Tumgik
#AND HE DOES!!!! HE DOES THOSE THINGS FOR HER!!!!!
violent138 · 2 days
Text
Time-warped or travel scenario where Bruce gets launched back into a younger version of himself with all the memories and the first thing he does is goes and gets Dick Grayson right after his parents' death, then pick up Jason, arrange about a million playmates to get Tim out of his house, and once he has those kids happy and taken care of, he goes off to find Cass, helps Steph with her dad, and leaves a very pointed voice-mail for Talia.
Alfred thinks he's more mentally ill than usual for knowing exactly which orphans and as he pointedly reminds Bruce, "children whose parents are still very much alive" he's trying to steal and adopt.
Bruce heatedly replies that they're his kids and that he's going to do everything right this time, rendering Alfred absolutely speechless until Bruce asks if Alfred would be able to make dinner for his new brood of kids.
"Try and remember who you're speaking to Master Bruce, I've thrown dinner parties with less notice"
"Great because I have a list of allergies and some notes on favourite foods."
473 notes · View notes
valeskafics · 3 days
Text
"Over The Rainbow" - Gale Cleven x Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: my first time writing for buck! i hope y'all enjoy this!! 🩷
Summary: Thirteen years ago, Gale Cleven ran from you when you tried to kiss him. He doesn't intend on making that mistake twice.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ww2
Word Count: 3,000
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Masters of the Air characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Tumblr media
Gale remembers the last time he saw you vividly. You bounded up to him, a homemade valentine in your hands, grinning that chipped-tooth smile of yours, your two braids flying behind you. You shoved the paper into his hand and he looked between it and you, confused for a moment before reading its contents. There, on the paper, was a poorly drawn picture of a bee. And under it, the words “Bee mine, Gale?” Of course, the entire schoolyard was full of kids, teasing the two of you as you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. And even though every fiber in him screamed to lean in and let you, he pulled away and ran, the sounds of the other kids' laughter ringing in his ears.
Casper, Wyoming was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody, with a population of just over fifteen thousand people. From the butcher to the seamstress to everyone who lived within a fifteen mile radius. How was he supposed to just kiss you like it didn’t mean anything? His friends would’ve mocked him ceaselessly. Hell, he might’ve even gotten beaten up, come Monday! So, he stayed inside all weekend, save for church on Sunday, praying that by the time Monday rolled around, everyone would’ve forgotten the almost kiss.
Valentines’ Day was on a Friday that year. 1930. And by Monday? You were gone. Everyone always said if anyone was going to make it out of Casper, it would be you. Every talent show, you were up there, singing your little heart out. Acting in every play. Though Gale would tease you and tug on your braids, he knew that you had what it took to be a star. He was ready to give you that kiss Monday at school, only to learn that your family had moved to California. That you’d gotten a part in some traveling vaudeville group, singing with that voice of yours. By 1935? You’d gotten your big Hollywood debut, starring as Cosette in ‘Les Miserables’. But it wasn’t until 1939 that you became a star, your role as Dorothy Gale cementing your status as the starlet to watch going into the 40s.
He’d deny it till he turned blue in the face, but he cried watching you sing ‘Over the Rainbow’, that gorgeous voice of yours like honey in his ears. Gale went to the picturehouse ten times to see that film, spending every bit of spare change he had to watch your face light up that screen. His friends all teased him, reminding him that the pretty girl up there playing a character whose last name was the same as his first tried to kiss him all those years ago, and he ran. He was a scared little boy and he ran.
Only Bucky knows about all of this. He’s the only one Gale ever trusted enough to tell. So, when he sees that you are doing a tour with the USO, the Foxhole Circuit, to be exact. Meaning you’d be performing in England soon enough. Bucky knows it’ll take a miracle to drag his friend along to a USO show. He’s not one for that sort of thing. But, he vows to make it happen.
Tumblr media
Gale does his best not to smack Bucky across the back of the head for dragging him out to this show, but all the boys seemed fairly excited. So, he decides to be quiet and do this small favor for them, getting himself a bottle of pop and settling in with the others to enjoy the show. The lights go up and he listens as the crowd begins to cheer enthusiastically for whoever it is that is about to appear onstage. He leans in to ask Bucky who it is, out of curiosity, but his friend merely shushes him, turning his face back toward the front. The curtains go up and there you are. It’s as though all the air has been stolen from his lungs as he watches you wave to the crowd, that million dollar smile on your face as you make your way to the microphone. Some people say that actresses look different on screen than in real life. He agrees. On screen, you look beautiful. In real life? You look like nothing short of a goddess.
“Good evening, gentlemen, and thank you for the warm welcome. Before anything, I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your service. The people of America owe you our thanks and gratitude for the bravery you show here, so far from home.” Damn. Your voice is so beautiful that it nearly has him swooning, and your words are the sweetest he’s ever heard. You introduce yourself by name, “Some of you may know me from a couple of films I’ve been in.” Still so humble. Still with that little twang to your voice. God… The memories of your shared childhood come flooding back to him like a tidal wave, chasing after the girl in her dirty overalls, hair in two braids, the booming sound of your laugh coming from such a tiny little body. And hearing you now is like a warm blanket on a cold Casper night. It’s like coming home. “I was in a picture called ‘The Wizard of Oz’ a few years back that some of y’all may have seen. I’ll be singing a song from that. This is ‘Over the Rainbow’. I hope that this can serve as a little piece of home for you and remind you that when this is over, your loved ones will be waiting for you back home.”
The room goes deathly silent, everyone present holding their breath as you begin to croon so sweetly into the microphone. Gale feels the goofiest, dopiest smile spreading across his face, a blush coming to his cheeks as he stares up at you, awestruck. He remembers watching you sing this on screen, wondering if he’d ever see that girl with the chipped tooth from down the road again. And here you are, with that dulcet voice.
“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”
Gale is completely enraptured by you. His best friend bites back a smile, patting him on the back, though he barely even notices, too busy gazing at you. Every note that falls from your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter as you lose yourself in the song. Hell, he’s pretty sure he can feel his eyes tearing up.
“Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me
Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh, why, can’t I?”
Gale jumps to his feet, clapping louder than anyone present, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful woman you’ve grown into. He sees the way you smile out at the crowd, the way you take a bow. And it’s that same spirit as when you used to win every talent show back in school. You’re older now, more comfortable in your skin. But it’s you. It’s unmistakably you. And he can hardly believe his luck. It’s like a star has fallen from the heavens right onto his front doorstep.
Tumblr media
Gale waits for you to finish speaking with some of the higher-ranking officers present before approaching you. He feels like that little boy again, palms sweating as he removes his hat, clearing his throat. He never expected to see you again. Not like this. Not looking so gorgeous and radiant. Colonel Huglin nods at him as he approaches, introducing Gale to you as “Major Cleven” as you extend your hand. Your lips part in surprise, eyes lighting up in recognition.
“Gale? That can’t be you.”
He smiles at you, taking your hand in his, the feeling of your soft, smooth palm almost enough to make him faint as he speaks softly, “I could say the same about you.”
You laugh, that same booming laugh from all those years ago that could fill a room, gesturing to your tooth, “Yeah, Daddy was finally able to afford to get it fixed.”
Gale chuckles, admiring that grin of yours, unable to help noticing the way the men around you eye you up and down. Like you’re less of a woman and more like a piece of meat. He feels a flare of possessiveness, jealousy inside him and takes a step closer to you.
“Look at you,” he remarks, “All grown up now.”
“You too,” you say softly, “The uniform suits you, Major Cleven.”
“Your new clothes suit you too,” he teases, “Though I guess I can’t be calling you ‘little menace’ anymore, can I? You’re not that little girl from Casper anymore.”
You slap his chest playfully, making him laugh even harder, “How dare you, Major Cleven? I’ll have you know they had the top accent coaches try to train the accent outta me. But you can take the girl out of Wyoming, you can’t take Wyoming out of the girl.”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” he drawls, that familiar accent the two of you share serving as a comfort to you both, “You’re still  that stubborn little girl I knew back when I was thirteen, huh?”
“I am indeed,” you pause before bumping your shoulder against his, the two of you entirely oblivious to the chatter around you, “And you’re still that same boy who ran away when I tried to kiss him on Valentine’s Day.”
Gale’s cheeks flush bright pink as he scratches his cheek, averting his gaze, “Hey, now. That was a long time ago. I was thirteen, what’d you expect my reaction to be?” Gale tries to play the whole thing off as if it isn’t something he’s spent the last thirteen years of his life kicking himself for.
“I’m only teasing,” you grin, “I know you were just a shy boy.”
“Oh, more than shy, I was completely petrified!” Gale admits, remembering the way he stumbled backward, tail between his legs and exited the scene, “I kicked myself for weeks afterwards. You moved away so soon after that and if I’d known…” He trails off wistfully, “I didn’t fully understand what a crush was yet. I had one on you, even though I didn’t realize it till the weekend was over and you were gone.”
“Well, that was the past, right?” You reply calmly, giving him a gentle smile that makes his heart skip a beat, that makes him want nothing more than to lean in and kiss you, right here and now, “How are things with you now? You got a girl waiting on you back home?”
“Things are fine… No girl to speak of,” he says, biting his lower lip before meeting your gaze again. He’s back there, thirteen years ago, standing in front of the girl he wants to kiss but too nervous to speak, “What about you? Never heard anything in the papers about a boyfriend or anything.”
