#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

[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.

[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." 

[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.

[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".

[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.

[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.

[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.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

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chapter warnings: noncon oral sex, noncon piv, degradation, degrading language, assault, slut shaming, unhinged!Joel, violence, alcohol consumption.

Oscar sits on the edge of his mattress and watches the snow lightly falling outside his bedroom window. Without an official measurement to accurately mark dates of the month, Oscar always relied on the first snowfall of the season to guess how early into December it might be. When the delicate flakes of white began fluttering in the air, he knew it would be nearing Christmas.

This time of year was laced with bittersweetness for Oscar. Prior to the ending of the world there had been beautiful moments in his life that were borne in the month of December, framed by the magical glow of seasonal snow and Christmas spirit. One of the greatest of those moments was when Oscar proposed to Elvie, his true love, the woman who would later become his wife.

It was etched into the recesses of his memory, playing in his imagination like a vintage black and white film reel with no sound. Oscar and Elvie gathered infront of a decadant Christmas tree. Oscar lowering himself to one knee infront of her, a small black jewellery box in one hand, his adoring face beaming up at her. Elvie weeping tears of joy and nodding enthusiastically before Oscar stands to kiss her passionately.

Then the memories fade abruptly, the image of Elvie's face dissipates into black, and Oscar is once more transported back to the bleak reality of life as a survivor of the apocalypse. It always takes a few moments for him to acclimatise back to the present, for both his mind and heart to connect back to consciousness. The residual aching inside his rib cage has become a familiar consistent throb, one that eventually passes once he is distracted enough by reality.

Oscar rubs his hands together to generate some warmth against the chill that has seeped into his room. Although he finished his patrol shift over an hour ago, he is still dressed in the same clothes he wore, too tired and apathetic to bother changing into something more casual.

Oscar likes his work as a patrolman and stable hand. He revels in asserting his value as a community member in any occupation, but his role as a patrolman is of particular merit. It has given him many opportunities to demonstrate his physical strength and combat abilities, aswell his problem solving skills. The work keeps him sharp, he finds.

But nothing Oscar does gives him the same level of contentment he felt while being at the library with you. The days aren't as bright or exciting without you around. You aren't there at the stables to greet him with your pretty smile, or to share pockets of emotional intimacy with him during lunch breaks. He misses telling you the entertaining things that have happened to him during the week and the endearing chortle he earns from you, the tiny bubble of pride that rises inside him to be the one whose made you laugh.

Oscar has wanted to visit you. He's thought about spontaneously popping into the library or the school when you're almost finishing for the day but the timing is never right; he either returns from patrol soon after you finish your work, or he's due to begin just before. He considered going to your cottage to say hello but he's too shy, too afraid of possibly making you feel uncomfortable. So instead he looks for you at every mealtime he attends at the mess hall, desperate to capture even the briefest glimpse of you somewhere amongst the clusters of residents. You're never there, though.

Are you eating lunch without him? Oscar wonders randomly. When you had unexpectedly crossed his path the other week, he was startled by the change in your appearance - your face looked sharper and there was something about your eyes that unsettled him...there was a distant and dull sort of quality to your orbs that he hasn't seen before. Depleated is the word that came to Oscar's mind.

How he wished he could have taken you in his arms and held you tightly, confessing how he missed everything about you, from the smell of your skin to the ribbons you wore in your hair, the absent-minded way you'd chew the end of a pencil when you were deep in thought, your never ending patience when helping someone find a book they were in search of.

Do you miss him? Even a little?

Oscar cards his fingers through his curly hair and sighs. He feels pathetic pining for something he isn't even sure is reciprocated, an affinity on his behalf that could just be a superficial friendship to you. But no, that can't be right, not when he's been witness to your tears and emotions, not when he's held you in his arms like your body pressed against him is the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar watches the snow fall and thinks of Elvie and what he told you when Maude had died; "We owe it to them to continue living. To live as best as we can to allow ourselves happiness and love."

Oscar closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The echo of his own words in his mind grant him consolation. When he exhales and opens his eyes once more, Oscar feels the warm rush of clarity from within his heart. He vows to be bold, more courageous. He vows to no longer hide away from his feelings, to allow himself happiness and love.

Joel stood in the small space of his closet, the white shoebox balanced in his hand while he sifted through its contents with the other. He peeked into the envelope and counted the tablets safely nestled at the bottom. Still all there. His emergency stash. For any 'just in case' incidents.

He shuffled out of the closet and over to the bed with the box. He's had a hidden chest of goods for quite a while now, very gradually adding items as he discreetly procures them from scavenging expeditions and the seized bounty of defeated raiders. Things he viewed as necessities for survival, like a couple of small handguns, stacks of ammunition, a hunting knife, rope, and duct tape.

But when Joel and you had first begun seeing each other, he knew he needed a box specifically for you; a place to keep mementos and sacred things of you safe. Like the pretty gold necklace he had found six months ago during a supply run, the pendant he had been waiting to gift you at the right moment. Beside it sat the pink ribbon he stole from your cottage, as well as a pair of your dirty underwear that he managed to pilfer.

Joel's fingers skim over the simple soft cotton material of your panties with a kind of reverence. He reflects on the last couple of weeks with you as the thick pads of his fingertips caress your underwear.

Things had been going a whole lot better than he expected, Joel mused to himself. It had been easier than he initially thought, coaxing you back into his strong arms and his salivating jaws like a weak little lamb. You seemed to slot back into his embrace so easily, easily enough that it solidified Joel's belief that you needed him. That you were destined to be his.

Joel did not ascribe to any religion. He had lost faith in any kind of God long before Sarah had died. He did not believe in concepts like karma or reincarnation. But what he did believe in to some degree was destiny, and Joel believed that you were destined to belong to him. From the very first moment he laid eyes upon you, he knew you must be his.

