#and a raccoon on my outer forearm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seleswrites · 8 months

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serena ira | Leon S. Kennedy/Reader | find on AO3

And on the seventh day, god brought your soulmate into a dying city, crawling with the monstrous undead. Damn your luck.

Fandom: Resident Evil 2 (remake)

Relationship: Leon/Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,568

Tags: soulmate AU, canon divergence/not canon compliant, no Y/N, Leon A and Claire B (in my head they meet up before the final train scene), canon typical violence, lots of cursing, reader can be anyone but I tend to write queer afab reader-oc's.

Event: @lunarbuck's Soulmate AU writing challenge

Soulmate Prompt: "You and your soulmate have matching tattoos that become clear once you meet." (Added a bit of flavor so hope it's a good read still!)

Photo credits: Nicolas Ladino Silva (woman in shadow) and Trevor (city landscape) on Unsplash

A/N: Nothing like a new fandom to control the braincell. Please be kind, I just got into RE like two weeks ago lmao! I only know half of RE2:make, the RE4:make, and Lady D from Village.

An entire city overturned into a place of nightmares not even within a week.

Familiar streets turned into dangerous traps filled with, what you could only describe as, the undead. You had no idea how you were going to survive. Hell, you had no idea you've survived this week. Damned Luck pitying you perhaps, for Her sick game.

The Raccoon City PD was no longer a safe haven like the radio repeated, a turned labyrinth of monsters, and the group of people you escaped with (stupidly taking your chances outside, running out as quickly as you had run inside) and traveled with dwindled in number as many small hordes of once living and breathing people descended upon you all, multiple times. Until more people broke off on their own. Until more people became part of the living dead numbers. Until it was just you. Just you. Alone.

Didn't anyone learn about the buddy system?

And, somewhere in the middle of this all on the sixth or seventh day, your outer forearm inked with your soulmate mark -- a large raven feather that broke into smaller silhouettes of the same bird, flying off your skin if it could -- burned with the damned telling sign that you were close to that First Meeting. That they, whoever they are, were close. And very much alive.

Great. In the middle of a zombie apocalypse and your soulmate had to arrive somewhere within this large ass city. That would be the cards dealt by Lady Luck. And your luck would pin either of you as dead before arrival.

You couldn't curse your bad luck enough. On the verge of leaving, meager and stolen supplies packed up in a motorbike you've hidden in a secure space and a route planned out of the city, you hesitated. A settling sinking feeling sat in your stomach like a heavy stone. You can't leave your soulmate here to die. With a growl, you shoved your assorted pockets and bags with as much ammo, medical supplies, food and water as possible, finality lining every movement.

Damn it! Damn them!

Following the burning pulse radiating in strength as you, hopefully, close the distance, you leave your own safety bubble to seek your soulmate out. Out in the rainy night in this dreary city. Bundled in the remains of a warm outfit. Whatever fucking idiot was roaming around here better be worth it.

Hours of slow going, getting soaked to the bones, avoiding the hoards as they swarmed the PD station again as a loud siren and explosions echoed in the night air, your heart sank.

You gotta be kidding me.

That would be the most likely place in the city, wouldn't it?

Damn your luck.

(On any other day, you wouldn't curse your lack of luck to incur more of Lady Luck's wrath; even now, you're still alive thanks to the whimsies of Luck and the Fates. And firearm and survival lessons of your paranoid and militaristic step-fa-- your dad. For another countless time this week, you wished he was still alive so you could thank him for his hindsight for all his 'ridiculous' teachings. Still: fucking damn your luck--)

Stop.

Control your breathing, even as panic laced every inhale, every exhale. Focus on keeping quiet, on this warmer-colder game of tag with someone you don't even know, on keeping alive because what's the point if you die in process?

Focus on the undead blocking your path to get back into the metal graveyard of the museum-turned-police-station before you.

Aim at the back of its head.

Line up the shot.

Inhale.

Steady.

Gotta thank the old man when you die a natural death of old age and see him in the afterlife. Or something like that, you thought, firing the shot.

The creature shrieked a horrifying hiss as the bullet hit, like someone released air out of a balloon, a squeaky sound that you still internally wince, unused to it even after this week. It twisted and turned, head lulled back, and you ready-aimed-fired a quick second bullet before you could see its face. You didn't want another ghost of their human self to add into the mix of your dreams -- whenever you did find a safe space to sleep next.

The body dropped to the wet ground in an awful slump.

Exhale.

White puff of cold air left your lips as you stared at the body for a second to see it unmoved. Quickly, you checked your surroundings for any other zombies; four more shots fired, three downed dead, three more bullets in your P220's mag. Another prayer casted towards the capricious Lady Luck: please, don't summon a licker.

An empty street was all that greeted you. Nothing attracted by the sound of bullets firing, nothing but an unnerving feeling that you were being watched, shivering beyond the coldness of the rainy night. A loud scraping sound kept you low to the ground, half bent over and nearly squatting, as you casted your eyes around, looking for signs of threats.

No threats. Street still empty. Empty, except two survivors in the distance, exiting from the Station’s parking lot.

From where the noise came from.

On the other side of the sinkhole and its halted repair started before this week of hell.

You managed to get yourself to the edge of it, avoiding two zombies eating flesh along the way, them happily and thankfully ignoring you as horrifying chewing and slurping sounds loudly scraped against your own gut. Managed just quick enough as the two strangers had their back to you, one working their way to get inside the gun store, its neon sign lighting highlighting the woman's silhouette with a fade glow of red.