“Naw, nothing like that,” you affirm, “I’m not trying to get hitched anytime soon. After all,” you give him a mischievous smirk, “The last time I tried to kiss someone, he ran away crying!”
Gale runs a hand over his face, the two of you bursting into laughter, his face turning a slightly darker shade of red, “I was young and shy and stupid. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Young, yes. Shy, yes. An idiot? No way.”
He looks into your eyes, his heart filled with so much affection that he thinks it might burst, “Well, I definitely feel like one. Knowing what I should’ve done back then… I feel like an idiot for missing that chance.”
“Maybe you didn’t miss it,” comes your soft reply in that sweet voice of yours as you gaze up at him through your lashes, “Maybe you just had to wait for it to come round again.”
The thought of having another chance with you gives him hope like he’s never felt before. He glances away from you before looking back, a smile playing on his lips.
“You saying you’ve kept a torch for me?”
“Hold on now,” you protest, “I never said anything of the sort!”
“Well, maybe you should,” Gale counters, taking a step closer to you.
One step closer. And if you want him, truly want him, you’ll reciprocate. Which you do within mere seconds, grinning up at him.
“Maybe I should. Care to walk me back to my inn?”
“It would be my absolute pleasure, beautiful.”
Tumblr media
To your credit - and Gale’s - you manage to keep your hands off each other until you get to your room at the inn. The air is charged between the two of you as he walks you to your door, a longing gaze being shared between you as he bids you goodnight and your door begins to close. No later than one second after it shuts, you hear a knocking.
And when you open it, Gale stands there, his cheeks still flushed as he mumbles, “This is me taking the chance that’s come round again.”
And after thirteen years of pining on both your ends, of dreaming of what could be, your lips meet in a searing, passionate kiss. Your arms wrap around him as the two of you move back toward the bed. His body is on top of you, each of you eagerly tearing away at each other’s clothes, wanting nothing more than to feel the other’s bare skin against your own.
Gale’s lips are hungry against yours, and yet, so soft and so gentle, his fingers tracing your sensitive folds once the two of you are bare, nibbling at your bottom lip as he pushes two long digits inside of you. You gasp softly against him as he buries his fingers knuckle deep inside you, moving them in a hooked motion, the pads of his fingers rubbing against spots deep inside of you that you didn’t know existed. The moment is so intimate as you gaze into his eyes, your own hazy with pleasure, cries of his name falling from your lips over and over, your nails raking along the pale skin of his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake as you soak his fingers.
He moves back, his lips moving to your neck, down to your chest, your lower and lower until he reaches the apex between your thighs. Those soft, baby blue eyes of his meet yours, his lips parted in a silent question. You give him a short nod, allowing him to gently nudge your knees apart. Gale licks his lips at the sight of how wet you are for him, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before moving to your core. You gasp, your hands twisting in his hair as he slowly pushes his tongue inside you, the pleasure it brings you almost too much to bear. Gale seems to sense how much you’re enjoying this and lets out a small chuckle before moving his tongue faster and faster, giving broad strokes against your sensitive flesh, making you whine pitifully. Your hips buck up against his as he flattens his tongue against your swollen pearl, making tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your second peak overwhelming you as you swear you feel your soul leave your body, if only for a moment.
Gale seems hesitant to go further, but you pull him back, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you whisper, “I could lose you tomorrow. Forever. I won’t regret giving myself to you tonight. Not when I’ve waited this long.”
“You’re sure?” He whispers back hoarsely, barely able to hold himself back at the plea in your words.
“I’m sure, Gale. I love you.”
Gale smiles, joining his body with yours, slowly pushing inside you, taking care not to cause you any pain as he bottoms out with a low moan of your name, “I love you too.”
He starts off slow, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to hurt you. But you? You wrap your arms, your legs around him, pleading for him to move faster. And what choice does he have but to give you everything you want? Gale’s hips begin rolling against yours, pounding into you at a rapid pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing throughout the room as the oil lamp you burn begins to go out. His lips find yours once again as he kisses you, feverish and desperate, feeling you squeezing around him, your walls hugging him impossibly tight.
“I love you,” he grunts, each thrust growing more difficult, both your end and his own fast approaching, “I love you so much. Gonna come back to you, beautiful. Gonna come right back to you. Gonna have a family with you. Gonna have everything with you.”
“Yes, Gale, please,” you moan softly, his lips pressing to your neck, “I want everything with you too. Please come back to me.”
He feels your body squeeze around him, pulling out after you’ve reached your climax to spill himself against your stomach, not wanting to take any chances while he’s still at war. Wanting to save this for your wedding night, the day he comes back and sweeps you off your feet.
“Promise you’ll never leave me again,” Gale whispers as you tuck yourself under his chin, arms wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, “Promise me you’ll be there waiting for me when I come home.”
“I promise,” you vow, “I promise, Gale Cleven. You’re my rainbow, you know that? My happiness after the storm. I’ll wait for you, Gale.”
“I love you,” he whispers softly against your lips, kissing you once more, “I love you.”
Tumblr media
405 notes · View notes
Text
she's mean, and he loves her for it.
Tumblr media
summary: your peers wonder how the ever-so-annoying gojo satoru can stand being in a relationship with you pairing: sunshine!gojo satoru x grumpy!female reader genre: angst, fluff warnings: none
Masterlist
"Did you guys know Gojo-sensei is dating-" Nobara looks around left and right before whispering your name in fear that you might be around.
"Ehhh?" Yuuji's eyebrows knit together. "No way. She's so scary and he's so...happy."
Nobara agrees, "She never smiles -- kinda looks like she has a permanent frown, too. She scares me."
"You think maybe she intimidated him to date her?"
Megumi watches as his two friends bicker about whether you and Satoru look good together, not realizing that you've heard everything they said. Megumi notices you've arrived to teach them and clears his throat, catching the attention of his two friends. He glances at you to check how you're doing after hearing what they said, but as expected, you remain professional and stoic. But Megumi knows better, he grew up under your and Satoru's wings after all.
"Shit." Nobara and Yuuji mutter under their breaths.
-----
It's fairly common for people to question your relationship with Satoru. He's this... happy-go-lucky guy who annoys everyone except those on the same wavelength as him, while you keep to yourself, prioritizing your alone time, and taking things seriously.
Sometimes, too serious.
You never let it get to you, though, because you don't really care what people say. You and Satoru are happy, that's all that matters. Until recently, when those jerk Kyoto students came over to train, they started talking about you and Satoru.
"She's so serious all the time, I don't understand how Gojo puts up with her."
"I think he's scared to breakup with her."
"I bet she's high maintenance."
"Honestly, why is he with her when he can be with someone who's... not so difficult?"
You grit your teeth at that last comment. You can't tell who said what, but it doesn't matter. Their words got to your head and now you're angry. Angry because you're scared they might be right.
Does Satoru think you're difficult? You're not entirely sure how to show them that yes, you deserve Satoru despite being the dark, grumpy person you are.
Sighing, you decide to go home instead of joining the dinner. Satoru's not in there anyway, he just got back from a mission and is waiting for you at home.
Once you close the door to your apartment, you immediately feel Satoru's arm envelope around you from behind. He smells like fresh mint -- just got out of the shower.
"Hi darling," he kisses your cheek.
"Hi, Toru." You take your shoes off and give him a quick peck before making your way to the bedroom to put your stuff down.
Satoru watches you slowly, "hm, aren't you supposed to have that dinner with the Kyoto students today?"
Your jaw clenches, taking a second before shrugging. "Decided to skip it. I'm tired."
He just hums, "In that case, you wanna watch Bridgerton with me after your shower?"
"Again?" You groan, "Isn't it like the third time you've watched it?"
"Yes, and?"
"I'll skip, thanks."
He blows a raspberry and leaves you to shower while he lays down on the couch to watch Anthony Bridgerton fall in love with his Kate Sheffield.
While you were in the shower, the words kept coming back to you. Somehow more exaggerated. You're difficult. He doesn't like you. He's just tolerating you. Why would he be with someone who doesn't even smile? Look at him, Gojo is the epitome of sunshine. You're nothing like him. Why would he like you?
Groaning, you let the hot water wash away your thoughts -- though they don't really go away. Maybe you should just try to be nicer to Satoru, be more cheerful.
After your shower, you see him lying down on the couch while watching his show, and you sit on the other end, silently dreading having to watch the same show again. But you're doing this for Satoru, so you will.
With a satisfied grin, Satoru saunters over and lies down on top of you, his head resting on your chest. You smile softly, enjoying the tight grip he has on you and his soft hair between your fingers.
"How was the mission?" You ask, "Did you have to go to Shoko?"
Satoru shakes his head, "Sweetheart, it's me we're talking about here."
"You can still get hurt, Toru." You pat his hair gently, "I've seen you bleed."
"I'm always careful. Don't worry." He kisses your hand.
You sigh softly. You know Satoru is always careful, it's just that he always goes on missions alone, and more often nowadays that it makes you worry. Yes, he's the strongest, but you never want to take that for granted.
"Toru," You call him again, a little hesitant, "You know I love you, right?"
He lifts his head from your chest, staring at you with those big blue eyes. "Of course. And I love you. So much."
He kisses you deeply, now switching positions so you're lying down on top of him. "So do you want to talk about it?"
"No.." You mumble. Of course, Satoru knows. He isn't stupid. He can sense when something's wrong with you, just like how you can feel the scar on his hip that wasn't there before. He did go to Shoko.