Joel was well aware of his obsession for control and domination over the things he cared about. He knew the driving force behind this preoccupation was the debilitating fear of losing what (or who) was precious to him. The crux of it all was that Joel was incapable of admitting just how fiercely he loved; as a result, his efforts to protect and preserve were over zealous and ruthless. It was easier for Joel to capture and cage you, to deprive you of the freedom to roam this dangerous world, than to stand by your side and navigate it with you.

Joel had tried to be patient in his pursuit of ensaring you. It felt like when you had first begun giving yourself to him, when things between you were still coy and gentle. He had tried so hard not to frighten you away, to keep control of his anger, instead bestowing praises and affection on you rather than cutting words and rough squeezes of his roaming hands. And it was working well.

Now that Joel knew your body and mind so intimately, now he knew the euphoria of having you weak inside the palm of his hand, it was near impossible to restrain himself for very long. But luckily for Joel, he wouldn't need to be patient for very long.

You were changing once more, Joel observed. The more time you were spending together, the more you were  reverting back to the shy little thing you always had been. Someone a little less talkative and humorous, with cheeks no longer tinged pink and healthy, with evidently less sparkle in your eyes.

Lately you were more inclined to quietly curl up against his chest rather than talk idly about your day, the little kids you taught, or whatever book you had been reading. And that was how he preferred it; you finding contentment in his arms, pouring him his nightly whiskey, massaging his aching shoulders and neck. It seemed you were finally submitting to your purpose of being his woman, his property. You even let him take those filthy polaroids. It exhilarated him to know that he was the only man privy to this side of you.

Joel looks at the handful of small square photographs now, all strewn around the box. He chooses one at random and picks it up, bringing it to his face to study closer. You are laying on your back in this one, completely naked, smiling seductively as your hands spread the lips of your pussy open for the camera to see. It is lewd, debauched. And it immediately sparks a feral need in Joel.

He reclines back on the mattress and hastily tugs his sweatpants down under his balls, releasing his hard cock. He wraps his fist around it and squeezes, a drop of precum beading at the head. He groans lowly and stares at your picture, savouring every detail of the image with obsessive vigour; the glistening wetness reflected on your pussy, the soft curve of your belly, your round breasts, your pretty eyes that stare back at him.

Such a gorgeous cock slut.

Joel begins fisting his dick while keeping his gaze focused on your image. He feels ravenous at times like this, unable to reign himself free from this carnal obsession of you. He's been fucking you as often as possible and it's still not enough. He needs to taste you, sink his teeth into your flesh, bury his cock inside you all the time. He needs to hear your whimpers and moans, how your holes spasm around him while he takes you apart.

It only takes a couple of minutes for Joel to finish. It hits him hard and sudden, his balls tightening just before ropes of milky white cum spurt over his knuckles. He grunts and pants through the high of his orgasm, sinking further into the mattress as the tension leaves his body.

When the wave of ecstasy passes and his cock grows soft in his hand, Joel takes one last look at the polaroid before he flicks it back into the box.

He knows that you let him takes those pictures because you love him and wanted to please him. Joel understood quite early on that declarations of love come easy to you, that you actually enjoy expressing your emotions. That the desire to proudly share a life together is natural for you, biological and innate. And that is where Joel and you differ significantly.

Joel knows that confessing his love for you publicly would only invite trouble into your private sanctuary. Your friends would be the worst, he suspects; he could easily imagine the jealous little bitches scrutinising his every move, trying to pressure you to behave more like them.

He could imagine how people would gossip amongst themselves, whispering behind his back that he was far too old for you, far too irredeemable for an innocent thing like yourself. No doubt they would plead with you to be careful and warn you about his murderous past - hell, he was sure that Maria, his own sister in law, would be the first one to beg you to leave him.

No, it was safer to keep this all a secret, atleast for now. Just like the contents of this shoebox.

It had become a tradition at Christmas time each year for you to bake a small assortment of cakes and cookies to gift to your friends. You would use all your monthly butter, flour, sugar and egg rations for your labour of love, happy to exhaust your allocated staples for the giddy reactions your friends bestowed on you when you gifted them their share. With a laugh you remember last Christmas, how you had run out and Kate and Ellie were kind enough to give you their own ration supplies, eager to offer assistance in exchange for the promise of their favourite baked treats.

You would spend a whole day shut up inside your kitchen preparing trays of gingerbread cookies, butter cakes and sugar cookies. When they were finished baking and cooled, you would then arrange them on squares of spare fabric and gather the edges together, then tie them into tidy little bundles with string.

But this year you didn't bake for anyone. You didn't even step foot in your kitchen. You had become ill with a cold just a couple days before Christmas and could barely summon the energy to leave your bed. Despite the horrible headache and running nose, you were disappointed to miss out on celebrating Christmas in the ways you usually did. You were unable to have dinner with your friends or gift them their cakes and biscuits.

Instead, you spent five days curled up under your blanket drifting in and out of sleep. On the second day Kate dropped in to give you a pot of soup she made, while Ellie came over armed with honey and an array of teas under Joel's instruction. Although you were miserable and too sluggish to enjoy their company, you were grateful for their care and consideration.

Joel visited you each night after patrol, quietly creeping into your cottage and sliding under the blanket to cuddle up behind your body. You were so physically exhausted that you slept through his nightly visits, and it was perhaps because of this that Joel found the confidence to squeeze you close to his chest and soothe your hair with gentle strokes of his large hand.

Two weeks after your recovery, Ellie had insisted on organising a family dinner at Joel's house for just the three of you. Ellie was eager to show you and Joel the new cooking skills she had acquired since moving in with two of her girlfriends. You could tell it was also a gesture of kindness toward Joel, a reminder that he was still her father and she still cherished his presence in her life.

Although the three of you had eaten meals together before, this was the first dinner you'd all shared since Ellie first learned of your relationship with Joel. You couldn't help but feel slightly awkward sitting at the dining table. Although Ellie approved of the relationship, you were unsure if open affection toward Joel would be inappropriate or if it would make Ellie uncomfortable. You avoided looking at Joel and focused on interacting with Ellie instead.