"Hey!" you wanted to scream, but the word stuck in your throat. It wouldn't do anyone good to scream here and attract monsters. Selfishly, you wanted someone to turn around, to see you in the distance, to wait for you-- As if you could be heard, the other silhouette turned, ever so slightly, enough for you to read the miniscule and faded letters of R.P.C. across his chest.

The mark hiccuped in its heat, only fluttering coolness the brief moment you both saw each other. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Him. It's him.

The door to the gun shop opened and, even from your spot across the way, you heard the woman call out to the cop, distance obscuring what she actually said however. She entered the shop without a backward glance. He hesitated, giving you a look you were too far away to read, before following in after his partner.

You couldn't help but rub your fingers along the cooling shape of a feather on your arm, a silent prayer on your lips to the Fates or fucking Luck or whatever listening to give whatever goodwill you had and send it to him. Let him survive.

And then you were alone again.

Let him be safe. Please.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A curse hissed out of your mouth, unwanted as a zombie bit at your not dominant arm, the one burning with the feather soulmate mark. The wound's deep enough where blood blossomed under your sleeves, but you yelped as you wrenched your arm free. Its teeth pulled away with your skin and shirt fabric in between its maw. It growled. You shoved the barrel of your pistol against its temple, firing.

Blood and brains splattered onto your long sleeves, already soiled with sewage and dried gore. A loud groan left your lips, frustrated at your sloppiness over the fact you were bleeding. Contagion was the least of your worries; you'd been a zombie three times over during this week. But regular infection of an untreated wound? That could kill you.

Your thoughts stilled as a chilling scream sucked in your breath.

You should have expected the NEST to be filled with zombies, everywhere else in the city was. It's why you shared your ammo with Claire as she explored her portion of the NEST to unlock the antiviral needed to save Sherry; if anything, she had a better sense of survival than you, especially after the way she fought that terrifying eyeball monster of a once-human.

What you didn't expect was the fucking licker crawling around on the ceiling.

You should have.

A high pitched whine sent a chill down your spine, before its long claws scraped across the walls.

Tensing, you covered your mouth and held your handgun in its direction, hoping that it didn't hear you. You didn't have enough rounds in the mag, hell in general if you had to fight it. Two shots left before reloading. Your pistol’s full eight wouldn't even be enough.

Circle around it slowly as it seemed to sniff the air (and deluded yourself that it could not smell your disgusting stench of sewer and sweat clinging to you).

Slowly, foot by foot.

Freeze as it hissed again.

The door opened, creaking. Both the licker and you tilted towards it. One booted foot in, someone you know by the returning of the intense burning of your forearm in the shape of a raven's feather.

Him.

The licker posed to jump in his direction, like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse.

Fuck you Lady Luck and her shitty timing.

"Careful, licker!" you shouted.

It whipped around towards you, its loud growling wheeze echoing in the room. Fucking shit--

The bastard howled as it lunged forward.

Into your space.

Duck -- too late. It jumped on your body, throwing you to the ground as its large claws hit your shoulders. You yelped from the impact. Happlessly, you fired your two shots into its large, brain-like head. The bullets hit, but not the weak spot.

Another shot rang out in the room. Enough for the licker to hesitate sinking its teeth in your flesh. It erupted in flames as He came closer, holding a fucking flamethrower in his hand. It screamed. Its weight disappeared and you scrambled back on your hands and arms, pain shooting through them in the movement as blood, old and new, smeared along your palms. The smell of burning flesh, nothing like the sweet scent cooking but more ashen and decay, filled your nose, alongside the metallic under layer of blood, your blood.

The screams died as the licker did, flames simmering down into nothingness alongside its charred and blackened skin. You forced yourself to sit up, groaning in pain. Everything hurt. Your back, your shoulders, your arms especially -- but you couldn't tell if that's because of how heavy you hit the ground or that damned fucking mark that threatened to burn your own arm off.

He cursed, repeated fucks and shit expelling under breath as he made it to your side. "Here, you're okay, you're okay, I got you."

He pulled out some medical supplies from within his packs. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide. A roll of bandages. Without thinking, he reached for your bleeding arm.

And the burning stopped, his touch instantly dropped your arm into a freezing chill as his eyes took in the teeth marks ripped in your skin, the bloodied feather and its tiny ravens, ink gradually running clear. You shivered and he did a double-take on you, hand shaking as if he too was dropped below zero.

A moment paused into an eternity as you caught your breath. In the darkened room with broken flickering lights overhead, dark shadows chiseled his face in sharp angles, despite his youthful look. Stands of light golden blonde hair clung to his forehead, dirtied with grime and sweat. Blue eyes swept over your features, just as you did to him.

Even in this mess, he was handsome, pretty even. Heat licked your cheeks as your mind wandered on how pretty would he be cleaned up…

"You’re the goddamn idiot,” you muttered under breath, face heating from embarrassment. Talk about a dramatic First Meeting.

"What?" the stranger asked, strangely breathless. "Hey. Are you okay?"

His eyes widened, blues roaming between your arm and your face again. You didn't answer him, but you said a bit louder, "It’s you."

"It's…me." Words he repeated, but laced with a question. Like he didn’t realize who he was to you. Not until the remaining half an outline of the feather, barely just visible, disappeared entirely as he laid another glance on it.