But none of you say anything. You just hold each other tighter that night. It's more than enough.
-----
Satoru is on another mission. It's supposed to be easy, at least that's what he said 3 days ago. You haven't heard from him at all in 3 days and you're beginning to worry. Your frown is deeper than usual, you sigh more often, and your fuse is shorter.
Everyone's more scared of you.
You let the kids take a break while you try to collect your thoughts. You can't be seen so distracted, not when Satoru left you in charge of them.
"You doing okay?" You hear Megumi's voice approach you.
Blinking away the tears that almost fell, you turn around to face him. "I'm fine, Megs."
"I told you not to call me that..." He sulks as he stands next to you, leaning against the wall. He can see you're distraught, and growing up with you, there's only been a handful of times he's seen you like this.
"You know he's going to be fine, right?"
You sigh. "I'm just worried."
You remember there was a day when Satoru didn't come back for a week. He couldn't be reached, no one could track him down, and you were just at home, taking care of Megumi. The boy's more like you than Satoru, he's not exactly sensitive or cheery. But he knows when you're feeling sad, so he'd stay up with you, praying for Satoru's safety.
"Guys!" Yuuji runs towards you and Megumi.
"What is it, Yuuji?"
"It's Gojo-sensei-" He pants, "He's back!"
You run as fast as you can with Yuuji and Megumi, and you can finally see your white-haired, blue-eyed boyfriend limping his way back to the school grounds.
He raises his hand and waves to you with a big smile despite struggling to walk. "Tsk-" You frown even more, feeling the tears pooling again as you walk towards him and catch him in an embrace.
"Umph-" He groans. "Hi, baby."
You let go of him and check his injuries -- he's healed most of it himself, thank goodness, but the bruises are still there. "We need to go to Shoko-"
"Mm, that can wait." He pulls you to sit down on the soft grass, hugging you once again. "It's okay, I'm here now."
You choke on your own sobs and hug him tighter, sitting between his legs and burying your head in his chest. "You idiot."
"'M sorry for makin' you worry," he smiles gently, leaving kisses all over your face.
As you cup his face in your hands, you're suddenly very aware of the 3 pairs of eyes staring at you both. Noticing it too, Satoru covers your red, embarrassed face. "Okay, nothing to watch here. Go.. do something. Scram. Skedaddle."
Once the kids are gone, you examine his face before pressing your lips to his. He's here now. He's back. He's safe. "What took you so long?"
A smirk lingers on Satoru's lips. "I took a detour to Kyoto and went to teach some kids a lesson."
383 notes · View notes
amsznn · 2 days
Note
Hey can you do one where the reader has a crush on Matt.She is very much giving heart eyes and tries to do anything to make him happy.Matt being oblivious complains to his brother about it.Nick and Chris smack some sense into him saying how lucky he is to have someone like us care about him.Matt disagrees and the reader hears this causing her to stop not wanting to make him uncomfortable.Matt misses the way things use to be and gets jealous when learning the reader is going out on a date.At the end they have an argument and he tells her how he really feels.Lots of angst in the beginning fluff towards the end please!!
OVERBEARING - m. sturniolo
warnings: slight cursing, angst at start, fluff at the end
Tumblr media
-
you couldn’t deny it anymore. and you dont think it went unnoticed either.
the lingering gazes, to the more than normal laughter at hid jokes, or the constant acts of service. how you were willing to do anything for him. just him.
matthew sturniolo.
you thought your constant need to be near him was just you wanting to be better friends. that was until your feelings started growing stronger.
“y/n, helloo.”
you brought your attention to the voice you found yourself loving so much.
“sorry, what?”
“i asked if you could pass the remote.” matt repeated while settling down beside you on the couch. you nodded and reached over to grab the remote to hand it to him. it was around 1 AM, and it was just the two of you. nick and chris had went to their rooms while you and matt decided to watch a movie.
“want me to get you a blanket?” you whispered as matt stared at the screen to the opening of the movie.
“no, im good.” matt says. you nodded and turned your head towards the movie. about five minutes or so passed when you asked another question.
“hungry?”
“nope.” matt responds, adding a ‘pop’ to the p to exaggerate his response. you mumbled an ‘okay’. a few beats of silence passed before once again, you asked.
“are you sure-”
“y/n, please m’ just trying to watch the movie in peace.” matt sighed. he was getting frustrated by the second. after a long day of filming with his relatively loud brothers, the only sounds he wanted to hear were the actors on the tv.
but this was only one example of your persistence. you were always clung to matt’s side. following him like a lost puppy at all times.
always there to cook him up a meal after his long day, willing to do any of his chores that he just didn’t feel like doing, even soothing him to sleep on those tough nights where everything went blank.
nick would sometimes make fun of matt. it almost seemed like you were his mother with the way you acted. but thats not what you were trying to come off as. you simply just had a lot of love for the boy that you weren’t really ready to confess yet.
but for matt? he didn’t see your clinginess as a good thing, in fact he began to hate it once nick pointed it out.
on one particular day matt decided to bring it up to his brothers while they were in nick’s room.
“i just don’t get it, like she’s just always there.” matt says while pacing around the room.
“is that a bad thing?” nick asks while organizing the clothes in his closet.
“i mean it wouldn’t be if she didn’t act like im some sort of child.” matt sighed while plopping down at the edge of the bed.
“i dunno, i’d love to have someone like y/n. she literally does everything for you bro.” chris laughs while slightly nudging matt.
“yeah..” nick yells from his closet. “don’t know why you’re bitchin’ bout it she’s literally helps you with like…” nick took a pause to think. “everything!”
matt scoffs before shaking his head. “yeah well it’s nice before it gets fucking unbearable.”
unbeknownst to matt, you could hear this whole conversation. you had came to drop off some food for the triplets, and since you had an extra key you went straight in. now you would’ve made yourself known until you realized you were the topic of their conversation.
to say you were hurt from matts words was an understatement. you quickly rushed out of the house, tears streaming down your face recounting every scenario where you were overbearing.
-
hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. matt hadn’t heard from you in a while. he expected to wake up to your daily morning texts, but nothing. after he shrugged that off he expected you to come over like you usually did. but once again, you didn’t.
he found himself longing for your presence more than he ever did.
you both went no contact until you came over, seeking nicks assistance since you had a date that night in hopes that your little crush on matt would subside.
you had went the whole time without speaking to the brunette. opting for a simple ‘hey’. matt was confused. why were you suddenly so distant? sure he wanted space at times but this is not what he had in mind.
matt finally snapped when you attempted rushing out their house, bidding matt goodbye with a meek ‘see ya’.
matt rose from his spot on the catch before making his way towards you. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or are you gonna keep avoiding me?” matt said while crossing his arms on his chest.
you could only roll your eyes before slipping your shoes on. “i dont know what you’re talking about, but i have to go.” you spat harshly before spinning on your heel.
“woah, what’s up with you?” matt yelled, shocked at your sudden anger towards him. he pulled you back by your wrist so you could face him.
“y’know if you found me ‘overbearing’ you could’ve just told me.”
thats when everything came back to matt. instant regret washed over him as he gazed upon your solemn expression. the same eyes that used to hold so much adoration for him now hollow.
“i’m so sorry y/n. i know theres no excuse to what i said but i was just being stupid.” matt sighed while running a hand down his face. “you’re far from overbearing, in fact i...i really miss you.”
“really?” you mumbled while your facial expression softened. matt nodded before embracing you in a tight hug to which you reciprocated by wrapping your arms around his waist. your date long forgotten.
“you’re amazing the way you are, and im sorry if i made it seem any other way.”
you smiled at matts words before leaning up to look at him. “just tell me next time, okay?” matt smiled and lightly pecked the side of your temple. happy to have finally gotten you back.
the version of you he loved.
and the version of you he would always cherish.
-
A/N: sorry this should’ve came out yesterday but i had to study for an exam. i have also been experiencing writers block but i have a new matt series in mind so stay on the look out for that!
tags:
@junnniiieee07 @tillies33ssss @whore4matt @stellarsturns @summerl986 @inveigledvex @beccaluvschris @stingerayyy2 @bunnysturns @braindead4l @vickyzloserz @sturnzsblog
288 notes · View notes
weaselmcdiesel · 2 days
Text
Tumblr media
ok so it's not a comic hope thats ok with you but instead it's karkat n nepeta but designed by someone whos madly in love with them both
some more au explanations + transcript beneath the cut
they're maybe around 30-40 yo? This was mostly just an exercise to give both of them adult designs. uh. i'm only calling it an au because I made bs some explanations behind their designs while i was drawing them. so uh, in this universe, sburb never happens + things that happened because of sburb don't happen either, but the alternian society is relatively unchanged. i dont actually know.. what.. karkat does.. like i cant figure out why he wouldnt be culled but it doesnt really matter i just wanted to draw him looking cool! (i am. open to hear about speculation if you have any). also i figured that Kanaya would go to the brooding caverns after her lusus dies, bc the wiki said her lusus would die regardless of the game taking place n whatever, and probaly do something with the matriorb there idk. thats all tho! ill prolly draw them more and maybe develop more lore as i do ^^;
--
Transcript!
i don’t know what their dynamic is in the canon of this au… but that won’t stop me from making them kiss :]
The Vigilant adult karkat on alternia
new highly developed shoosing skill
honestly has a calmer demeanor because he’s learned what’s worth exploding about… though he probably developped a crazy resting bitch face
pleased (arrow to karkat with a neutral face)
The sash doubles as a sling for when he visits Kanaya in the brooding caverns. He’s also very tranquil around grubs because they don’t cause unmanageable problems. He’ll get mad if someone else bothers one
(yes i’m obsessed with dilfkat that’s why i drew this)
The Predator adult nepeta on alternia
Taller than karkat <3
still a silly goober, but better at getting what she wants
she probably got her title from a history of single-handedly slaying fearsome lusii. she likely takes assassination type of jobs because of her stealth. one of the more easy-going trolls from the group
--
also! fun fact. i was having trouble designing kk's outfit so i looked in an old antiques catalog book from the internet archive to get inspiration from objects that had the same colors as those that i wanted to use in his design? not sure why i did that. just had a hunch that it would be fun. so this is the object i found that strangely enough inspired kk's fit
Tumblr media
haha.. and i also found one for nepeta, though it was easier to design her fit and i didnt actually need a reference object
Tumblr media
the book was "Antique Trader antiques & collectibles 2009 price guide"
394 notes · View notes
kopykunoichi · 1 day
Text
Refresher for the people still confused about this...
