sharp sound of a new voice cuts through the tense atmosphere, causing your struggles to cease instantly. Footsteps crunch heavily in the snow as two men emerge from the trees, their weapons drawn and pointed at you and your captor.

“Call 'em off,” demands the older of the two, his gruff, gravelly voice rumbling like a predator's growl. As his piercing gaze meets yours, you can feel the weight of his intense stare bearing down on you.

Your eyes briefly flick to your dogs, then back to the two armed men in front of you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you assess your options. Three against one are not great odds, but you know your dogs would protect you with their lives if necessary. You hesitate, weighing your choices. Concede and hope for mercy, or go down fighting and take your dogs with you.

In a split-second decision, you whistle short and sharp and immediately the two dogs drop to their bellies, acknowledging your command. The pressure around your neck eases as your captor's grip loosens, but his arm remains firmly in place. You can breathe more easily now, but the threat is still palpable in the tense atmosphere surrounding you.

“You bit?” The beast behind you rumbles, his voice deep enough to vibrate against your back even through the numerous layers of gear separating the two of you.

“No,” you spit, trying to claw at his arm to release yourself.

“Fuck were you doin’ sneakin’ ‘round, then?”

The arm around your neck moved, lithe and constricting, slithering over your skin until his hand rested against the nape of your neck and shoved at the same time he bent at the waist, thrusting you up and over. You fell easily, face-first into the snow, and he moved with you agilely, sitting atop the back of your thighs with a strong hand holding you in place. His free arm divested you of your rifle and its sling before sliding over your coat, emptying pockets and pouches.

Your eyes threatened to well up, stung by the cold winter air and shame. His hands invaded your coat, cold gloves patting along your sides, your back, your waist, diving into your back pockets and ridding you of any defence. You felt violated. Bare.

“Just precaution.” The older man spoke up again, pocketing all your discarded gear. “We’ll get everyone indoors, then we’ll talk, eh? Not safe out ‘ere.” He gestured with his gun, “On your feet.”

You didn’t have much of a choice when the man behind you hoisted you to your feet.

You follow the three men through the snow, your dogs walking closely by your side, their eyes still locked on your captors. The wind bites at your face, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you warm. The older man, who had pocketed your gear, leads the way, his steps sure and steady despite the uneven terrain. The man who had subdued you walks behind, constantly reminding you of your vulnerability. You wouldn’t get the upper hand again.

The sight of the old military base was both imposing and a relief. The tall, reinforced fences were topped with razor wire, and makeshift barricades formed a secondary layer of defence. Guard towers stood sentinel at each corner, their silhouettes dark against the grey sky. Two armoured vehicles flanked the main gate, their hulking forms a testament to the base's preparedness.

The base itself was a blend of old military structures and hastily constructed fortifications. The buildings bore the marks of battle and survival, their surfaces pockmarked and weathered, but they stood strong, defying the chaos beyond their walls.

As you approached, the only person visible was a guard at the gate, a solitary figure bundled in heavy winter gear. He stood ready, one hand on a lever that controlled the gate, the other cradling a rifle. His eyes scanned your group with a mix of wariness and curiosity, suddenly lighting up when they landed on the dogs.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he muttered, “pickin’ up strays, Captain?” A dry chuckle escaped his lips as the man signalled for your group to approach.

Once inside, the difference is stark.

A sense of order and security replaces the cold, harsh environment of the outside world. You're led to a small building, where the older man gestures for you to enter.

"Inside," he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You step into the building, your dogs close behind. The interior is sparse but functional, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. A table and a few chairs occupy the centre of the room, and a map of the surrounding area is pinned to one wall. A small battery-powered heater hums in the corner, offering a welcome respite from the biting cold.

"Take a seat," the older man commands, pointing to a chair at a small table in the centre of the room. You hesitate, your eyes flicking to the door and back to the man. "Now," he adds, his tone brooking no dissent.