Nothing. Like you were never marked at all.

“Oh…”

He knew now.

"Yes, you! The kind of idiot that strolls into an infested city of the undead!" you said, words streaming from your lips in a hiss, holding back your scream as he no longer knelt frozen before you and worked to disinfect your wound. Unwanted tears pricked at the edge of your eyes; you lied that it was because of the sting of the disinfectant, not frustration nor relief to see him. "You were safe up until today!"

And you could have been okay dying with that knowledge!

He tied the bandage tight, too tight, and you winced from the pain. “Sorry,” he apologized softly, even as his lips pressed into a thin line. “But I had my duty. I couldn’t leave the city without helping.”

You slapped his hold on you away -- he let you go easily -- and forced yourself to your feet. He followed you quickly, arms reaching out to steady you as you swayed and stumbled onto your feet, sliding on gore and fluids, legs trembling in pain and useless adrenaline. His grip on your arms were tight, hands warm and comforting.

"Right… Duty.” The word tasted like blood in your mouth. You’ve seen enough people die for the sake of duty; you’ve seen others die for less honorable reasons. Something hot burned down your grime-streaked cheeks. “And I was leaving. I was leaving," you confessed. “I couldn’t, not with you here. Guess we’re both the idiots here.”

A faint chuckle, akin to puffs of air more than anything, left his lips. Slowly, as if you were a spooked cat, his hands found your cheeks, thumbs running comforting wipes along the trails left by your tears. You tried not to lean into his touch, craving that comfort from him selfishly.

"Thank you." It's soft, embarrassed even as his eyes gaze just a little out of your reach, and his cheeks tinted with pink.

"Don't thank me yet,” you scoffed, “Now we can die together."

Another laugh. "Fair enough. It's not safe out here."

"Duh, Mr. Obvious.”

But he smiled like nothing happened, a cheeky little grin that warms you even further. Oh shit, he's cute. "It's Kennedy, actually. Leon Kennedy," he said, introducing himself.

You gave yours, rolling your eyes as he repeated it reverently.

"We're going to get out of here alive. I swear it," Leon promised with such conviction you believed him. “Okay?”

He waited until you nodded to release your cheeks, but not before his eyes lingered on your lips. As if you didn’t share the same thoughts. Later, later.

Instead, Leon grabbed your gun from off the floor. Relief settled your limbs as your hands found the familiar metal of your handgun. Silently, you reloaded, as he did the same, hands reaching for his shotgun.

Not dead yet, still a chance.

Taking a deep breath, you grinned at him as fake confidence steered your lips, "Alright then, pretty boy, lead the way. I got your back."

"Pretty boy?"

#resident evil fanfiction #seles writes #leon kennedy x reader

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uhhisthisthingon · 2 years

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getting another tattooooooo next Saturday !!!!!!!! :))))))))))) just don’t know if I should put it on my inner forearm ???? Orrrrrrrr my inner bicep ..???? It’s a strawberry (w a face on it)

#I have a small wrist tattoo on the same arm #and a raccoon on my outer forearm #but i kinda want it on the inner arm #pls interact #I need help!#on the left arm

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astronautikals · 4 years

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empires fall

Request: where spencer has a hard case so the reader reminds him the world can still be kind?? 🥰 (@spenceneedsahug)

A/N: Alrighty takin’ the dive for CM fanfic haha--hope I’ve fulfilled at least some of what you’re looking for! requests are open

Category: Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Angst; Fluff

CW: implied depression, emotional distance, work-related traumas

Word Count: 1.75K

________

I wake up just as the secondhand ticks past 4:36.

Someone’s moving around in the living room, letting their keys clatter together and dropping down what I know is a heavy, well-worn satchel.

I relinquish some of my grip on the comforter and roll back to my side of the bed, settling in only moments before the bedroom door is pushed open. He’s trying to be quiet for my sake, so I close my eyes and pretend he actually is. I’ll let him have his peace for tonight—from the way he lifelessly pulls off his clothes, I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk. Not yet, at least.

The creak of the bathroom door cuts past the white noise of the quavering fan overhead, and moments later, when the shower turns on, I start to drift off again.

And then I’m awake once more, startled by the sound of something—someone—gasping. When it happens a second time, I don’t miss it.

I swing my feet out of bed, nearly stumbling on the covers as I try and get to the bathroom door. My heart’s jumped into my throat and I can hardly see through my panic. But just as I make a move to burst inside and save this boy from some unknown enemy, I hear him choke on a sputtering of sobs.

I knock gently instead.

“Spencer?” I call, softly pushing the door open. The steam that rushes out is uncomfortably warm for this cool July night, so when I step inside, I pull off my sweatpants.

“Spencer?” I say again. On the other side of the curtain, I hear him struggle to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he replies, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Go back to bed. I’ll just be a minute.”

His voice is steady and practiced. But I know him—and I know that he’s spent too much time with professional profilers, learning exactly how to lie.

I peel back the plastic drape quietly.

His back is red from the heat and marked by old scars cutting back and forth, but he doesn’t move out from under the shower head.

“I’ll be okay,” Spencer croaks, his head still turned down. “Go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

“Let me just be here with you,” I try. I don’t want to force him into anything—of course not—but leaving him alone to argue with his own mind is more dangerous than any potential outburst he might have at me. So when he doesn’t respond, I quickly tug off my shirt and step over the lip of the tub.