Tumblr media Tumblr media
In a galaxy far, far away, EVERYONE has midi-chlorians in their blood. The Force resides in all living things. It binds the whole galaxy together. Midi-chlorians are what allow beings to commune with the Force. The more midi-chlorians you have, the more potential you have to RESPOND TO and WIELD the Force. But notice that Asajj couches her statement with the line that those with a higher m-count were "believed" to be more capable of wielding the Force. There's a correlation, but it's not necessarily the only factor (see Sabine Wren).
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
This is the moment where the clones literally become stand-ins for the fans.
"What? If you can use the Force, you're a Jedi!"
No. If you can use the Force, you can use the Force. To use it as a Jedi uses it, you have to train as a Jedi. To use it as a Sith uses it, you have to train as a Sith. To use it like a Nightsister, you have to train as a Nightsister. Or you can get some rudimentary instruction and decide how you want to use it.
Tumblr media
Jango Fett didn't have a high m-count, so his clones didn't either. But Omega and the rest of the Batch were special cases. As Cut said, the Kaminoans create with a purpose. Their deviations were intentional. Hunters abilities have always suggested he had a higher m-count than the others. But Omega's ability to perceive things before they happen (her bad feelings are nearly always spot on) and her affinity with animals have always been hints that her m-count is a little higher.
(Will update with screen grabs when I get them)
At the end of the episode, Omega asks Ventress if she has a high m-count.
Ventress: *looking at her nails* From what I've seen...no.
Omega: Then why is the Empire after me?
Ventress: Believe it or not, I don't know everything. But seeing as how a high m-count would make you a target, consider yourself lucky.
Omega: But I'm already a target.
Wrecker: Don't worry about it, kid. We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's get some chow.
Omega: *sigh* Thanks for trying.
Once they're out of earshot...
Crosshair: You're lying.
Ventress: About which part?
Hunter: You tell us.
Ventress: If Omega did have that potential, she'd have to be trained. Which would mean leaving you behind.
Hunter: That's not happening.
Ventress: What you want is irrelevant. The fact is, the Empire is after her, and they won't stop. If I were you, I'd leave this place. You're not as safe as you think you are. Our business is done.
Crosshair: I still can't figure out which side you're on.
Ventress: My own.
Okay, so Ventress is clearly not telling the truth about the m-count, which we know, because we've already seen Omega's charts. I really don't understand why people keep taking Ventress at her word here. We know better, and so do Crosshair and Hunter. My guess is that she's trying to protect Omega because she knows firsthand what it's like to be taken from your family and trained as a young girl.
We know that when Omega was at Tantiss, she was receiving transfusions of blood with midi-chlorians the same as all the other clones (harvested from the dead Jedi they're undoubtedly holding in the vault). They were taking her blood samples, but Nala Se kept throwing them away because she knew Omega would retain the higher midi-chlorian levels and she didn't want Hemlock to know that. The Emperor needs a clone that will maintain a high m-count so he can eventually get himself a new body. We know he does get that body, but not for decades - presumably because a) he never gets Omega, and b) the Batch is gonna take the fight to them at Tantiss and blow up their entire supply of midi-chlorian donors. Think about it - they're still working on Project Necromancer in The Mandalorian (24 years after The Bad Batch), but their resources are severely limited. The Empire has been all but wiped out, the Emperor is hiding out on Exegol, Dr. Pershing is clearly no Hemlock since he keeps killing his test subjects, and Grogu seems to be the only m-count donor they can get their hands on. The Emperor's cloned body is also deteriorating rapidly in TRoS, which suggests that even 25 years after The Mandalorian, he STILL hasn't figured out the right formula for cloning himself (which is good news for Grogu and Omega).
Which brings us back to the question, "Is Omega Force sensitive?"
The answer is, "yes", she is sensitive to the Force due to her elevated m-count. We've seen this all along. Hunter most likely is, too, and maybe some of the other Bad Batchers, to varying degrees. Tech could riot race, which takes incredible reflexes. Hemlock said that Crosshair didn't have a high m-count, and we don't know where Wrecker's abilities stem from. Omega can't wield the Force because she is untrained, but the potential is there. A person's aptitude to wield the Force seems to be strongly correlated to their m-count, but we've seen others with low aptitude eventually open the door to the Force with years of training and a decent dose of impending doom (we see this clearly with Sabine in Ahsoka, but it was also a topic in Legends).
Omega being Force sensitive doesn't mean that she has to leave her brothers. She can choose to pursue her training or not. She'd also have to find someone willing to train her. I'm not convinced Ventress is looking to take on any apprentices at the moment, but she could possibly connect Omega to Quinlan Voss (imagine the trouble those two would get up to).
But I don't think Omega will choose that path. One, it would just make her a bigger target. Two, I don't see her prioritizing power over family. She's a clone, and clones are ALL about family. They're Mando coded, not Jedi coded. Screw the space Buddhist lifestyle - clones parade their attachments around like trophies. Omega goes around collecting attachments like most kids collect rocks..."Hello, stranger trying to kill me, let's be besties."
306 notes · View notes
Note
yippee! apologies if my takes are horrendously bad
my personal take on the matter is that i definitely think the dark worlds can work as a metaphor for escapism without undermining the darkners' personhood. it can be more than one thing, yknow? the darkners are important, their lives matter. and the lightners do go to the dark world as an escape from the problems they face in their own life. but that's not the darkners' whole PURPOSE, yknow? i mean. according to the laws of the universe of deltarune yes darkners' "purpose" is to serve the lightners but like it's not their whole purpose in the STORY.
it's sort of like how, in UNDERTALE, LOVE represents how distant you've become, how easy it is for you to hurt people. but it also literally gives you the power to destroy the world.
i think the biggest reason i believe escapism is at least a part of deltarune's narrative is queen.
queen's whole speech in both of her fights is about how she intends to provide escapism for the lightners (so that they will worship her but also so that they will he happy). she wants to turn the whole world into a dark world, so that everyone can live in bliss and not have to worry about the woes of the light world. she mentions "Staring, Tapping, To Receive Joy. Staring, Tapping, To Avoid Pain." which is like pretty much the definition of escapism
she wants to help Noelle with the problems she faces in the light world ("Noelle. Who Will Be There To Help Her? Her Strange And Sad Searches" and "My One Idea To Help Noelle, Failed") by just... shoving it away for a blissful fantasy world ("Wake? No, She Has Already Awakened Too Much. Let Her Close Her Eyes And Sleep Away, Into A Darker, Darker Dream.")
...i forgot the rest of what i wanted to say!
well first off, thank you for your ask! I'm going to get extremely in depth in my answer, so bear with me here. sorry it took several weeks to write this. the escapism reading of deltarune is pretty deeply entrenched in fandom, and to refute it, I felt it required a full-length essay to completely explain my viewpoint.
yes, "the lightners desire escapism" does not automatically translate to that being the darkners' actual narrative purpose. escapism can be a theme without dehumanizing those who are used in order to escape - in fact, I've read a number of stories that use someone's desire to escape to HIGHLIGHT how they're hurting others in pursuit of that. I believe that toby fox is definitely capable of telling a story about kids having a valid desire to escape, and about them grappling with having inadvertently created a world of real, living people as a result.
(I'll reiterate again that this is not the story arc that most people who espouse that escapism is a theme believe will happen. most people seem to believe that the game will end in an omori-esque "growing out of" the dark worlds. it's why I have a huge dislike of the fanon escapism reading, given that the darkners are shown as people whose lack of agency parallels kris' own. it would feel cheap if the resolution to that plot was that the darkners were actually never meant to be agents in their own fates. but this is a digression.)
the reason why i DON'T believe that this is a story that toby fox is telling is because of the way the world, themes, and characters are written. put simply, it just doesn't come across as congruent with the story being told.
deltarune's main themes are agency, fate, identity, and control. this is a conflict that shows up in nearly every major character, is baked into the worldbuilding, and is the central struggle involving us, the player. the protagonist of deltarune is literally possessed by us against their will. the darkners are objects that have no choice but to serve and be discarded. over and over again, there is emphasis on roles that characters play - and crucially, roles that are imposed on them.
what would escapism mean, in this thematic context? in real life, escapism can represent any number of things, but in a story, a major narrative theme generally has to dovetail with other major narrative themes in the work. I would argue that escapism in deltarune would likely mean going to a place where characters are able to choose for themselves what roles they embody, or even to discard the notion of roles altogether. a fantasy of control is the only way to escape a reality where you have no agency. and honestly, it's hard to imagine that something could count as an escapist fantasy if you don't even get to choose whether or not you participate in it.
let's talk about kris.