You sit, your dogs positioning themselves protectively at your feet. The man who had subdued you remains at the door, his eyes never leaving you. The older man takes a seat across from you, his expression unreadable. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

"I'm Captain Price," he says, his voice measured. "These are my men, Gaz and Ghost. We don't get many visitors out here, especially not ones with your kind of... companions." He nods towards your dogs. "So, let's start with why you're here."

You pause, weighing your options. There's something unsettling about the way they look at you, a predatory gleam in their eyes that sets your nerves on edge. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Need food," you say.

Price leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "And you thought you'd just stroll up to our base, unannounced, with your dogs and expect us to help you out of the kindness of our hearts?"

You meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I would have offered to trade," you say, your voice steady. "All I need is some food and supplies to get through the winter."

Price raises an eyebrow. "And what makes you think we'd be interested?"

"My dogs are well-trained, as you’ve seen," you reply. "They're valuable. They keep out the infected. Hear ‘em from miles away, smell them from even further."

Price leans back in his chair, considering your words. "Valuable, sure. But so are people. And right now, we have to be careful who we let in."

You nod, understanding the unspoken threat. "I'm not looking for trouble," you say. "I just need to eat and feed the dogs."

Price's lips curl into a semblance of a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We’ll see about that," he says, his tone laced with something you can't quite identify. "You’ll stay ‘til we make a decision.” He stands from the seat and it scrapes across the floor in a piercing shriek. It does nothing to distract you from the sheer height of the man. “Clothes off,” Price orders, his voice cold.

You squawk indignantly.

The captain draws a sidearm from his belt, placing it in the middle of the table, effectively killing any defiance you may have had. You grit your teeth, but there’s no way you or the dogs could take these men and possibly even more outside. Trying to buy time, you ask “Why?”

“Gotta make sure you’re not bitten.”

You swallow down your pride and reluctantly peel off your layers of clothes, your cheeks burning crimson as the room heated up in more ways than one. You stop and wrap your arms around yourself when you stand in only your underclothes - a tank top, bra, panties, socks and boots.

Ghost and Gaz’s eyes never waver from your form. You’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life, but Price’s gun is still on the table just within his reach and his eyes rake up and down your form, as if he were assessing livestock.

“The top and your shoes and socks too, love. Underwear can stay.”

You slowly peel those off too, your hands too shaky to move much faster. Your teeth chatter and your fingers are impossibly cold against the fragile skin of your stomach when you peel the tank top up and over your head.

Your stomach clenches as Price’s eyes travel up and down your form, taking in your lean muscles and malnourishment, the dark circles under your eyes. You refuse to break eye contact, even when the brute of a man from the forest circles you like a vulture, lifting your arms and prodding at your frozen skin. You turn and scowl at him when he kicks your legs further apart.

“I’m not fucking infected. Can I get dressed now?” You snap through chattering teeth, arms wrapped tightly around your torso when Ghost has finished his inspection.

When it’s over, Ghost straightens up and nods. “Clear, sir.”

Price's gaze flickers to your dogs. “And the...”

"I assure you," you cut in, "they haven't been near any infected. We haven’t let any come close."

Price purses his lips in thought. "Fine. Get dressed."

You pull on your clothes with haste, relieved when they cover your nakedness once more.

"Take her to one of the empty rooms," Price instructs. "Make sure she and her dogs are secured."

Ghost nods, his grip firm on your arm as he leads you out of the room. The dogs growl low in their throats, but a sharp command from you keeps them in check. You follow Ghost down a dim corridor, every nerve on edge.

He opens a door, pushing you inside. The room is small, bare, with a single cot and a bucket for basic necessities. There's a small, barred window high on one wall, allowing a sliver of the cold, grey daylight to filter in. Your dogs settle near the cot, their eyes never leaving the door.

Ghost steps back, the door creaking ominously as he pulls it closed behind him. The click of the lock is a final, chilling reminder of your confinement. You sit on the cot, trying to make sense of your situation, the tension in your muscles refusing to ease.