He doesn’t turn to me. The water steams off in waves just as it splashes onto his shoulders, and I ease my hand into the stream so he can sense my approach.

Still, when the pads of my fingers meet his upper arm, he shatters—choking on air, dipping his body over, and falling into my chest as a strangled sob breaks through. His lungs are tripping over themselves, struggling to grab oxygen for the rest of his body as he gasps and cries into my collarbone. I stumble under the unexpected weight and the wild swing of emotion, but I never let him go.

“Spence, breathe,” I plead, wrapping him in my arms. My hand runs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching the backside of his scalp. The bridge of Spencer’s nose presses into my throat.

It’s a parental kind of position—the sort you get when you curl up to your mother after an endless nightmare and beg for comfort. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for in this moment, honestly, but I’ll be anyone he needs.

Regardless, as his breathing evens out and warms the skin pulled over my collarbone, Spencer untangles himself slightly in search of a stretch. Without meeting my eyes, he brings me into his chest before easing us towards the floor of the tub. My undergarments are soaked through entirely at this point, but I haven’t thought about it since I stepped into the water.

The water is still warm as it hits us down here on the ground.

Spencer rests his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around me from behind and scooting me over to sit on his upper thighs. I lean backwards slowly, laying myself along his torso and my head just below his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t press him to, either. His breathing isn’t nearly as erratic as it had been, but I know there are still tears slipping silently out of his eyes.

I turn slightly onto my side, reaching for his right arm and pulling it to my chest. For a while, it doesn’t even feel like he recognizes I’m there anymore. I steal a glance at his face, but Spencer’s not looking at me—his eyes train lifelessly on the tile around the faucet and his muscles grow limp. When I trace my finger along the inside of his forearm, he doesn’t even tense up the way he often does when I inadvertently inch too close to the scars tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, Spencer’s torso shifts as he turns to stare off into the shower curtain instead. He inhales deeply—a mark of some stability.

“I’m not—I’m not as good at compartmentalizing anymore,” he soon confesses, curling his shoulders in. “I just—just—I can’t leave it in the field anymore and I—”

“Hey,” I interject softly, rubbing my thumb against the inside of his wrist, “maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you needed a reminder that you’re not just some machine for the Bureau to run into the ground. It’s okay if you need time off—it just means you’re still human, that your empathy is still strong.”

“No,” he disagrees grimly, “it means I’ve got a clock on me.”

I hesitate for a moment, pushing my hair off my neck. His heart thrums softly now against his ribcage—a mark of either acceptance or defeat. My hands grip the sides of the porcelain tub, pushing myself into a position where I can move his own hair out of his face.

“This doesn’t make you useless,” I finally say. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know where I go from here, Y/N.”

He meets my eyes for the first time since he’s come home. There are years and years of exhaustion caked behind those irises and under those bags, but I know that this isn’t the kind of tiredness you can sleep off—this is existential.

My stomach sinks as his lips twinge downwards.

What do they call it—the bystander effect? Yeah, that feels appropriate.

“I’ll never make you talk about anything you can’t bear to relive,” I begin, catching Spencer’s chin as he averts his gaze, “but whatever you’ve seen in the last few days is an anomaly in a world largely made up of good and loving individuals.

“You see the worst of us. I know you know it’s hard to forget the things that hurt the most, but there is so, so much good in even our little corner of the world. I watched a man stop traffic today for a raccoon. A girl in the grocery store ran through the aisles singing about beavers as her grandmother picked out cake mixes. The sun came up this morning during my run, and the whole park stopped to watch.”

A tear slips from his eyes, but I catch it before it can fall off his jaw.

“You’ve got me, Spencer. You’ve always got me. And I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have you in my life, but I’ll never win a better lottery.

“Your teammates would take a bullet for you without a second thought—you know that, right?” I ask rhetorically, encouraged when the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “You’ve saved the lives of more people than you could ever account for, Dr. Statistics, and I know from personal experience that the world is far better just because you’re in it.

“You don’t have to work for the Bureau anymore if you don’t want to—at some point, I know it’ll be too much, and I will never think any less of you if you ever decide to step away. Just, whatever you want to do—I know that your mom is so, so proud of you. And you don’t need my validation, but I am extremely proud of you, too. All the time.”

His tears come a little more freely now, slipping down his cheeks easily and leaving salt and red-rimmed eyelids in their wake. Spencer’s nostrils flare slightly as he swallows down the lump in his throat, and though I keep one hand under his jaw and rubbing the skin just before his ear, I don’t force him to look at me.

“You deserve the world, Spencer. And I will spend the rest of my life getting you to believe that, too.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I know he’s heard me from the way his brow slowly furrows in harsh acceptance. After a few heavy breaths, Spencer seems to tune back in, and when he tilts back towards my own gaze, the creases in his forehead soften. I watch as his lips quiver into the most delicate of smiles.

His hands drift from their place on my outer thighs and instead gently cup the back of my head, his thumbs on my tragi. It’s a long, closed-mouth kiss he gives me—the kind where I have the time and awareness to scratch over his scruff and remember just how rigged my life’s lottery must’ve been for me to be here.

After the blink of an eye and an eon pass simultaneously, Spencer pushes my head past his own and wraps his arms around me tightly until we’re one body. It’s kind of sticky for a moment, but I don’t dwell on it long. I’m never far from comfort with him around, and really, I’m never that far from him at all.