Tumblr media
I see a lot of discussions around kris that say that kris goes into the dark worlds to escape. the dark worlds are posited as kris' fantasy of heroism. it's a world where they can seem heroic and cool, a world where they can have friends. what i find interesting about these discussions is that they seem to ignore the extremely basic fact that kris is being controlled in order to go into the dark worlds. and it is not a control that they appear to welcome.
if those worlds represent kris' fantasy, then why don't they get to choose what happens in those fantasies? why are they being controlled by an external force, one that they actively push back against? if it's really an escape, then why does everything about this world reflect their lack of agency? if they really think this world is just a pure fantasy, then why do they care if spamton falls when his strings are cut?
because they're being deliberately obscured to the player, it is hard to say how kris actually feels about many subjects... but I do seriously doubt that they view the dark worlds as an escape. they don't act in a way that is consistent with that. they resist their lack of agency, and what little we do see of their reactions to darkner characters doesn't suggest that they view those characters as part of a disposable fantasy, either. they seem to have complicated feelings on ralsei. and of course, one of their biggest emotional reactions in the game is to the spamton fight. I would argue that that suggests they have empathy for spamton, which is a hard emotional reaction to have if you believe he's just part of a fantasy. not impossible, mind you, but it seems unlikely that kris believes that all this is simply fantasy.
also, considering that snowgrave both actively discredits the idea that the dark worlds are mere fantasy and is actively traumatic for kris... I seriously doubt they'd open another dark world in chapter 3 on a snowgrave run if their motive was purely to escape. on that route, they've seen the damage we can cause in a dark world. they know that berdly has sustained lasting damage due to our actions, assuming he's not outright dead. why would they want to try and "escape" to a place like that again now that they know what can happen?
the only answer is that they have a motive that isn't escapist.
now, as for ralsei... what part does he have to play in all this?
Tumblr media
ralsei does play a lot to the fun, fantastical elements of the dark worlds. he delivers the prophecy that kickstarts the adventure. he flatters both kris and susie endlessly when they act appropriately heroic. he welcomes them into the castle and even makes nice rooms for them. he initially seems tailor-made to enable a fantastical experience where no real issues can ever complicate anything, and where the pain of reality can successfully be hidden from. but there's a lot of complications to the idea that he might represent an escapist fantasy.
the first, and what honestly seems the most important to me, is that he doesn't encourage kris and susie to remain in the dark worlds. he is welcoming and kind, but once the adventure is over, he prompts them to return to the light world. he wants them to deal with their more "real" problems like homework. that doesn't feel like he is trying to facilitate escapism in them. a real fantasy would encourage you to stay in it, wouldn't it?
and while ralsei is definitely invested in making sure the lightners are happy, there are always cracks that show. he isn't able to make kris ignore what happened in the spamton fight. he isn't able to convince susie to be peaceful and kind. and in his very essence, he represents a number of uncomfortable ideas. very importantly, he represents a number of uncomfortable ideas to kris.
this probably ain't your first fandom rodeo, so I'm not going to explain all the different ways that ralsei interacts with kris' personal issues. there's plenty of posts on it out there. what i will point out is, once again, it feels odd that a character who seems tailor made to bring up kris' most uncomfortable associations with their lack of agency and their outsider status in their own family would be part of a fantasy of escapism to them. you'd think that they'd prefer something that didn't have an inbuilt hierarchy, a prophecy that denied them autonomy, or especially a person that reminded them how little they fit into hometown.
that doesn't mean kris doesn't care about him at all - it seems very likely that they do. what I mean to say here is that he just seems ill-suited to an escapism reading, both behaviorally and on a conceptual level. it doesn't seem like that's at all part of his servitude towards the lightners.
of course, there is another non-lightner entity that ralsei seems diegetically engineered to serve. but I'll discuss that later.
now as for susie...
Tumblr media Tumblr media
yes, susie definitely views the dark worlds as more fun than the light world. and why wouldn't she? the light world sucks for her, and she doesn't seem very aware of the fact that the dark world can also suck. you could definitely make the argument that she views the dark worlds as a fantastical escape from reality... were it not for the fact that she treats her darkner friends with just as much importance as she does kris and noelle.
can someone treat components of an escapist fantasy as real and important? of course. but given deltarune's themes of agency and control, as well as the fact that darkners exist in servitude to the lightners, I feel like you'd have to make escapism tie into forcing others into a lack of agency if you wanted the theme to feel coherent with the rest of the work. this would require susie to be limiting the agency of the darkners around her. and obviously, she doesn't do that. her presence around them might be inherently limiting, just by simple virtue of being a lightner, but she isn't aware of it, and clearly is uncomfortable with the idea of limiting anyone's agency. she encourages ralsei to make choices. and she supports lancer in basically anything he wants to do. her treatment of lancer is integral to chapter 1's narrative, and it seems like that treatment of ralsei is integral to the ongoing narrative as well!
her preference for the dark world feels very rooted in her engagement with it as its own reality. rather than trying to avoid her real-life problems by engaging in a pretense, she seems to simply want to spend time with her friends in a place that isn't cruel to her. she isn't ignoring any of the dark world's problems in service of that, either. she notices when things don't line up. if she thought of it as a fantasy, wouldn't she be inclined to ignore issues that impede the fantasy?
and critically - like kris, she does not intentionally choose her imposed role in the prophecy at first. she steps into the role of bad guy to resist it, but that role is limiting too, and she eventually acquiesces to being a hero. it's never something she's completely on board with, though. she actively pushes back the limitations that the role places on her. I find this important to reiterate when we are discussing the notion of the characters viewing the dark worlds as fantasy.
Tumblr media
noelle has a complicated relationship to the dark worlds. susie tells her that it's a dream to make her accept the strange reality she finds herself in, which works well on her. she continues to think of it as a strange dream throughout the chapter. (though, like the others, it is not a 'dream' she entered of her own volition!)
it is also a markedly unpleasant 'dream' at times. she has her agency restricted, is kidnapped, has to evade a controlling monarch, and is even tied up in a weird evangelion cross thing on the hand of a giant robot. it's not purely fun. noelle does like scary things, and while it might be healthy for her to have an experience where she stands up to a controlling adult figure... again, the circumstances make it difficult for me to assume that this is a fantasy she would choose for herself. not impossible, mind you, but it's not the first reading of the situation that comes to mind.
and while she does say she wishes she could dream like this every day in the normal route, that does happen specifically because she was talking to the girl she likes. it makes sense she'd find that pleasant. I don't think that necessarily equates to her finding the dark worlds escapist.
and importantly, this isn't the sentiment that she expresses in every route.
again, there's a lot of analysis on snowgrave, so I won't bother regurgitating it much here. but it's nightmarish for both kris and noelle, and very likely fatal for berdly. noelle needs to believe that the event is a dream, for her own psychological safety, but one of the most important parts of snowgrave...
Tumblr media
...is that its events, and the world it took place in, are very, very real.
noelle wants to have the strength to face her problems, both in the regular route and in the snowgrave route. rather than escaping from them, she views the "dream" as a chance to practice dealing with her day-to-day issues. it's just that in the regular route she finds that strength authentically, and in the snowgrave route, that desire is manipulated and pushed until she is forced to kill berdly. she doesn't interpret snowgrave as an escape gone wrong. she views it as a dream that became a nightmare. and those are two extremely different things.
but i haven't even gotten to the biggest thing that undermines the concept that the dark worlds are a metaphor for escapism! which is: this fucking guy is dead wrong about everything.
Tumblr media
so full disclaimer - I really love berdly. I think he's slept on a lot in the fandom because he's annoying and weird. which is fair, I suppose, but I think ignoring him hinders a lot of people's understanding of deltarune's overall narrative. because berdly often illustrates a lot of concepts in the game, but his narrative framing as a joke (usually...) prevents the player from taking it completely seriously. he has things to say and ideas to show off, it's just that he's often very loud and kind of dumb in his expression of them. which is kind of the point!
ralsei brings up the idea that the darkners are meant to serve the lightners very seriously in chapter one. by extension, and by way of the literal mechanics involved in a dark world's creation, we can infer that this logic is probably something that also applies to the dark worlds themselves. they are allegedly worlds and characters that only are supposed to fulfill a dream of the lightners. but due to narrative framing and deltarune's themes, we know that that's not the full truth. however dark worlds and darkners are created, they deserve to have their own agency. they can't just exist to fulfill a higher being's wishes.
you know who else undermines that view of the dark worlds? berdly! berdly does!!!!
because berdly is the only lightner in the game so far who does take the dark worlds to be an escapist adventure! he wants to turn cyber world into smartopia. he views this as a chance to be a cool hero. he believes he's going to get the girl, he's going to shape this world to his own liking, and maybe also he's going to get queen to acknowledge him or something so he stops being a forgettable little bluebird. and not only does none of this happen, his steadfast belief that it will happen is continually a joke within the narrative!!
berdly's wishes for uncomplicated escapist fantasy are flat-out denied by the dark worlds themselves. as a lightner, those worlds should be serving him. he should have the power to do whatever he wants within the bounds of an escapist fantasy. these npcs should be singing his praises!
but he doesn't have the power. and this world doesn't sing his praise. because it just isn't an escapist fantasy. he isn't right to view it that way. his wishes for heroism are always going to be thwarted.