You can't shake the feeling that there's something deeply unsettling about these men. Their gazes linger too long, their smiles never reach their eyes, and there's a cold, calculating air about them that sets your nerves on edge. Never mind the full military gear. Your instincts scream at you to remain vigilant, to trust no one.

As the hours drag on, the silence of the base is broken only by the distant sounds of movement and muffled voices. You pace the small room, your mind racing. You can't afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment. The dogs rest but remain alert, their ears twitching at every sound.

Night falls, bringing with it a suffocating darkness and the realization that you’re a fucking prisoner. The only light comes from the small window, casting eerie shadows on the walls. You lie on the cot, staring at the ceiling, your mind a whirl of anxious thoughts. Every creak, every distant sound, keeps you on edge, your heart pounding in your chest.

Hours later, the door finally opens. Price enters, flanked by Gaz. He carries a tray with some food and water, setting it on the floor before you.

"Eat," he orders, his voice flat.

You sit up, eyeing the food warily. Your stomach growls, but your trust in these men is nonexistent. You take a tentative bite, watching Price and Gaz from the corner of your eye.

Price leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. "Tomorrow, we'll discuss what you can offer in exchange for our hospitality," he says. "Until then, get some rest. You'll need it."

With that, they leave, the door locking behind them. You finish the meal, every bite a reminder of your precarious situation. The dogs settle back down, their trust in you unwavering, but you can't shake the feeling of being watched, of being judged.

As you lie back down, exhaustion pulls at you, but sleep is elusive. The shadows in the room seem to move, and the silence is oppressive.

The unease grows with each passing, torturous hour. There's something predatory in the way they look at you, as if they're sizing you up for more than just your usefulness. You can't shake the feeling that you're walking a fine line, one misstep away from disaster. In this place, surrounded by walls and soldiers, you are anything but safe. You know that trust is a luxury you can never afford. Not here, not with them.

[purplekissinger]

Hungry heart

Your yandere is the 'hide the zombie bite' type of guy. 

TW: yandere themes, disease themes (if that makes you nervous please proceed with caution. I personally wrote this to cope with fear of zombie virus). Angst at first, wholesome then. Also my english is hrr drr eww.

‘I bet my ass you were bitten,’ you said coldly.

One couldn’t look at Michael without tears. From the very morning he looked… unwell. He clearly had a fever, and a strong one; despite this, he did his best to cheer you up and even tried to make awkward jokes, but when he thought you weren’t looking, he would quickly roll up the sleeve of his sweater and look at his wrist anxiously. His (more so than usual) erratic behavior made it straight up obvious. You put two and two together easily and played along with him for a while, but honestly? All this would be charming if it weren't lethal.

It seemed impossible for Michael to blush any more than he already was, and yet he managed.

‘Biten?! What do you mean?’ his nervous laughter turned into a strained cough, but he immediately pulled himself together. ‘It's because of the flu, right? Y/N, I swear, I’m just a bit under the weather. Yesterday it was terribly cold…’

‘In the middle of July?’ you raised an eyebrow. ‘By the way, since when do you wear sweaters in the summer?’

‘I love this sweater, after all, you gave it to me!’ Michael exclaimed passionately. Well, at least that was true. ‘Our 32nd date, remember?’ he added dreamingly. 

‘Don’t change the subject, Michael, you’re being ridiculous,’ said you tiredly. That was hell of a night, with him, covered in cold sweat, restless and moaning, clinging to you like there's no tomorrow (and there probably wasn't). ‘Please, show me your arm. Just let me see the bite and be over it.’

Michael hid his arm behind the back quickly and forced a smile. He never was a good liar. 

'Y/N, honey, you h-have to believe me,' he choked on his own words with another cough, much stronger this time, and that cough was louder than words. When he could breathe again, you looked straight into his eyes, and whatever he read on your face made him let out a small sob.