“I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.” — Brian Andreas

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fan-imagines · 5 years

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Bellamy Blake ~ Sky People

MASTERLIST

Bellamy Blake x NeutralReader

Synopsis - The Sky People capture your brother, Lincoln. They torture him and Octavia helps you two to escape.

Word Count - 1.8k+

**Warnings** none

I watch the large metal shelter from my hiding place in a tree. My brother, Lincoln, was taken by the Sky People. Lincoln and I were out, hunting and gathering for our village, when we heard noises. He pushed me to some bushes, they knocked him out and they took him. He always does stuff like that, he always keeps me out of danger. Even if it is a small, little raccoon, he protects me. He has no regard for himself.

I focus my vision on the one they call leader. Bellamy. He looks around before going into their metal shelter. I squint at him, wishing I could take a shot at him with my arrow. I know that I can’t do that. I would immediately regret it, and I wouldn’t want to get Lincoln killed.

I look over the outer protection, seeing if there is any way I get sneak my way in. These Sky People are too careless and new to this planet to be aware of everything. I’m way smarter than them anyway. I see a spot where there are no guards. I swiftly jump down the tree and silently run to the area. I look up and see a tree I can climb and use to get over the wall with no sound.

Once I get up the tree, I check again that there are no guards. When I see there are none, I jump over the wall roll when I land so I don’t injure my legs. I go into the shelter, that now looks larger than when I was out of the camp, but I know that no one can get me. I lightly push over the curtains and see that there is only a man laying on a table. He looks very pale, and I can tell that he has been poisoned by one of ours.

‘’You will tell us!’’ I hear someone shout. I hear something hard meeting skin, and the sound of grunting. I know that they are torturing him. I look up to the noise and see a ladder that leads up to that noise. That must be where they are keeping my brother. I grab onto the bars and put my feet on the bars before pulling myself up. I go until I reach the top, and I open the heavy door.

‘’Whoa!’’ The same man shouts. I recognize him as Bellamy, and I’m glad that he comes to me. Before he can reach me, I see he is going to attack me, so I kick him in the stomach, then grab him and hold a knife to his throat. This sends a message for the others to not mess with me. I look up and catch Lincoln’s eyes. He looks angry and scared.

‘’Stop.’’ I say.

‘’So, you do speak English.’’ Says Bellamy, the one I carry.

‘’Let him go.’’ I disregard his comment and look at the blonde one that is kneeling in front of him.

‘’That man down there is dying. I need to know the cure for the poison you put in him. Please. He will die if you don’t.’’ She pleads. I look to Lincoln again, and he lightly shakes his head.

‘’Let him go first. Then I will show you.’’ I reason.

‘’No deal.’’ Bellamy says and he head-butts me in the forehead, then punches me. It’s going to take more to hurt me than that. As he gets ready to punch me again, I grab his wrist, and kick his shin so he falls.

‘’Then he dies.’’ I say. This time I get a better grip on him, and he is on the floor, so it wont be that easy for him to get a lead on me.

‘’I know a way to get him to talk. Since he won’t.’’ A tan brunette says. She goes over to some blue wires, and rips them out. Light blue lights flash in the wires.

‘’What are you doing?’’ The blond asks.

‘’Something they haven’t seen before.’’ She replies. She taps the ends together and they spark. Lincoln backs away, fearing the electricity passing through the wires.

‘’No! Stop!’’ She touches his skin with the wire and he screams.

‘’You’re going to let Finn die!’’ The blond shouts at me.

‘’He won’t let me die.’’ Another brunette girl walks to the knife, picks it up and cuts her arm. Lincoln thrashes against the chains. I suddenly remember why. This is the girl he told me about. The beauty he leaves flowers for.

‘’Octavia!’’ Bellamy shouts, and he breaks away from me. Octavia falls to the ground and points to each vial individually.

‘’Is it that?’’ Lincoln nods. She holds it up, and the blond and brunette run back downstairs. Octavia wraps her forearm with a cloth.

‘’Now you.’’ Bellamy points at me. I raise my head, showing I’m not scared of him.

‘’What about me?’’ I challenge him. Two people come behind me and grab each of my arms. I thrash around, trying to break free, but one of them hits me in the back of the head, making my vision hazy. I can hear Lincoln fighting his chains.

‘’I’m going upstairs to ask a few questions and interrogate. You, stay here with him, see if he talks.’’ Bellamy grabs me. But I can’t fight him, my strength and vision too weak. He climbs up the ladder, then has the other person lift me up so he can grab me. He hooks his arm under my armpits and pulls me up. I grunt at the force, but he doesn’t care. He throws me onto the floor, and I lay my head back on the cold floor.

‘’Since I know now you speak English, I have a few questions. And you will answer them.’’ He pushes me to the wall and ties my hands up to a bar that stick out of the wall. My strength comes back, and I can fully see Bellamy.

‘’That’s never going to happen. You can do what you want with me.’’ I spit at him and glare.

‘’How many of you are there?’’ He asks, not caring about my previous statement.

‘’For someone whose first language isn’t English, I think I made it pretty clear I’m not answering your questions, Bellamy.’’

‘’So, you know who I am?’’ He smirks.