Tumblr media
so now that I've gotten all that out of the way, let's swing back over to the subject of your original ask. queen.
Tumblr media
because, like berdly, queen's entire character arc is about how she's completely wrong about what the lightners actually want.
queen would in fact like nothing more to place the lightners into an escapist fantasy. she believes that that's the best way to serve them and make them happy forever. as a darkner, queen has very much internalized the idea that a lack of control is what actually makes people happy. since darkners have no choice in their destinies and are supposed to be happy in it, and since she personally finds her role as a darkner fulfilling, she believes that that's true of all people everywhere. if you want to make people happy, you just have to remove that pesky personal agency!
so she spends the story trying to force the lightners and particularly noelle into situations where she controls them in order to make them ostensibly happier. she does genuinely believe that this is the right thing to do, but as she finds out eventually, she's just wrong. noelle doesn't want that. queen believes that escapism is why the lightners use the internet... but that's totally wrong too.
Tumblr media
while there are other searches mixed in, noelle is trying to use the internet to find her sister. instead of trying to hide from whatever happened, noelle wants to figure it out. queen's thesis about noelle and the lightners is proven wrong even before she personally encounters noelle in the dark world. it's just that queen doesn't realize it due to her limited perspective.
the concept of escapism being brought up with both queen and berdly is not there to say that the dark world is escapist. rather, it's there to say that it isn't. despite the dark worlds being a fantastical place, they are extremely real. to view them as a means of escape is foolhardy at best. you cannot act as though you are above consequences within them.
themes and ideas exist within the story for a sake of an audience. so let's get into the final character I need to discuss here. hopefully this will tie my thesis of deltarune together neatly.
Tumblr media
that character is of course us. the player.
when creating a piece of fiction, an astute author will often identify and anticipate an audience's reactions to certain things in their work, and write things in such a way that they elicit the desired reactions. in essence, a writer is directing the "character" of the audience. how we feel and how we are anticipated to react to things is an integral part of nearly every fiction.
that effect is far more overt when dealing with metanarrative fiction that diegetically involves the audience. since the fiction is saying a lot of things about the general 'you,' the audience in aggregate, your reactions to certain things in the story have to be finely cued and anticipated by the author, so that the author can thus commentate on the reactions that you have to the story. the "character" you are assumed to inhabit is posited by the author to have certain traits.
to explain what I mean in plainer terms, I'll use the player of undertale's no mercy route as an example. because undertale is commenting on the way rpgs generally work. the player's behaviors in no mercy are attributed by characters in the story to be the result of us acting like a typical gamer. we kill the characters in the game because we want exp. and more than that, it's because we want to see everything the game has to offer. the role we inhabit in this role-playing game is that of a completionist. you could say that that's assumed to be our "character" in no mercy.
deltarune also posits that certain things are true of its audience. by being written to evoke certain cultural ideas, rpg tropes, and references to undertale, it guarantees that its audience will probably have certain traits, and spends a large amount of its conceptual focus commenting on those traits. one of those traits is nostalgia, which is probably an idea that I'll expound upon in a further essay because it's quite integral to my reading of deltarune. but the main one I mean to discuss here, and why I went off on this tangent about how audiences are dealt with in metafiction, is that we are posited as someone who believes in the logic of certain narratives.
deltarune's writing evokes a lot of portal fantasy narratives. alice in wonderland, narnia, pretty much every story where it's revealed at the end to be all a dream... the story of deltarune superficially resembles a lot of those. this, I think, is responsible for the popularity of the escapism theory. because those stories are often at their end about a child learning to put away fantasy and grow up, people tend to believe that deltarune must be about the same thing. but I truly don't think that deltarune is trying to do anything with that aspect of portal fantasy narratives, at least not directly. its main characters aren't involved in that exact type of coming-of-age arc.
instead, deltarune is very concerned with what happens to characters in fantasy, and specifically fantasy rpgs. if your world is deemed to not matter because it's a dream, what does that mean for you, who has no choice but to live in it? if you are an npc whose role has been predetermined for you via script, then can you ever decide for yourself what you want? what if you want to matter? what if you want to be your own person?
as the major controlling force of deltarune, we are initially cued to believe that deltarune is like a dream. it superficially fulfills so much of what we want from undertale fanon. hometown seems like it's a perfect idyllic town, at least until you start noticing the obvious cracks. and remember what I said about ralsei earlier? he is so reminiscent of asriel, and extremely eager to help us. it's not a stretch to say that making us specifically view deltarune as dreamlike and idyllic is probably part of his purpose in the game.
I would not say that we are posited as escapist. but the idea of escapism as brought up with queen and berdly is meant to strike at the heart of a much deeper idea that deltarune is trying to deconstruct. because if we view deltarune as a dream, escapist or otherwise, then we are inclined to write the internal realities of the characters inside off. the dark world can disappear without it mattering. we can control kris without it mattering. if it's all a dream, what does it matter? why should we care to let its characters go free? aren't we supposed to be in control?
if deltarune is an rpg... what is the significance of us interacting with it?
Tumblr media
183 notes · View notes
shanastoryteller · 2 days
Note
ROSES ARE RED, AND THIS IS BEDONKS
CAN I PRETTY PLEASE HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS 🌹💖
“What’s going on with Percy?”
Kingsley looks ups from his paperwork to find Amelia looming over him. Not exactly a common occurrence, since he’s well over a foot taller than her. “Brooks?”
“Merlin, don’t speak to me about Percy Brooks,” she says, pulling a face. She’s the one who brought him up! “Weasley.”
He blinks several times, rolling through Arthur’s children until he lands on the appropriate redhead. A bit uptight, considering his parentage, but Molly can fret with the best of them up until she gets fed up and settles matters with her wand. “I could get Tonks in here, if you want.”
“Do they know each other?” she asks in interest. “They were in different houses, and a couple years apart.”
How does she know that? He knew that, but it was against his will. “Tonks is dating him. Or trying? I’m not totally clear on the specifics despite her best efforts.”
He hadn’t anticipated how much work it would take for him to dodge a trainee determined to complain to him about her love life. It speaks well of her future in the field, at least. Or poorly of his own abilities, but he’s fairly confident in those, so he’s comfortable giving her the credit here.
“Great, a harassment case waiting to happen for our department,” she says dryly.
He rolls his eyes. “The only person he’s complaining about it to is Tonks. Who takes it as encouragement. Which, considering the cause and effect, it very well might be.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Amelia says. “What’s what this kid?”
Kingsley is lost again. “Can you get a little more specific?”
“Crouch’s department has become efficient, and dare I saw, effective over the last couple months. It’s certainly got nothing to do to with Crouch, since he’s been useless for nearly a decade. The only thing that’s changed is Percy. Who attends every meeting, claiming Crouch sent him to take notes, and then memos and policy get signed and sent out of Crouch’s office when I know for a fact Crouch is too busy harassing me to do his damn job.”
He tries to avoid the obvious answer because it’s the most ridiculous. “You think it’s him?”
“Who else?” she returns.
Well. “Do you… want me to arrest him?”
“What good would that do?” she demands. “The department is operating smoothly for once. I want to know what his deal is. Is he loyal to Crouch? Plotting against us? Just really passionate about bottom thickness?”
Not according to Tonks.
Uhg.
If he was alone, he’d bang his head on his desk until he’s unable to remember what Tonks’s voice sounded like and then maybe he’d know peace.
“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” he says. “You’re noticing. Maybe that’s what he’s after.”
“I’m noticing because I notice everything. He’s taking significant steps to ensure people don’t notice. How’s he supposed to get promoted that way? Or transferred?” She shakes her head. “He’s doing it for a reason. Do me a favor and find out.”
Why can’t she ask him something simple, like hiding a body or burying evidence?
Now he has to spend his lunch break listening to Tonks talk about her not-boyfriend.
356 notes · View notes
avocad1s · 3 days
Note
Requests are open and the latest sparked some ideas so…
Imagine the reader not having specific favorites, but more groups favorites, like a reader that’s a big fan of the Knights of Favonious or The Akademiya
Note: KoF, Adepti, Akademiya, Fatui, and the Abyss mentioned with some small snippets from characters in those groups. But all of them have a small overview of how they view your favoritism over them.
Tumblr media
The Knights Of Favonius are pretty humble unlike the other nations. Although they may be criticized by a certain tavern owner, even he won’t question your favor towards the Knights (openly). Having your favor feels like a blessing from the Anemo Archon, many of them even believe that handling the stormterror incident themselves made them win your favor.
Although he isn’t around currently, daddy I mean— Varka feels a sense of pride knowing he left the wellbeing in Mondstadt in good hands. He is looking forward to finally meeting you once he returns. Jean constantly overworks herself, but she’s knows that it’s worth it if she can keep your favor. Mondstadt might seem “inadequate” when compared to other nations when it comes to where you should stay but Jean will make sure you’re never uncomfortable.
When it comes to your comfort, Jean would turn to Diluc, he may not be apart of the Knights but he does own the Dawn Winery and everyone knows you’ll enjoy staying there. Outrider Amber will make it her responsibility to guide you to the heart of Mondstadt and back to Dawn Winery during your entire stay. She’ll teach you how to glide! Just be sure not to mention that to anyone else… some might be upset that she could’ve put you in danger.