She had surprised you both with the dinner she had prepared; honey glazed carrots, mashed potato, omelette, and buttered cobs of corn. You could imagine Ellie spending hours in the kitchen getting everything ready, swearing loudly at every inconvenience, burning the tips of her small fingers when she was distracted, trying her absolute best to recreate whatever assortment of food she had eaten with her new housemates.

During dinner Joel was mostly silent, hardly engaging in conversation as he ate. It didn't matter much though, as Ellie was her usual talkative self and filled the silence easily with anecdotes and jokes.

"So there's gonna be this big celebration for the town," Ellie said through as she shovelled a spoonful of mashed potato into her mouth. "Like a big birthday party for Jackson."

"Oh, really?" You asked, your interest piqued.

"Yup!" Ellie confirmed, voice muffled by the hunk of potato in her mouth.

"Ellie," Joel murmered disapprovingly.

She rolled her eyes and made an exaggerated show of chewing and swallowing the food with a loud gulp. You gave her a small shake of your head and chuckled.

"Anyways, as I was saying, there's gonna be a big party and I think we should go, the three of us." Ellie looked from you to Joel, an impish expression spread across her youthful face.

Joel cleared his throat and glowered down at his plate. He busied himself with stabbing his fork into a piece of carrot. "You know I don't I like parties."

"Really?" Ellie piped loudly, feigning shock. "You? Joel 'life of the party' Miller? No way!"

You giggled. Only Ellie could get away with teasing Joel like this. It made you happy to see their interactions, the dynamic of their relationship in the privacy of their home, how the pair fell into the roles of father and daughter so naturally. And now here you were between them, a welcome presence in their lives. Like a real family, just as Joel had said you would be.

"What about you?" Ellie asked you with a raise of her eyebrows. "Wanna go?"

You brave a glance over to Joel. He chews the inside of his cheek and stares down at his plate but you know he's listening to everything that's being said. He isn't going to express his disapproval infront of Ellie. There was no need for Ellie to know the level of authority Joel had in your relationship. But you wonder if he would be more inclined to grant his permission because it was Ellie's idea, not your own.

You don't want to disappoint her, and you are already excited by the very idea of Jackson celebrating something. So you take advantage of the situation and the fact that Ellie asked first, and infront of Joel.

You give her a smile and nod eagerly.

"With you? Sure," you replied. "But wouldn't you rather go with your friends?"

"Eh, I can catch up with them later. I thought it would be cool for us to go....like family time, ya know?" Ellie said quietly, giving a small shrug to appear nonchalant.

"Oh, for sure," you murmered, not wanting to make a big thing out of her moment of vulnerability.

"Yeah, except this jackass never wants to do anything fun," she scoffed and tipped her head in Joel's direction.

"I'll be workin' till late," Joel muttered as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You two go have fun."

"Oh! And I heard Maria tell Uncle Tommy that there's gonna be a separate party for just the adults at the Bison." Ellie grinned. "Maybe you can sneak me in with you?"

Joel's head snapped up immediately and he glared at Ellie across the table. She shot a defiant smirk back at him. Joel grunted, unamused.

"Well, that's not going to happen, El. But I'm sure there will be plenty of other stuff we can do on the day." You assured her.

"Like maybe we can spike the punch and see who gets drunk first?" She grinned.

Over the course of the next week banners and signs advertising Jackson's birthday celebration were hung up around the main streets. Residents began the preparations for the different activities and food stalls that would be on offer on the day, while a committee of volunteers decorated the town hall. It was evident that this event was to be bigger than any other festival or celebration.

You had planned to spend the afternoon with Ellie at the town hall, then catch up with Kate and the others later that night at the Tipsy Bison. Joel was working patrol until late and would meet you back at your house when he was finished.

That Saturday you and Ellie spend the afternoon together exploring the festivities taking place throughout the main street. You make your way through the crowds of families and children wandering up and down the street, submerging yourselves within the collective carefree gaiety and their lively chatter and laughter.

Several of your students spot you and approach you to say hello. Your heart swells to see them buzzing with so much happiness and excitement. They need this, you think. We all do, but especially them.

Ellie is eager to check out the activities set up along the sidewalk. You both meander along, awe struck at the effort the committee and volunteers have put into creating the event for the benefit of the community. For the children there were games such as bottle knock down and ring toss, aswell as a marble competition and sack races. There were designated areas further away from the main street for more adult activities, like axe throwing and wood chopping. Amongst the flurry of action were stalls offering candied apples, sugar biscuits, fry bread, roasted corn cobs, and mugs of pumpkin soup.

You and Ellie play the ring toss and knock down games together and make your own game out of trying to distract the other so they would fail. You both double over with laughter at each other's attempts, unfazed by the other people around you.

Afterwards you sit down and munch on candied apples while watching the axe throwing competitions. Ellie is captivated by it, wide eyed and amazed at the mastery of the more skilled participants who wield the tool and launch it at the bullseye target with astounding ease. You eventually move on to spectate the wood chopping competition. Watching the row of men hacking away at thick logs of wood, their thick arms and broad backs flexing with each powerful chop, makes you think of Joel. It would've been nice to have him here with you and Ellie.

When the wood chopping finishes you stop at one of the food stalls for fry bread and a cup of soup. The soup is a welcomed nourishment from the biting cold of the wintery air and the snow still covering the ground. You're almost finished eating when three of Ellie's friends suddenly gather around you, squawking like chicks about the dance being held at the town hall. They tug on Ellie's flannel in an effort to cajole her to go along with them. She glances at you with uncertainty in her eyes, as if she's nervous to say something to you. You smile at her gently, understanding what she is unable to say.

"Go, have fun with your friends. It's okay." You pull her in for a tight hug. "I had a great time with you, kiddo."

Ellie squeezes you back. "Thanks for hanging with me."