“Michael,” you said with an unusual harshness in your voice. If he chose to be a little whiner, you should have taken responsibility for you two. “I'm literally traveling through abandoned cities with my crazy stalker who just won't shut up about how exactly he was obsessing over me before the zombie apocalypse. Is there anything else left that we are hiding from each other?”

He shook his head, unable to speak.

“Was that a yes or no?”

“No,” Michael whispered and, with a gesture full of despair, hid his burning face in his hands. His shoulders shuddered slightly.

You took a small step forward and reached your hand forward as if to comfort him.

“Michael,” you whispered. “Michael, hush, please.”

He peeked at you through his fingers with both horror and hope. You finally placed your hand on his shoulder and gently stroked it.

“Hush, no need to twitch. Unlike someone, I don’t bite,” you smiled weakly. And at that moment he finally lost it and burst into tears in full force. You held him tightly, hugging him with all your strength, feeling his fever rise and knowing that even now you would never leave him. Especially now.

* * *

“I thought you were above the “hiding a zombie bite” trope,” you joked awkwardly as you bandaged Michael’s arm with a clean cloth. At this point it wouldn't help him any more than a bar of chocolate, but at least he'd spend this day as a human being and not as a scared abandoned pet.

“I am, in fact,” he said and gave you a small smile. “Would it be any other group of survivors, I wouldn’t hide it.”

"Oh?!" you poked his shoulder playfully. “Do you particularly hate me or what?”

"No, not at all!" he said quickly. His mood seemed to have changed for the better now. “Not at all, Y/N, really. I... just don't want this to end. I don’t want us to end.”

He definitely needed painkillers. You turned to the cabinet where the medications were kept.

"Explain yourself."

“Everything... Absolutely everything was going so perfectly,” Michael said sadly. “You and I are finally together, alone in the whole world. Everything was as I always dreamed. You have only me, I have only you, no one and nothing can separate us and we will never part. It was heaven. I just didn't want this to end. Not now, not ever. Y/N, I swear, I have never been happier than during the zombie apocalypse.”

“My friend, you're not right in the head,” you rolled your eyes.

He grinned. “Tell me something I don't know. But really, I was utterly happy all this time. Were you?" he looked up at you.

“You can be funny sometimes,” the corner of your mouth twitched.

“Was funny,” he sighed. “I think this is how we should say it now.”

“No, this isn’t,” you said sternly. “Open your mouth now and drink this. That's it, good boy. What if you come back as a friendly zombie?”

Michael laughed in disbelief. “It doesn’t work that way,” he said. “No matter how much I adore you now, I will forget everything very soon. I'll be just as dead as before I met you, only… deader. Although, of course, the thought of eating you has always been tempting...”

“You’re terrible,” you snorted. "No, seriously though. I’m positive that something will remain? You may not be able to learn nuclear physics, but you will remember at least something, and, of course, I will help you with this.”

The meaning of your words did not reach him right away. Then Michael shook his head furiously.

“Y/N, no,” he said pleadingly. “Don't even think about it. It's too dangerous."

"Why not?" you shrugged. If he chose to be a little whiner, all you have left was to save both of you. “We’ll find you a nice collar and gag. Would you prefer it pink or black?”

“This is not a joke,” he protested, and then he realized that you weren’t joking.

…You sat there, hugging each other, thinking about tomorrow with horror, but also with hope.

“Promise me,” Michael whispered. “I don’t care if it’s pink or black, but it should have a “Y/N's Personal Property” tag.’

You kissed his cheek tenderly.

"Promise".

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

It itches my brain, fam, because I can *see* all the perspectives and philosophies. If he leaves well enough alone, he is forsaking the ancient elves and condemning their society to utter extinction. He has the ability to fix things (supposedly) and simply accepting things as they are is like getting away with murder with a “sorry”. But if he does try to change things, he is condemning an entire world to death. He is trying to wrench the past into the present, trying to resurrect an empire. Even though he hates imperialism and empires, that’s what he’s doing.. He is trying to replace those alive *now* with those whose existences are *potential*. He’s trying to bring back people who lived during a time of great splendor and eminence. In essence, Solas wants the ancient elves to *replace* those who are presently living. He doesn’t get into what this means for humans or qunari or dwarves (the latter existed during ancient elvhenan). Can we be sure that the ancient elves would resist exerting superiority/supremacy over the remaining living people? Can we?