‘’Don’t pride yourself.’’ I chuckle, dismissing him. I don’t tell him, but I know the names of all my enemies. Lincoln wants to be friends with these people, and keep it peaceful between our people, so I oblige.

‘’Why does your brother keep a book with all of us in it, and cross them out when they die? Why did your people stab Finn?’’ He asks. I just lean back against the wall and look at him. I see him breath heavily, getting annoyed. ‘’Tell me!’’ I don’t even flinch when he shouts. He comes to me and raises his hand to slap me. He does, and I bite the inside of me cheek. I turn my head and spit out the blood from my mouth.

‘’Torture is not the way to go, big-shot. Have you not seen my brother? We’re made to withstand this.’’ I say to him. He sighs in frustration knowing I’m right. People like him crumble under the first sign of torture. One of their own was captured and he told us everything in the first few days. He goes down the ladder and leave me to my thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, I wake up to someone opening the door and coming to where I am. I see Bellamy coming to me, along with the same guy that helped me up the ladder yesterday.

‘’Morning, big-shot. What have you got for me today?’’ I smart talk to him.

‘’He’s going to be watching you. I’m leaving for the day.’’ He says.

‘’Thanks for letting me know your plans. I care so much.’’ I say in a fake voice and fake smile.

‘’Got a mouth on you. Bellamy let me show her the consequences.’’ The man says, he gets closer to me, but Bellamy sticks his arm out to stop him.

‘’Do not raise your hand.’’ He speaks to the man, then turns to me, ‘’Keep speaking that way and I’ll cut out your tongue.’’

‘’Good luck with that.’’ I mumble under my breath. He says something to the other guy and leaves the room. I look at him, and see he is glaring at me. I don’t say anything to him, I just look everywhere, taking in my surroundings. A few minutes later, noise makes me open my eyes.

‘’Octavia, you know you aren’t supposed to be in here.’’ The man says when the door is opened, and Octavia pops up.

‘’Relax. I just thought you might be hungry. It’s a peace offering, I was stupid. They aren’t worth it.’’ I silently scoff, knowing how much my brother admires her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been almost a day since I’ve been in this room. My guard fell asleep, so I’ve just been sitting here, wondering how I can get out of this. The door opens again, and I look to it.

‘’Octavia?’’ I ask. She has clothes in her hands and she runs to me.

‘’Come on. I’m getting you out of here.’’ She cuts the rope holding my wrists and helps me up.

‘’Where’s Lincoln?’’ I ask her.

‘’He’s downstairs. You need to hurry, we don’t have much time.’’ She helps me put on the jacket.

‘’They’ll know I’m not one of you.’’

‘’They won’t. They’re all tripping. Let’s go.’’ She goes down the ladder, then I go next. I see Lincoln, leaning over in pain. I grab him lightly and hug him.

‘’We need to go.’’ He says. I nod. I go down the ladder first, so I can make sure he gets down okay. A few seconds goes by before he finally comes down. I wrap his arm around my shoulders for support. We run out of the shelter and stop when we run into one of the Sky People. He looks at us, and we keep our eyes on him before we sprint into the woods. I get Lincoln to his cave before I go back to the Sky camp, wanting to see how they react to us being gone.

‘’Bellamy. The grounders are gone.’’

‘’Bellamy, what do we do?’’

More people overlap each other in a terrified panic.

‘’We don’t have to worry about it anymore.’’ Him and the blond from before drop a lot of black metal weapons. I’ve heard of those before, they’re guns. They are quicker and cause more damage than our bow and arrows. They are going to kill all of us, but not if I warn my people first.

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whitehareknits · 5 years

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14. Panic

It was well after 10 when I started my walk home from school. I stayed late to help take down the stage after our winter concert. Mom said she could come and pick me up, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. We lived close enough to the school, it was unseasonably warm out, and the moon would keep it from being too dark for most of the night. I could make the walk in just my jacket, easy. A few of my friends offered me a ride, but I turned them down. It was late and we already had our fill of each other for the day. Truth be told, I needed this little time to myself and the warm year seemed to extend autumn into the winter. Even in early December, the trees still had most of their leaves. Their lovely scent still carried on the breeze, almost like it was still late October.

With it being such an unseasonably cool and clear night, I decided to take the outer alleyway route through my neighborhood. We were kind of on the edge of town, so the side and back of our neighborhood was surrounded by a small, dense, wooded area. It was a roundabout way to get home, but on a bright night like this, I would get a lovely view of the half-bare trees against the stars. There would be no pesky porch or streetlights to disrupt the night and no houses to keep the wind from rustling the leaves.

As I started down the side of our neighborhood, I saw something ahead; two little, bright shining eyes looking up at me. They were easily ten to fifteen feet in front of me. They were too big to belong to a squirrel, but too small to belong to a coyote. Not that I expected one, but you never know. The problem with the size of these eyes, was that it left too wide a gap as to what the animal could be. It could be a raccoon, opossum, armadillo, or at worst, a skunk. It was completely in shadow, and too dark or too far ahead to make out a shape. All that could be seen was its two shiny eyes.

I decided to do a sudden step forward to spook it off. I took the step more to jolt rather than to advance, incase it was a skunk, but those golden eyes still didn’t move. It must have been waiting me out, so I made to take an actual step forward, when it suddenly moved. It darted in a circle, then side to side, off the alley road and back. I sighed in relief. The only thing that could move that quickly could be a bunny. The warm weather must have been agreeable to them too.