Without further hesitation Ellie slips from your embrace and joins her friends, disappearing into the sea of people around you. You secretly hope she doesn't get caught up in too much mischief, but you knows there's not much you can stop Ellie from doing once she has her mind set on something. So you just smile to yourself and start the walk back to your cottage to get ready for the night ahead.

The night is cold, the chilly wind nipping at your cheeks and the bare skin on your legs as you walk to the bar. You're wearing one of your best dresses, a simple light blue linen swing style dress with short cap sleeves that falls just above the knee. You are thankful for the thick padding inside your coat that keeps you warm as you stroll through the streets.

••••••

There are pockets of people milling around outside the town hall where the dance is being held. You can hear country music coming from inside, intermingled with laughter and voices, the noise carrying along the cold breeze.

You arrive at the bar around 8.30pm and find Jess, Kate, Rhi and Cassie already waiting out the front for you. They wolf whistle and chortle when they see you approaching, and you laughcat their antics.

It's going to be a great night.

Rhi and Jess sashay up to the bar to order a round of beers while you, Kate and Cassie sit at one of the tables dotted throughout the place. It's a full house tonight with pockets of men and women mingling together as they chug beer and whiskey and vodka, some dancing and some playing rounds of darts and pool. The music blasts from the old jukebox in the corner and you find your foot tapping along with some of the songs.

••••••

You spend the next hour drinking beer and dancing with your friends. The high you get from the music and moving your body is exhilarating and you can't wipe the smile from your face. You cannot remember the last time you felt so weightless, so euphoric. You are too absorbed by your high to notice the appraising looks a few men are throwing your way.

It's not long before Rhi has been pursued by one of the men watching your group, some of them openly hungry in their gaze while others are more covert in their admiration. She flirts and touches his arm as she leads in to whisper in his ear. You and your friends giggle as you watch Rhi's charm in action. You adore her boldness, how unapologetic she is in her feminine sexuality, how effortlessly she chugs a glass of beer before rejecting suitors and hitting the dance floor to be with her friends.

After a while you take a break and stand in the corner by the bar to catch your breath. Yiu are in the middle of Kate and Cassie, who have to raise their voices to be heard over the music. Your eyes travel around the bar, taking in all the movement around you, and it is all so close to being too stimulating for you. You look over to the front doors and consider going outside for fresh air when Oscar walks in at that exact moment.

When Oscar enters through the saloon style doors of the bar, you almost don't recognise him. He looks dashing, dressed in dark blue jeans and boots and a snug fitting black sweater that clings to his biceps. But it isn't what he's wearing that makes you do a double take.

He's completely shaved his beard. He has cut the length of the curly hair on his head. His features are no longer obscured by unruly locks. And just as you suspected, Oscar now looks even more handsome than usual.

The angle of his jawline and the shape of his chin are strong, sharp. With the lower half of his face now naked, he appears more masculine and youthful. His lips, tugged into a confident grin, seem fuller. The shorter length of his hair highlights the thickness of it and the attractive way his hairline borders along his temples.

You are mesmerised by him.

It does not go unnoticed by your friends. Kate nudges you with her elbow and Jess makes a teasing purring sound next to your ear.

"Damn," Rhi murmers. "He's hot."

He's with Kate's brother and another young patrolman. Oscar's eyes scan over the bar but seem to settle on you almost instantly. Your stomach flutters with nerves when you see warmth fill his gaze, the crinkles form around his eyes as he gently smiles. He tilts his head slightly in greeting. You feel your cheeks blush immediately.

Oh, how you missed him.

He's so beautiful.

You give him a small nod in return, smiling shyly. For what feels like an eternity but in actuality is only a few seconds, he doesn't take his gaze away from you. Then the two other men pull him along to the corner of the bar where the dart boards are and the moment is lost. You have to tear your gaze away from him.

"Wow, Oscar looks so different!" Kate exclaims. She bumps your hip with hers softly, playfully grinning at you. "What do ya think?"

You hum quietly in agreement. Yes, he looks different. And gorgeous. Mercifully the subject of the conversation changes quickly.

You're here. He's actually seeing you. Finally.

••••••

Oscar's heart pounds when he sees your pretty face across the room. He was hoping you would be here, hoping to finally speak to you and let you know how he's been feeling these past few weeks without you in his life.

His friends pull him to the games area and he plays a few rounds of darts and a couple games of pool. He drinks beer, his eyes searching for you in the crowd over the glass rim. You look you're having fun with your friends - it's the first time Oscar's really seen you interact with your peers and it fills his heart with joy to see you laugh so much, to see you dance and sway to the music, so free and beautiful in your sensuality.

It's another hour or so before he gets the courage to approach you. He finds the opportunity when you and Kate sidle through the patrons on your way to the toilets and pass him by the pool table.

Oscar speaks your name and you turn to him, gracing him with your warm smile, the one he's missed so much recently. He notices your eyes trail over his face, taking in the details of his new appearance.

"Hey," you respond with a bashful tilt of your head. "How are you?"

"Great," Oscar raises his voice a little to be heard over the noise of the bar. He can't take his eyes off of your face. "You look beautiful."

Your cheeks flush at the compliment. "You do, too. I like your hair. Very handsome."

Oscar grins at you. "I felt like a change." It was true. He needed something to change, something cathartic to encourage him to be more daring, to live a with a little more passion. Cutting his hair and beard felt like he was shedding some kind of armour, except it did not leave him feeling vulnerable.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me, or maybe a dance?" Oscar asked, leaning in closer to your ear.

"Uhm, okay," you reply shyly. "Maybe in a little while, yeah? I just need to go to the bathroom."

Oscar feels a little foolish. Maybe he should have found the balls to walk over to you soon, like when you were dancing. He hides his disappointment well and nods ofcourse, and steps back from you and your friend to let you pass.

He doesn't get the opportunity to dance with you or drink alongside you though. When some time has passed and he can't spot you in the throng of people, he wanders to where your friends are standing at the bar. Kate drunkenly shrugs and tells him you left already.