Speaking of danger, Klee adores being able to play with you! She will take you fish blasting! Yes it can be a bit dangerous but it’s fun! However once someone realizes that Klee and Their Grace hasn’t been seen in a while, they begin to panic. Usually Albedo, Kaeya or Rosaria are the ones to find you first, then the fun is over. (Klee may or may not get solitary confinement 💀)
Kaeya is a smooth talker and very charismatic that it’s difficult to discern just how flustered he’ll get in your presence. He’ll use his good talking skills to get you to himself, usually inviting you out to Good Hunter or even for a drink (if you’re a drinker) but being in your presence and knowing that he is apart of the group you openly favor over anyone else in Teyvat makes him tremble. Although in front of you he’ll just give a simple smile and charm you with his flattery.
———
Oh the Adepti are so respectful towards you. I mean, they served directly under Rex Lapis for centuries. They do not allow mortals to disrespect Rex Lapis, I’d be surprised if they even let anyone have a thought that could be considered disrespectful towards you. They feel a sense of pride knowing that they are your favorite. However unlike the others, they aren’t too vocal about it.
Sharing tea with you is by far their favorite thing to do. Inviting you to Jueyun Karst to enjoy the finest of tea and meals while reminiscing about Liyue’s past is something they all always wanted. During the Archon war, while they all fought for Rex Lapis, everything was still in your name. So now that Teyvat is at peace, (for now) they just want to enjoy an eternity with you.
Xiao is usually the one who tries to stay away from you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be around, far from it, but in his mind he feels as if he’s only useful to you if you’re in danger. When you spend time with the adepti he is unsure if he should come. Would you even want him there? But the second he hears you call his name, he’ll appear no matter what. Prepared to face any danger you might be in… but there’s none. In fact it’s just you, Cloud Retainer, Moon Carver, Mountain Shaper, and Ganyu. Xiao would remove his mask and place down his polearm silently enjoying his time in your presence.
Xianyun who has just recently began visiting Liyue Harbor in her human form again is definitely most open when it comes to you. Spending all her mora to buy things she knows you’ll like (and getting scammed) and inviting you to join her and Shenhe for tea. If you’re not in the mood for tea? Why don’t the two of you dissect these new human inventions that managed to capture her interest. How exactly does this machine from Fontaine keep a kite floating?
———
The Akademiya values their wisdom over anything else, and now they have your favor? Well, they’re kinda smug about it, you know? Many of them already believed they were better than the other nations (cough, cough, the Grand Sage) and having you in their corner might just make them a bit more insufferable. Unless it’s after Nahida takes back the reign.
The Akademiya would prefer if you stayed in Sumeru. The second you’re ready to settle down, Kaveh will be the first to approach you, he would be honored to be the architect that builds your palace. Mora is no problem! (Because no one would dare charge mora for Their Grace) No matter, Kaveh is very good at what he does, do you have any preferences when it comes to the construction? Please tell him, he strives to make you happy and show off his skills to you.
The acting grand sage of the Akademiya, Alhaitham enjoys living a comfortable life and is not fond of being in the role of a leader. The second someone worthy comes around, he will resign as the acting grand sage and return to his previous position as the scribe who was never around during working hours. Despite his… unambitious tendencies (only doing what’s necessary), he’ll try when it comes to you. If there is something you desire or some type of knowledge you going through the Akademiya for, he’ll offer his help. Although he can be pretty nonchalant, he does enjoy being in your presence and if your favor towards the Akademiya began after he took on the role as acting grand sage, his ego may swell a bit.
———
As if the Fatui didn’t have enough power across Teyvat already and now you favor them. Her Majesty and the harbingers are extremely grateful of having your favor in their corner, but they are definitely going to exploit this. It’s so easy for them to obtain more and more power in the other nations with the simple use of your name.
However even thought the Fatui can all collectively agree that having your favorite benefits them all, they are still incredibly selfish with their own intentions. The second you enter the Zapolyarny Palace, the harbingers are quickly scheming on ways to get you to themselves.
Pantalone, by far the richest of all the harbingers, will always offer to take you shopping. You’re the Creator! You can have as much jewelry, clothing, and other accessories as you want. Just be sure to follow him before one of the others pull you away.
Arlecchino is fully aware just how… unsettling her true side might be to you. But worry not! If there is one person who can keep her sane, it’s you! Want to see a magic show? Or maybe even an opera? She’ll take you! Cracks of her true personality might show if the others try stealing you away though.
Capitano is truly a legend on the battlefield, no matter how the others feel about him. One thing none of them will never deny is his strength. He holds a sense of righteousness that some (one puppet in particular) criticize. But his righteousness shines through with you. If you show any interest in learning to fight, he would be honored to teach you. Or maybe you already have incredible abilities, you are the God of Gods, he would love to test his strength against yours. No matter who wins, he’s willing to go again and again… just don’t go to a certain ginger asking for a sparring match.
Pierro, the first to be betrayed by the Seven when they destroyed his home. Many would think he would hold some type of resentment towards you, but he doesn’t. He is the director of the harbingers and they listen to his orders (usually coming from the Tsaritsa) so when you visit Snezhnaya he is usually the one to assign one of the harbingers to look after you. However he’s not afraid to use his power so he can be the one to look after you. Much to the other’s dismay.
———
You favor… The Abyss? Sorry, I need to rub my eyes and read that again.
No one understands your favoritism towards the Abyss. “They hate humanity Your Grace… Perhaps you should stay away from them?” Is what you hear all the time. But no one can technically force you to stay away… not to mention no one really knows what the Abyss actually is.
Very few know of the leader of the Abyss, the Prince/Princess or rather the travelers sibling. They can’t see you as often as they’d like but on the rare occasions they can, they love speaking to you about their plan. Sometimes they’ll even ask you questions about the traveler, curious how their journey of meeting the Seven is going.
Although he is not apart of the Abyss, at least not anymore. Even Dainsleif wonders what about the Abyss is appealing to you. Even if you do not know it, he’ll be sure to keep an eye on you just in case anyone or anything tries to harm you.
Tumblr media
Note: While I was writing this and reading about some of the harbingers personalities on the fandom wiki, I might have accidentally gave myself a crush on Capitano 💀 I just know he is fine under that mask.
© avocad1s 2024
209 notes · View notes
Text
sparks | carlos sainz
Description: Carlos Sainz used to be your babysitter, now that you were older - you meet him in the paddocks, and an affair ensues.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment of carelessness. If you had believed it, you no longer did.
You used to belong in the upper echelon. Dinner parties, soirees, expensive bags and yacht parties. There wasn't a thing in this world that you couldn't afford - well, that was the past, and ever since your father's death, the family has been a little tight on money.
"Can you handle writing the reports for this new car? The dudes want to grab a few drinks, and you didn't wanna come with." your co-worker leans on the wall beside your desk and you respond with a hum. "I have all the time in the world." you answer, typing a few emails before turning your head in his direction.
"- what time do you need those reports done?" you inquired and he stared at the ceiling. "Preferably before 10, but it'll be okay if you send them tomorrow." he answered, walking away as he sees the other guys in his peripheral view.
As one of the interns in Ferrari - you were in the bottom of the food chain. Unpaid overtimes, too much workload and too little rest was basically normal for you.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
"Santisima trinidad!" you exclaimed seeing another man inside of the garage when you opened the lights. "Carlos, I didn't see you there." you scratched the back of your head, keeping your eyes on the floor.
He'd never recognize you, last time he saw you - you were five years old and that was sixteen years ago. "I'm sorry for scaring you." he chuckled, while taking a sip of his beer. "I was just checking the car," he reasoned, placing his phone on his back pocket.
"In the dark?" you asked.
"I couldn't find the light switch." he blushed. Deciding that it was probably a conversation that he wasn't comfortable with, you take a step forward, holding the clipboard close to your chest. He stares at your face for a moment, eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips.
"You look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?" he stared deeper into your eyes. A chill runs down your spine. There was no way that you'd let him recognize you - it would be awkward. A gigantic elephant in the middle of the room.
"I'm Ferrari's new intern. I think we already met each other back in Spa." you navigated yourself out of the ridiculous predicament. He licks his lips, and suddenly the atmosphere thickens. "Well, you look good." he gives you a micro-smile, walking away from the garage.
As his shadow retreats from view, you let out a breath that you weren't aware that you were holding.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
yourname: my biggest hobby 🚗
liked by carlossainz55 and 812 others
>comments
maneater69: UR SO MOMMY AND DADDY CODED liked by yourname
carlossainz55: ❤️
maneater69: HOLDUP @yourname ANSWER UR DMS RN - yourname: SIS IDK WHAT'S GOING ON...
.
.
.
"Lemme guess, he used his favorite line: you look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?" Paige, your co-worker, teased.
Carlos Sainz was renowned around the paddocks for being a womanizer. There wasn't a single pretty lady that he hasn't spoken to, and apparently he had a modus operandi - one that now involved you. "I mean it's weird because he actually does know me." you shrugged, wiping the car grease from your overalls.
"You used to go to the same school? You're from the same town?" Paige inquired, piqued by the sudden turn of events. "He used to be my babysitter." you groaned, regrettably exposing your secret.
A gasp escapes her mouth.
"That's some hot shit." she chuckled.
"You read too much romance novels." you tried to hide your interest. "- a man whose obviously much older than you, begins to fall in love." Paige antagonized even further, earning a sigh.