As far as I understand. I still don’t understand what he means by bringing back the Ancient Elves. If he means that there are ancient elves in comas he wants to resurrect or souls stuck in the Fade he wants to give bodies? Or he means the few elves like Abelas that are still alive that he wants to return their pre-Veil powers to. IT’S REALLY UNCLEAR.

The reason WHY I am so furtive about the Veil is because so many important details are left unknown. In a conversation you have with him in DAI on the balcony, he tells you to your face you flout the categories he has created for the different races, and this is him as Wisdom-Pride given mortal form. I cannot shake the nagging worry that the Ancient Elves, if they were to return, wouldn’t reassume a collective sense of racial superiority over the surviving living races. If they truly get their resurrected empire off the ground, I can 100% see them marginalizing the modern elves, dwarves, humans, and qunari. Everyone would be “separate but equal”, and not even Solas with his good intentions and “philosopher king” pursuit of freedom would be able to prevent it. If the ancient elves were to get their shit together, some form of organization would need to be arranged, and like Elgar’nan, it could lead to a consolidation of power that recreates oppressive hierarchal structures. Solas would probably take up the mantle, reluctantly, but for all of his desire that rulers cede power when they are no longer needed, he would have to remain a ruler if only to prevent war lords and ambitious ancient elves from pulling another elgar’nan. He would either need to become the thing he detests, watch the ancient elves make the same mistake as before, or watch the ancient elves wither away and die before their society ever had a chance to see its true birth. Just because the ancient elves were slaves and freemen who suffered under the tyranny of the Evanuris doesn’t mean that their suffering will make them nobler or more insightful and more sensitive to the harm they could inflict on the survivors of the apocalypse. Because it would be an apocalypse.

But again I need details on how Solas’s plans allow the ancient elves to come back and exactly how many people will die if they were to go off without a hitch. We talking 25%? 50%? 75%? 80%?

I want to live in a world where it is possible for there to be a Legend of Korra style Harmonic Convergence where spirits and people can mish mash together with minimal death and bloodshed. Where the hell is that option. Yes it’s very neat and tidy and “happily ever after” but I don’t care, make it one of the most difficult and intricate world states that you need to do a fuckton of things to be able to trigger! Have your Inquisitor and Solas be the sacrifices needed to make that happen so that you still get that bittersweet tragedy, crib the “Shepard is Spacedust Spacetime God” for it, idk! Make a dozen different endings, if you want.

Veil comes down (Inquisitor dies)- Inquisitor dies in attempt to prevent it. Thus Solas wins, but it’s a pyrrhic victory because it is the final piece of his humanity he has sacrificed. He rules as a stone-hearted king. Romance version: Solas has once again lost a world he cherished. His heart.

Veil comes down (Solas dies)- Solas dies to ensure it does, believing the world is better without him in it. The final sacrifice. But without Solas to lead the ancient elves, his efforts are all but wasted. They cannot gather together to rebuild and meanwhile every other kingdom and empire is crumbling from the shock of the Veil torn down. The world is on fire and demons are everywhere and oh my God what the fuck. This is the worst ending.

Veil stays up - Inquisitor dies to keep it up and things end up in such a way that Solas is incapable of ever interfering with the Veil again. His punishment is to live in this world created by his actions, divested of power, neutered.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop Solas) - Solas somehow, either voluntarily or involuntarily, sacrifices himself to keep it intact. Essentially the “Good” and “Trick” DATV endings.