Oscar's heart breaks a tiny bit.

You weren't sure how long Joel had been standing with Troy and Tommy by the entry of the Tipsy Bison. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw set squarely as his dark eyes watched you. When you caught sight of his tall figure out the corner of your eye, you whirled around to take a glimpse at him. It must be late if he's knocked off his patrol shift, you think.

••••••

You're tipsy but not drunk. Tiredness is starting to seep into your body. And seeing Joel makes your tummy swim with butterflies and ignites an aching want between your legs. You're ready for him to take you home.

And he must see the look in your eyes and know because he signals you with a subtle jerk of his head. Let's go home, it says. He doesn't wait for your response before saying goodbye to Troy and Tommy and stalking out of the bar.

You say goodbye to your friends. Rhi is too preoccupied making out with the blonde ranger to notice. Kate, Jess and Cassie stumble off the dance floor, drunk, to hug and kiss you goodnight.

Ten minutes later you leave the Tipsy Bison and head home, knowing Joel will be waiting for you at your cottage.

When you reach your cottage you twist the doorknob and enter. It is dark at first and you stumble into the living room blindly, but when you flick on the light switch you see that Joel is standing in your living room, staring at you with an iciness that startles you.

"What the fuck were you doin' tonight?" He barked at you.

The venom in his words makes your blood run cold and your stomach drop.

"What?" you ask meekly. "What do you mean?"

"Dancin' like that infront of everybody, showin' your ass off to the whole damn town." Joel snaps.

"I w-was just having f-fun with my friends," you respond timidly.

You take a couple of steps backward and Joel advances on you, his fists clenching by his sides. Your heart thunders in your chest and dread begins to roil inside your guts.

"Fun?" Joel spits, scowling with disgusted fury. "Dancin' around with your slutty friends, around all those men...that's what you think is fun?"

"I-we, we just," you stammer nervously. "It was harmless, we weren't doing anything wrong.'

"This what you do while I'm at work?" Joel booms as he towers over you. "I'm out riskin' my life while you're being a whore for every fuckin' man in town?"

"No, Joel, no, I sw--"

Joel's hand shoots out and snatches a handful of your hair. He quickly winds your hair tightly around his fist and hauls you across the living room. You shriek and sob loudly as you stumble, your boots dragging over the floor, your hands clawing up at his uselessly.

"No Joel please don't!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Joel growls. He shoves you roughly to the ground on your knees. Your knees hit the floor painfully, making you yelp.

"Wanna act like a whore, I'll treat you like a whore," he mutters bitterly.

He holds you immobile by your hair, forcing you to watch his large hand work quickly to unbuckle his belt and undo the button of his jeans. The rage radiating from Joel and the sight of his belt by your face is frighteningly reminiscent of the night he punished you; panic surges wildly through your brain and your body as you're pushed into flight or fight mode.

"Joel I didn't do anything, I swear!" You plead, voice shrill with distress. The high from alcohol has disappeared.

Joel ignores you and wrangles his cock out of the confines of his jeans. He wraps his hand around the base and it bobs infront of you, already hard and wet with precum. He tugs tightly at your scalp and yanks you closer towards him so that the head of his cock is almost touching your lips.

"Show me how you use that whore mouth," Joel commands. "Open."

He glares down at you with something that looks like hatred in his dark irises and it makes your whole body wrack with fearful shivers. You're frozen still, unable to move.

"I said open your fuckin' mouth," Joel barks.

His hand leaves his cock and comes to swiftly slap you across the cheek. You sob loudly from the unexpected pain. Joel quickly thrusts his hips forward and nudges his cock head past your lips and into your mouth. You want to jerk your head away at the intrusion but his hold on your hair keeps you firmly in place. He gives you no time to protest, anyway, roughly shoving your head down onto his length and making you sputter.

"Thhhhere we go," Joel mutters. "Get it right in there, little slut."

Joel stills just before the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. It sits thick and heavy in your mouth and you struggle to breathe around it. He gives your cheek three firm, rapid smacks.

"Open wide, now." Joel drawls.

Your lips are already stretched around Joel's thick girth but you have no choice but to obey and open your jaws wider. Saliva is pooling on your tongue on the underside of his shaft, a shameful automatic response that your body has been conditioned to from the many times your mouth has pleasured Joel.

You stare at the patch of dark hair on his pubic bone and focus on breathing through your nose, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs in an effort to bare the torture. Joel sees this and tugs at your hair roughly.

"Fuckin' look at me," he growls. "Look at me while I fuck your face, don't you dare look away."

Tears well in your eyes as they roll upward to meet Joel's steely glare. He nods and sucks in a deep breath, then begins fucking your mouth in fast strokes. His cock head knocks the back of your throat repeatedly and makes you gag, your tears starting to trickle down your cheeks. You have to fight to keep your eyes open and trained on Joel, but it is torturous when your jaw begins to ache and you are struggling to breathe. The saliva drips messily out the corners of your mouth and over your chin.

Joel's hands hold the sides of your head to keep you still as he fucks your face. He pants while watching you intently, uncaring as you struggle to breathe beneath him, satisfied to see your nose now dripping aswell.

"This what you been doin' behind my back?" Joel sneers.

You know he doesn't expect a response - it's impossible for you to utter even a word with his thickness fucking into your mouth so savagely. The only noise you make is the wet, filthy gagging sounds coming from your throat. His hips continue thrusting into your mouth for another minute and you feel like you will pass out any moment. When your eyes start to flutter and your body begins to sag, Joel pushes down on your head so his cock slides all the way into your mouth and down your throat. He holds you in place and your nose presses flat into the hairs on his pubic bone. You are practiced at deepthroating Joel but his grip on you is so absolute, your face buried so tightly against his crotch, that you begin to panic. You reach up to claw at his thighs, your throat constricting around his shaft. 