I picked up my pace again knowing that the unseasonable rabbit would hop off back into the woods when I got too close. But as I got a few steps further down the alley, I noticed the eyes were still in front of me. Still the same distance, and still surrounded by darkness. It must have moved when I wasn’t paying attention, so I took another dominating step forward to jostle it again. It jumped around again then came back to its position ahead of me. Those little golden eyes just kept looking, it almost seemed like a puppy that wanted me to chase it. Could it have been a puppy? No, it was too quick for that. And its eyes, something about the eyes, they didn’t belong to a dog, they couldn’t.

A chilly gust of wind knocked me out of my trance. How long had I been staring at that rabbit? It took me getting my bearings again to actually think about those glittering eyes ahead of me. They had that exact same glow that all animal eyes had when a beam of light hit them the right way. But what puzzled me was, where was the light coming from? I looked around, and I was correct, there were no porch lights on in the alley. There were no lights coming from the street. I checked myself in the stupid attempt to find some magical beam of light coming off of my person but there was none. The moon wasn’t even out.

I remembered then, that I had my flashlight in my bag. We all had one on concert nights, no one wanted to trip backstage and then face the whole school with a bloody nose or black eye. Without taking my eyes off that stubborn bunny, I reached into my school bag and found my flashlight. This would scare that damn rabbit off. I very slowly brought the light to my chest and snapped it on.

A blinding, white light flooded the alleyway and the eyes disappeared instantly. I scanned the alley, my beam of florescent light piercing the darkness as I looked from side to side. Satisfied that I scared the bold animal off, I switched off my light and dropped it back in my bag. No sooner had I repositioned the strap on my shoulder and made to walk again, than I saw those same glowing eyes. But something had changed, they were closer now.

Somehow, even with the new proximity, I still couldn’t make out the shape of the damned thing. It was as if a wall of black clouds separated us and kept me from seeing what it looked like, except of course, its eyes.

I resolved that I had already wasted too much time on this thing and should really be getting home. I looked forward to see how far I had left, but I couldn’t see the end of the road. I wracked my brain to remember if it had been this dark out before. No, I distinctly remember it being bright enough for me to see my own shadow on the concrete. I looked to the top of the trees to get my bearing, but I couldn’t distinguish them from the sky. There wasn’t a cloud out, but I couldn’t see any stars. Just blackness, an inky, thick, blackness.

Another breeze shook me out of my thoughts, and I zipped up my jacket. The metallic zip of my jacket closing around me, called my attention to the silence. There was wind, cold, cold wind, but why couldn’t I hear the trees? The familiar crackle of the dead leaves was gone, leaving an empty, sickening quiet in its place.

The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grew as I slowly turned my gaze back to the alley before me, knowing damn well what I was going to see there. Two golden eyes, shrouded in darkness, just a few feet in front of me.

This was ridiculous. I was allowing myself to get worked up over this obviously crazy rabbit that was probably just smelling my take out dinner on me. I puffed out my chest at this small animal that was frightening me for no good reason and pressed onwards. If it didn’t move, I would kick it out of the way if I had to. After a few steps, I looked down and laughed to myself when I saw nothing there. It had finally hopped on. I turned my eyes back down to the end of the dark alley, only to see the eyes at the end of the road. It was so dark, I couldn’t make out the backyard fences to my immediate right, but I could still see those blaring eyes as clear as day.

I no more than blinked when they began to move at great speed towards…me. They didn’t waver, or bounce as they would if attached to any animal; they just barreled down the alley untethered and disembodied.

I closed my eyes and just ran for it. With one forearm plastered over my eyes and the other waving frantically before me I tore my way down the alley, knowing that if I kept myself straight, I would hit the street and shortcut the rest of the alley that continued around the neighborhood.

Something hard broke my blind sprint and I came crashing to the ground. I cautiously opened my eyes to be again blinded, but this time by the street light that I had run smack into.

I stood up and wiped the tears from my eyes. I had worked myself into such hysteria that it took me a second to gather my senses. I clung to the cold streetlamp in pure relief as my breathing returned to normal. As I blinked out my last tears, a glimmer caught my eye. I turned to see that my flashlight had fallen out of my bag when I fell. My stomach twinged as I knew I would have to turn back to the alley to pick it up, but the presence of my savior, the streetlamp, reassured me. Like any child will tell you, monsters hate the light. I bent down to grab my flashlight, with the intention to keep it on the rest of the walk home, no matter how well lit the street was.

To prove to myself that I was just being silly before, I glanced down the alley that I had just ran like a madman out of. The trees were rustling in the wind, the moon reflected white off the road, and there were no eyes in sight.

Internally, I scolded myself for being so childish and letting my stupid imagination get the best of me. Externally, I was still a little on edge, so I made a brisk b-line towards my house; hand glued to flashlight, eyes glued to the end of that light. Not once did I dare take my eyes off the end of that shaft of light.

I all but jogged the last stretch of houses before my own, as it was getting so late. The last thing I wanted was my parents worrying about me. My stomach leaped in relief as I slowed under the familiar porch light and stepped through the door. Finally turning off the flashlight, I tossed it on the key table and locked the door behind me. It really was late. I was probably the last one up in the house. I flicked on our stair light as I walked by and tended to the lights to be turned off and the doors to be shut in the kitchen.