Veil stays up (Romance optional: Stop/Save Solas) Solas abandons his desire to tear down the veil. He accepts that trying to change the world is not worth it because this world is also worthy of life. Solas is basically put in Inquisitor’s/Lavellan’s custody. One can choose whether to imprison Solas, Tranquilize him, kill him, or task him with helping make the world a better place.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - By some means, Solas and Lavellan sacrifice themselves to bring the Veil down safely. LoK Harmonic Convergence. It is more difficult for the world to adjust. Solas is not there to lead the ancient elves, Lavellan is not there to help unite modern people. It’s a brave new world, for better or worse. Underlying theme: We have to believe and hope that people will strive to make the world better.

Veil comes down (Romance-Save Solas) - The rarest and most difficult achievement. Solas and Lavellan survive and the Veil comes down. They are there to lead their worlds toward integration and coexistence. They live happily ever after. I don’t know what big sacrifice needs to be made for this to work. Perhaps Solas completely loses his magic? Perhaps he also loses a limb. I don’t know, fam.

Anyone got any other ending ideas?

I’m just talking aloud and getting my thoughts down. Pay no mind to me. I have never claimed to be good at writing stories.

[marvelstars]

X-men 97 S1: 07

Loved this chapter it looks like Rogue and Captain America were investigating Hydra/Bastion Operation Zero Tolerance

It was a good showing for Rogue´s grieff but also of the X-men getting together to defeat this new enemy.

I LOVED Amelia Vogh appearing again, with her on Genosha along with Emma I get the sense that we are going to see the Ultimate Sentinel but with Mr Sinister and Cable there we also could be seeing Apocalypse soon, OZT could very well be his way of separating the strong mutants from the weak ones as his motto survival of the fittest said.

Loved nightcrawler comforting Rogue over Gambit and Magneto on days of the death in Mexico. Remy´s funeral was also very heartfel and beautiful, I don´t think the X-men made one for Magneto because without a body they know he still could be alive even if it´s a long shot and to be honest, no one of them except the professor was close enough to mourn him properly.

Cable calling Scott Dad and remembering Maddie was awesome, is what I always wanted to see in the comics, I love Jean but Maddie gave birth to Nathan and loved him, she deserves to be remembered by him as well.

Talking about that, Bastion having Magnus is horrible, my poor blorbo :( but if what Cable said was true, if only the electromagnetic fields can cointain prime sentinels then it makes sense to take Magneto out of the board and of course Bastion is a sadist so I can see him turning Magnus into a prime sentinel and if Apocalypse is also involved, he could also take the opportunity to turn him into one of his riders.

That last part gave me chills with that music, it´s just Magneto´s luck to die apparently and be taken by Bastion, Mr Sinister and their sentinels while Charles dies apparently and he gets a vacation, marriage and a galactic crown. That man just can´t win. Lol at them not only taking his powers away but also keeping his mouth shut, his mouth is too powerful not to take it away in this series.

In short I loved this, Genosha looks like it will still be a factor in this series in the near future so I hope we see other characters besides Amelia and if Exodus was a survivor that would give them another reason to become antagonists in this series.

PD: We also saw a short scene of Quicksilver and Strong Guy was on Genosha, that gives me hope of seeing Lorna in the next chapters especially if they are going to need someone who uses magnetic fields.

[cardinalcompass]

Donatello + Future = No Good

This is a well-recognized pattern in the TMNT franchise. From his disappearance in Same as it Never Was in 2003, to his robot body in the Mutant Apocalypse arc in 2012, from his demise in the Last Ronin series, to him not surviving to the start of the ROTTMNT movie, in some way, shape, or form he doesn't make it. It is often said that Donatello never makes it in a bad future, but this isn't exactly true. There is one caveat to him surviving in a bad future: his brothers don't. Either he's always down or the last one standing. In the IDW comic Turtles in Time, they go to a future where the shredder takes over (sound familiar?) and they run into a grizzled old turtle. This old man is Donatello, and his brothers are gone. Why? He gave up. He left the good fight, and his brothers passed. Would they have survived if he had stayed, or would he have passed alongside them? It is unclear, but this glimpse at the future where he is the only survivor is a part of a long pattern of Donatello having poor luck in the future.