"Yeah, gag on it, baby, come on," Joel groans. He is totally lost in his own pleasure, uncaring and merciless about your pain.

You can't breathe at all now. He's never been this cruel before. You pound your fist against his thigh and try desperately to retreat but his iron like grip keeps you still. Joel moans at the sensation of your throat spasimming wildly around him.

"Yeah," he cooes, accent thick and rough with desire. "Right there, babydoll."

Joel releases you after a few more seconds, abruptly pulling you off of his dick and shoving you backward carelessly. You fall back onto your ass and cough violently as air fills your lungs back up.

"Alright now, get on ya hands and knees." Joel says breathlessly.

He stares down at you, pupils blown wide with animalistic lust, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His erect cock, fat and throbbing, is slicked and shining with your spit. "Hurry up."

You are still choking as you catch your breath, but you somehow muster the courage to dare to shake your head, your eyes downcast, vision blurred from your tears. Your throat is too raw to verbalise your defiance.

No. Enough is enough. You cannot endure any more.

You can't see the way Joel's lip curls in disdain at your disobedience, or how he raises his hand back. Then a cracking sound echoes around the room when his large palm lands a hard slap against your face. Your body falls to the floor like a ragdoll. Your vision goes black for a second.

"Never fuckin' learn, do you?" Joel mutters.

His boots thud on the ground as he steps over your crumpled form. He crouches behind you and hikes your dress up over your ass.

"Always gotta be a disrespectful little bitch."

He tears your underwear apart with both hands and the shredded material falls from your backside. Your lower half is now exposed. You are no match for Joel. There is no possible way for you to defend yourself against the torment he plans to reign on you.

"Joel, please, don't, just stop." You whisper hoarsely.

Joel wedges his knee between your legs and spreads them open. You hear the sound of Joel spitting into his palm and covering the head of his cock in his saliva before it presses against the entrance to your pussy.

"Joel," you cry pathetically. Your head is dizzy and swimming.

His hand forcefully pushes down on your lower back, pining your hips to the ground. You squirm weakly under his hand but it's pointless. The inevitable burn of his cock pushing into your hole engulfs your whole body, followed by the intense stretch of him penetrating you.

"Fuck!" A guttural scream rips from deep in your wrecked throat.

He moans as his hips press all the way forward until they are flush against yours, his fat dick sheathed all the way inside your pussy, filling you to the point of discomfort.

"When you gonna learn that this is where you belong, baby?" Joel growls.

He rolls his hips to work in and out of you with slow, powerful thrusts. Your hands scramble blindly for purchase on the hardwood floor. Gasps and sobs rise from your sore defiled throat with each stab of his dick.

"Right here," he drawls above you. "Right here with your whore pussy full of my cock."

Joel lowers himself and reaches to gather your wrists in one of his hands and then pins them to the ground above your head. His other hand grips your hip possessively to keep you in place. His broad body is now caging you so that your torso is flattened over the floor. Your thighs are pushed wide apart as he continues assaulting you.

You did nothing wrong. All you had done was just danced with your friends. You hadn't danced with any man, not even Oscar. Why is Joel doing this? You love him so much. He had been so sweet and loving.

Joel was spearing his cock into you with an unrelenting, rhythmatic force. Your pussy was being abused so recklessly, but your entire body was screaming in pain. The joints of your hips and the muscles of your inner thighs ached from the pressure of being split open. Your wrists were stinging from Joel's nails digging into them.

The weight of his body was trapping you so that you couldn't even squirm underneath him. He clamped his heavy hand across your mouth and pounded into you mercilessly. Your screams were muffled against his palm, the streaks of your tears trickling over his fingers.

"Fuck," Joel snapped his hips against yours. "Take what I give ya," he panted, "and shut the fuck up."

When a particularly sharp punch from Joel's cock knocked against your cervix you wailed into his hand, screwing your eyes shut in agony.

"Too much for ya?" Joel spat. "Too fuckin' bad, baby. Gonna shoot my cum so deep in that pussy, it'll be drippin' outta your fuckin' mouth."

He continued to defile you, his pace so grueling that you thought you might pass out. Robbed of sufficient breath and overcome with immense anguish, you couldn't respond. Even if you were not held down by his body weight, you felt too broken and lifeless to say anything back. You closed your eyes and hot tears streamed down the sides of your face.

You had began to dissociate, too far gone to register the telltale throbbing of Joel's cock against your walls. His hips stuttered and he let out a ragged moan as he came deep inside your pussy, filling you with his warm load for the very first time. Joel rocked his hips inbetween shuddering breaths, slowly milking every last drop of his spend into you.

You were totally disconnected from reality when Joel pulled out of you and hauled himself up from the ground. You couldn't feel or think at all, your mind blank, your body numb. You didn't know he bent down to bundle you up in his arms and carry you to your room like a limp ragdoll. You couldn't mentally comprehend Joel haphazardly stripping you of your dress, pulling off your boots and then laying you down in bed.

At some point in the night the adrenaline had drained from your veins and you succumbed to the bone crushing fatigue that had replaced it. Joel's solid body was enveloping you from behind, his thick arms wrapped around your middle to keep you close. He was sleeping solidly as if nothing had happened, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm in line with his quiet snoring.

Your body went lax and you fell asleep.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows

[andi-rigby]

Alright, y'all. Poll time. Synopses of your choices are under the cut, if you want them. I can't decide between my upcoming original stories (I'm gonna write them all eventually), so I'm inviting y'all to choose for me.

On a related note, if I hit 15 followers before this poll expires, I'll do a follower lottery and the lottery winner will get to name a character in the winning story! (More details on that also under the cut.)

Synopses

Adventures in the Gaywild, a queer contemporary portal fantasy with an ensemble cast of queer & disabled adults just trying to live their lives, but who have said lives interrupted regularly by their hometown’s proximity to the fey realm. Beronsgate is a cute little coastal town with a major problem: sometimes the door you open doesn’t lead where you wanted it to. Monster-of-the-week episodic sitcom installments with an overarching denial-of-destiny arc. (If this wins, the "winning story" will be the first installment of the series.)