As I climbed the first leg of the stairs, that wrenching feeling crawled back into my stomach. The stair and hall light was on ahead of me, but the downstairs behind me, was drenched in darkness. Just to prove to myself that my imagination was overworking again, I boldly climbed each step, one at a time, as I would normally do. I kept a normal pace, and kept as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the rest of the house with my foolishness, even though I was dreading reaching the landing. I saw it come into view, more and more with each step; the giant floor length mirror my parents kept on the wall of the stair landing. It positioned in such a perfect way as to allow an almost full view of the downstairs. The downstairs that was now pitch black.

Maybe I just wanted to punish or prove myself, but I resolved to look that mirror dead on when I got to the landing. Even though the growing feeling in my stomach told me full well what I was going to see. I stepped the last step onto the landing and drew in a breath as a turned to face the mirror.

There they were. Two glowing eyes directly behind me at the door. I tried to keep my breathing as even as possible and willed the tears not to come again as those two eyes floated from the door to the base of the stairs, carrying the darkness with them. I stood as straight as I could as they flowed up the direction of the stairs coming closer and closer by the second. I watched in the mirror as those two horrible eyes grew bigger in the reflection and I bit my lip as they appeared over my shoulder. I closed my eyes one last time as the darkness surrounded me, my last view being of those glowing, devilish, two eyes.

Day 14 of @downwithwritersblock 's october prompt challenge. This is another one of my old stories that I'm using as an excuse to talk about different aspects of horror.

This go around, is a story that is very near and dear to me because it is based heavily off of my home, neighborhood, and paranoia I had growing up.

The alley not so much because I still walk that alley in the evenings to this day, but there are always creepy noises coming from the wooded area next to it.

No, the biggest thing in my house that scares me to this day is our giant fucking mirror that's on our staircase landing. It's really positioned so you can see the majority of the downstairs. And when you're the last one to go to bed at night, you're the one turning off all the lights. I still don't like looking in that mirror when I go to bed. The stair light casts horrible shadows all over the living room and I'm always paranoid that one of these days, I'll look and see something in the reflection.

Paranoia is a big aspect of horror for me, it's the big "What if". Like I mentioned before with Marvelous and Uncanny, the "What if" is the question that sits firmly between the two.

What if it's real? What if it's only in your mind? What if that just makes it worse?

#october writing challenge #writing promt #writing challenge #horror #paranoia #panic #two eyes #old work #my fiction #halloween #31 days of halloween

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slimy · 6 years

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semi sleepy ramble. im already on thin ice because technically all tattoos must be covered at my job, and its uncomfortable as fuck to wear a long sleeve undershirt, so i’ve only just barely gotten away (with managers’ permission) with not wearing it. but the Big Boss man might bring it up to me soon idk. i definitely don’t regret my tattoos or their placement. even the cursed raccoon tattoo. like, what, i’m just not gonna decorate my own skin how i want to because of a fuckin burger place?? yeah fucking right.

bc of all this discussion and thoughts on tattoos, now i’m in the mood for another one, something small. like the ghoul on my ankle. maybe a tiny animal. or something based on indigenous nicaraguan art. hm

i have two “big tattoo” plans, to be completed whenever:

big secret chest piece design

big gator on blank outer forearm

these two 100% must be done by my main artist guy in NYC hes the fuckig best and he’s the only person i’d trust to do such big tattoos

small impulse stuff i dont mind being done by whoever as long as i obviously like their portfolio and the shop looks impeccably clean

none of my tattoos have a single, direct “meaning” but since I chose them because I like how they look, and I have similar taste in things across all categories of things because i am a single person lol, it just logically follows that the tattoos may incidentally tie into other things that I like or that are meaningful to me.

the connections between some of my tattoos’ designs and hotline miami are sometimes intended as one of the primary meanings, but usually it’s just a bonus.

i sometimes worry that hlm wont be so important to me one day, but it’s been a special interest of mine for suuuuuuuch a long time, and my thoughts on the game have evolved with me over time. like even if i suddenly didn’t like it anymore somehow, i would not be able to deny that it was so deeply important to me for as long as it was.

like damn i basically discovered that im trans because of the game. although my friends on tumblr are the ones who opened my eyes to the world of LGBT culture, history, experiences, and terminology (hugely important stuff I may not have ever discovered on my own for a very long time), the first time i ever tangibly explored being transgender irl was in fall 2015 when i wore a hlm cosplay in public for comic con... and then for halloween... and then on the subway and in random parks in nyc... and then at my university, where i asked my friends to only call me the character’s name and refer to me as he/him while i was in costume.......... never thought i’d find so much freedom and joy in a sweaty latex chicken mask

i think sometime after that, in maybe early 2016, i made the post on here where i came out as nonbinary. that was the first day i ever started to embrace that word. it’s back in my archive, you can probably find it easily. the exact date i started to think of myself as nonbinary. lmao. (well not necessarily, of course i felt like i was nonbinary for many years prior, but i didnt have the words for it, and i thought that’s just how everyone felt, or that it was something i needed to get over because it meant i just wasnt confident enough or smth)

how did a post about tattoos become this. probably because i’m not seeing a therapist adn im too tired to write all of this in my normal physical journal.

also i have a fear of forgetting things as important to me as the timelines of things in my life. i want to look back on things like this and be able to know what was going through my head in early 2018. im afraid if if dont write it down ill forget it forever

#tattoos #needles implied #long post

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