The Death of Santa, a sapphic Christmas adventure with a transgender Mrs. Claus who’s unhappy in her role as the token female holiday persona, and escapes the North Pole only to find herself in a strange land of eternal winter. Kristina takes shelter in a fortress built over a gate, and finds deadly traps, warped Christmas monsters, and the woman she married 900 years ago. Transgender themes, trans joy/power, and mistaken identity feature heavily in this high-action novelette that tries not to take itself or Christmas too seriously.

Liberty, a gay cowboy friends-to-lovers between a cattle baron’s heir and a gifted horse trainer. Aaron and James have kept their romance a secret for almost a year. When Aaron’s mother makes a big stink about him turning down yet another farm princess, he’s got a tough choice to make: follow the herd, or follow his heart. Forget coming-of-age—let’s talk coming-out, love and support from unexpected avenues, and being true to yourself.

Double Tide, a seaside low fantasy adventure about a dockworker and the inquisitive merrow they met in the local tidepools, who become fast friends despite language barriers and local taboo. When a new fishing technique threatens the local merrow population, they discover whether a lone dockworker and a social pariah can really make a difference. Try this gender-agnostic, hopeful Romeo and Juliet (without the tragedy) that explores the meaning of love and friendship.

The Siege of Helen, an exploration of neurodivergence and (mis)communication in a romantic relationship. Helen’s new pregnancy has made her mood a thousand times more volatile, and her husband is spending more and more time at the office. Hephaestus, already overstimulated and dysregulated from trying to provide for his now-growing family, realizes in the nick of time that there’s only one way not to lose the woman he loves: he’s going to have to talk to her. About his feelings. Short story companion to my novel-in-progress, By Any Other Name, following Ambrose’s parents as they try desperately to keep their marriage from falling to pieces.

The Library, a heartwarming zombie survivor tale about a weary now-single dad and his last remaining foster teen who fight to preserve the ruins of a great library against those who would destroy it for their own short-term survival. Take refuge in the Charles J. LaRose Memorial Library, and let Kaylen tell you about the time they fought off zombies and men with guns to make a safe place for travelers like you to rest and recuperate in the desolate hellscape of the zombie apocalypse.

Lottery Info

Lottery will happen if the total follower count (less myself) on this blog reaches 15 before the poll in this post expires. I'll choose via random selection & contact the winner via Tumblr to confirm you want to participate. If you don't, or I can't contact you via Tumblr because your messages are closed, or if I don't get a response to my initial message within ~24 hours, then I'll choose a different winner by the same process. And so on until someone bites.

Lottery winner will receive a short bio of the relevant aspects of their character (appearance, mannerisms, and plot role), and the name they choose will be used for the described character. I will not accept names that are offensive or that would be considered offensive in the context of the story or character, and I retain the right to ask the winner for a different name if the chosen name is, for some reason, really really not going to work in the context of the story.

[starlightshadowsworld]

I don't think we talk enough about how traumatising the memory erased stuff is.

Like how hard must it have been for everyone to suddenly realise years of their lives were missing.

To just come to the chilling realisation someone up until an hour ago was your friend.

Has caused the apocalypse.

You think your a first year high school student but nope.

Turns out you've already graduated.

Do they even know how old they are?

You don't know what's changed in your life, what hasn't.

Byakuya's whole family company is gone.

Makoto won't know if Komaru is alive for a long time.

... Are they the only ones left?

Food's suddenly an issue.

They have nowhere else to go.

Makoto has to carry on like his friends didn't just try and kill him.

Everyone else is gone.

They won but... Did they?

And that's just the first game, the Remnants are on a whole other level.

They've caused genocide.

Killed family, friends.

And don't know who or if anyone's left.

Hajime basically lost himself and his own identity for who knows how many years and he's just supposed to just... Exist like nothing happened.

It's like waking up from a nightmare and realising it was all true.

And they don't know what their forgetting or even if they want to remember.

All of them are alive but... Is that good?

They all know who killed them, and have to go on like they didn't.

And their alive...

Nagito's back in a body that's still sick.

Does Nekomaru have a body?

Hell, Sonia's country doesn't exist anymore.

And if I'm remembering correctly, Chiaki's still gone...

... Fucking glad Makoto was here at the end to do damage control because holyshit.

He's already gone through all of this and now is helping them get through it.

Which is great but also means he went through it alone.

Komaru has all her memories in tact but has to constantly choose her words.

Lest she sends Makoto or anyone of the other survivors into a crisis.

And than you have what may be the worse case, V3.

Because Shuichi doesn't even know if anythings real anymore.

Is he real?

Is his name Shuichi Saihara?

How many times has he died?

Is this the real world? What even is the real world?

Am I even a detective? Is all of my personality fake? Who am I? What was made for the show and what's real?

Does it even matter?

Do I have a family? How old am I? How long is 53 seasons? Are my friends still my friends, are they the same?

Is any of this real? Am I real?

If V3 ends like Danganronpa 2 did, is Kaede alive?

Do they remember each other? Is Kaito still sick?

Was Tsumugi ever a friend?

And again, knowing exactly who killed who.

..... You know people give Junko a lot of credit for causing despair.

As she deserves.

But her boyfriend deserves just as much because... Holyshit my dude this is sick.

Her boyfriend was, Yasuke Matsuda the Ultimate Neurologist.

Aka the dude responsibile for all the memory wipes.

Shame she killed him because talk about a power couple.

Causing the end of the world and lasting trauma to everyone involved.

Makoto gonna have to go give everuone therapy while also desperately needing therapy.

[rottenzombrainz]

A Little Lawrence Fanfic >w< (Dangerous Fellows)

Beginning notes:

A little fic of my favorite mentally disturbed golden child. plz be nice! this is my first public fanfic!!

Dangerous Fellows is an otome game with an zombie apocalypse setting by Storytaco. inc! If you've never played it, I highly recommend it!

sfw, GN Reader, yandere (but not really this is super tame fluff), mild spoilers

It was another day with the new group you're staying with. Everyone was doing their part in patrols as usual. You were going to scavenge resources with some of the others, but Lawrence insisted that you help him check inventory. You hadn't spent much time with him one on one... it was a little nerve racking.

"So how have you been adjusting?" He suddenly asks with his usual warm smile.

"Adjusting? I've been fine, for the most part... I really like it here. It's nice to be with others after surviving alone for so long."

"Good. No one's been giving you any trouble?"

"Um...well..." You begin.

Lawrence looks at you with immense attentiveness.

"Scarlett's still not very happy about me joining the group. She's really rude... and she asks me to do favors for her like I owe her something."

Lawrence looks at you with a pensive expression.

"Really?"

You look away, feeling a little embarrassed for talking poorly of someone else...but it was true. She would order you around, take food from you, single you out, and she always gave you foul glares.

"You know..." Lawrence speaks, tallying up some rations. "Scarlett begged and cried for me to let her stay when she first joined."

"Really?"

"Really. It was really pitiful. I wasn't going to let her stay...she seemed like a liability. Sometimes you need to sacrifice one to save the many. But she came shortly after we formed our little group of survivors, I didn't want the others to think I was cold and heartless. I thought I made the right decision, letting her stay, but I didn't think she'd give the next new member so much trouble."

You mumble out a little "mhh" to show your listening. It felt uncanny hearing Lawrence use words like "pitiful", "liability", and "sacrifice". He was usually so kind, so tender.

"She may act like it, but she doesn't have any authority here. I run things. And if that were to ever change, it'd be Ethan taking my place."

The conviction in his words made you feel a little uneasy, but you muster up your voice to ask the question on your mind.

"How'd you even become the leader in the first place? Did the others elect you?"

"Elect? No, that wouldn't have worked. Everyone wants to be in charge in a lawless world like this - we would have gotten nowhere like that. I took advantage of a poor situation. Silver lining, and all that."

You cock your head with intrigue

"It's... not something I like to talk about. I felt like something bad was going to go down, so I gathered who I could and stayed a step ahead of calamity. I have a sixth sense for those kinds of things. So stay close, and I'll protect you, okay?"

You slowly nod, enamoured by his charming smile as you unknowingly open some sort of wrapper. Once you notice the crinkling, you jump slightly and glance over at Lawrence with a sorry expression.

He didn't seem disappointed at all...in fact, he quietly laughed, holding his hand over his mouth.

"It's okay, you can eat it if you're hungry."

"Really? But the inventory-"

"What about it? We're the ones making the list right now~"

Lawrence laughs again with a glint of mischief in his eyes. You had the impression he was a strict rule follower- an unbiased mediator to guide lost souls in these trialing times. But... he's just like anyone else.

Lawrence adjusts his glasses as his laughter fades before looking over at you.

"Is it good?"

"Huh?"

"The cookie. The one in your hands?"

He smirks, pointing to your hands.

You look down and notice what you unwrapped was a cookie. A chocolate one with white chocolate chips. You glance over at Lawrence again before taking a bite. It's...stale. Very stale. But it's taste is better than most of the other things you've eaten since the outbreak.

"Mmh- it's stale" You mumble, chewing the hard cookie.

Lawrence laughs again, clearly finding your struggle endearing.

"You know, if we find the right supplies, I could make some fresh ones"

You happily hum with intrigue as you do your best to chew the rock-solid dessert.

"Cookies aren't very hard to make. We just need some flour, sugar, some eggs - maybe we could substitute the eggs with something else...."

He trails off, writing something in the margin of the looseleaf paper he was using to track the supplies.

You struggle to swallow the bite you took before asking Lawrence another question.

"Do you like baking, Lawrence?"

He continues writing for a moment before responding to you.

"It's something I've always wanted to get into... but my parents didn't approve."

"Really? What's there to not approve of?"

"It's not what they had in mind for my future. They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer or... you know, 'something respectable'"

You sympathetically frown at him, raising the cookie to your mouth to take another bite before remembering how well that went just a moment ago.

"Are you not gonna finish it?"

You shake your head. Lawrence extends his hand outward to you.

"Let me try. It can't be that bad!"

He optimistically smiles as you hand over the chocolate cookie. He looks intently at it for a moment, tracing his finger over the bite mark you left. Lawrence brings it to his mouth and attempts to bite through it, having to chomp down a few times before actually breaking a piece off.

"Ugh... Is this made out of concrete?"

You laugh as he struggles to chew the cookie, just as you did. The furrow in his brow softens as he sees your face light up with amusement.

"I'll make you something much better than this, I promise"

"Pfft- anything would be better than this titanium cookie" You jest.

You giggle as you continue to watch Lawrence struggle with the cookie.

"Your image of me is probably tainted now, isn't it? 'Strong, charismatic, reliable Lawrence struggles to eat a stale cookie'"

You can hear the self-deprivation in his voice, straightening out your smile. You insistently shake your head.

"No! I still think you're strong and reliable!"

"And charismatic?"

"And charismatic..."

The two of you laugh a little more as you decide to throw the cookie around to see what'll break it. It's not a good use of food, but does it even count if it's unchewable?

Ending Notes:

eughhh my fingers are cramping... Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this silly little fic, and apologizes for any other Lawrence stans who were hoping to get carried into the basement and tied up. Who knows? maybe I'll write a darker fic with him in the future?

I'm very self conscious about how people will react to the way I see characters, but I've studied Lawrence like a... uh... *insert something people study really hard*. The silly otome man has been living in my head rent free for almost six years now, I'm confident enough in my understanding of his character to write fics like this.

If you liked this fic, please give me some words of encouragement in the comments... it'll make me wanna write more *fishes for praise cutley uwu*

I'm sorry that was cringe I'm going to stop writing now....