Her eyes light up, like headlights.
"Wait, now you have to be my plus one in that event that I'm going to. Carlos is going to be there!" she exclaimed, hatching a devious plan. "But he's a womanizer? Why would you want me to go for him?" your eyes narrowed, annoyed that you were even involved with him in a conversation involving love.
"He'll change for you - and if he doesn't, at least you experienced the feeling of having him love you." Paige mused.
"Sounds chauvinistic." you shrug and she rolls her eyes. "Take one good look at his face, cuz' if you're asking me. I'd rather find ruin in his hands than with some other cheap fuck." she tried to convince you, but you already wanted Carlos Sainz Jr. the moment you talked to him inside of that dark garage.
.
.
.
Tumblr media
yourname: ferrari knows how to partay
liked by carlossainz55 and 723 others
>comments
paigenewhart: um ma'am who gave u the permit to serve? liked by yourname - yourname: i'd like to see ur permit too?
.
.
.
After the main event, you were quickly whisked off to one of the after-parties. The club was pumping, the music was about to make your ears explode, but suddenly someone's hands were on the small of your back. You turn your head, and you meet his brown ones.
Carlos Sainz Jr. the man that you were here for.
His hands were tenderly placed on your body, nothing sexual - just sensual. It felt normal for his hand to be there. It was nothing different from a husband holding his wife, it was natural for him to be touching you, there were no electric sparks or anything.
"Intern from Ferrari?" he smiled and you smiled in return.
He remembered!
"I don't think that we properly introduced each other. I'm Carlos." he presented his free hand for you to shake. "(Your Name)," you smiled, hoping that he wouldn't remember.
"Oh, that is why you were familiar!" he giggled, a wave of resonance flashing through his features. "I used to babysit you, right? I didn't even recognize you - you've changed." his eyes lingered back and forth. Men like him were easy, there was hidden desire behind those innocent brown eyes.
"- and you haven't changed at all." your teeth burrowed into your cheeks. "You make me feel old, there's only what...seven years between us?" he inquired, doing all the mental math.
"Yep, I was six and you were thirteen." you chuckled nervously, suddenly all the bass seem to tune out of your ears - and the only thing that you could pay attention to was Carlos.
.
.
.
His lips were on yours, the taste of champagne echoing through your enclosed mouth. His hands roamed around your body, a man searching for water in the middle of a desert.
"Why don't we take this to my room?" he suggested, and you broke free from the kiss - by extension also his hug. A wave of clarity engulfed your body. Did you really want to do this?
"I'm not that kind of person. I'm sorry, this was a mistake." you bolted out of your seat, retreating into the sea of people in front of you.
.
.
.
(UNKNOWN NUMBER) Not that kind of person What does that mean?
(YOU) not the kind to do 1 night stands m sorry
(Sainz Jr.) I'm sorry for making you feel that way. I never thought of you as just a one night thing. (YOU) nono it's ok don't lie on my account i understand (Sainz Jr.) No it's not. Let me make it up for you. .
.
.
Tumblr media
yourname: spontaneous trip to paris 🇫🇷
liked by carlossainz55 and 812 others
>comments
carlossainz55: Five minutes before disaster - yourname: not my fault 🤷🏻‍♀️
carlandounite: UMM? CARLOS SAINZ'S NEW GF?
.
.
.
Tumblr media
carlossainzjrupdates: Carlos Sainz's new gf? @yourname who is apparently a family friend. This is a pic of her with Ana Sainz, Carlos' sister.
liked by 8,483 others
>comments have been restricted
.
.
.
160 notes · View notes
cutielando · 2 days
Note
so I just saw the sleep token themed smau you did and it gave me an idea: reader is the daughter of a big new wave rockstar from the 80s (like someone from INXS or Duran Duran), and she’s started dating a driver (Alex or Mick) and now there’s a whole generation of fans who are like ‘her dad is who??? in what band???’
I just thought it could be neat, seeing two of my special interests merge like that lmao god I love the eighties-
a/n: this is so cute !! 🥹 hope you like it!!!❤️
social media au
synopsis: the request 🌸❤️
my masterlist
♡♡♡♡♡
Instagram
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by lilymhe, landonorris and 3,193,285 others
y/n.rhodes Thank you mercedesamgf1 for having me!❤️ Such a fun weekend!!
view all 392,185 comments
mercedesamgf1 It was a pleasure having you with us for the weekend!❤️
user1 UMMMM????
user2 since when does she go to races?
landonorris such a shame you didn’t wear the papaya shirt i gave you
y/n.rhodes next time, i promise !!!!
landonorris hmmm, okay. mclaren do your thing
mclaren On it! 🫡
lilymhe you’re gorgeous babe 😍😍
y/n.rhodes have you seen yourself???😭❤️
alex_albon please don’t flirt with my girlfriend
y/n.rhodes you can’t stop us now. she’s OUR girlfriend
lilymhe sorry babe
alex_albon ???
zendaya i miss you girl !!!
y/n.rhodes i miss you too !!!!
user3 she is such an icon
user4 we should be grateful to be living in the same era as her
user3 for realllll
user4 i wanna be her so badly😭😭
lewishamilton it was a pleasure meeting you🥂
y/n.rhodes likewise, Sir Hamilton 😮‍💨
lewishamilton i told you not to call me that
y/n.rhodes i must have not heard you, loud garage you see
mickschumacher had a lovely time!❤️
y/n.rhodes so did i❤️
iMessage
sir lewis
hey y/n
y/n
hello sir hamilton
sir lewis
😐woman
y/n
okay sorry sorry
what’s up
sir lewis
what’s the deal with you and Mick?
y/n
what do you mean?
sir lewis
all the flirting in the garage
the comments
what’s going on?
do you have a crush?😉😉😉
y/n
we’re just friends
nothing is going on
sir lewis
are you sure?😌😌
y/n
yes lol
sir lewis
i don’t believe you, but okayyyy
y/n🩵
lewis is onto us
mickie🩵
what?
how?
y/n🩵
unmmm
the comment?????
maybe because we flirted in the garage?
he’s convinced we have crushes on each other
mickie🩵
fuck
what do you want to do?
y/n🩵
i mean
we can just go with the flow
just show up together and that would be it
mickie🩵
are you sure?
we don’t have to
y/n🩵
it’s okay, i wanna
Instagram
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by y/n.rhodes, estebanocon and 684,195 others
mickschumacher great weekend, time to recharge
view all 89,143 comments
mercedesamgf1 Hope you enjoy your time off ;)
mickschumacher thank you admin :))
georgerussell63 very nice pictures, mate
mickschumacher thank you, i have a talented photographer
georgerussell63 i'm sure you do ;)
estebanocon you went on holiday without me? :(
mickschumacher i had to :( i didn't have a choice
estebanocon you always have a choice
mickschumacher no, he doesn't - the missus
estebanocon sorry ma'am, i take it back
user1 Mick having a girlfriend was not on my bingo card for this year
user2 I need to know who his girlfriend is like YESTERDAY
user3 I might know who she is
user4 BESTIE???????? SPILL
user3 I might be completely wrong and off-track but I believe it might be Y/N Rhodes
user3 isn't she the girl who visited the garage a couple of weeks back?
user4 Yes. She's the daughter of Nick Rhodes, a member of the band Duran Duran
user5 MICK BAGGED A GIRL???
y/n.rhodes those are some very nice pictures, mr. schumacher
mickschumacher i have a very good photographer who took them for me
y/n.rhodes you'll have to introduce them to me, they seem very good at what they do
user5 I wanna be on vacation with him too :(((
user6 NOBODY MOVE, MICKIE HAS A GF
user7 this explains his impressive drive a couple of weeks back
lewishamilton interesting turn of events
mickschumacher i don't know what you're talking about
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
liked by lewishamilton, mickschumacher and 5,291,825 others
y/n.rhodes i like the view tagged: mickschumacher
view all 602,185 comments
lewishamilton I KNEW IT
y/n.rhodes nostradamus, congratulations
lewishamilton don't mock your seniors
mickschumacher 🩵
y/n.rhodes 🩵
mercedesamgf1 Thank you Y/N for being our lucky charm from here on out! 🩵
y/n.rhodes always a pleasure 🩵🩵
user1 MICK AND Y/N?????
user2 this took me completely by surprise
user3 I TOLD YOU GUYS I KNEW IT
estebanocon finally
mickschumacher :)
y/n.rhodes thank you for keeping quiet, estie bestie
estebanocon i told you not to call me that
y/n.rhodes sucks to suck
user4 Y/N seems like such a menace and I'm here for it
user5 mickschumacher did you meet Nick?
mickschumacher i did
user6 HOW WAS IT?????
mickschumacher intimidating, but we get along great
y/n.rhodes my dad loves him, he's a sucker for blondes
user7 DAMN Y/N
Tumblr media
comments and re-blogs help us grow!
much appreciated!!
JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE
REQUEST HERE
♡♡♡♡♡
Tag list: @outerudeth @orlafitz1664 @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @lanad3lslay @dardouni @saturnssunflower @lottef1 @moony-artemis @blissfulsunsetstuff @samantha-chicago @nikfigueiredo @therealcap @iloveyou3000morgan @angiesw0rld @cinnamongirlontv @daemyratwst @rqlstefanny @bwormie @betterwhenimeating @hangmandruigandmav @sbrn0905 @kagome45 @enidsinclairaddamsthesecond @tsukishitm-a @tallrock35 @sesamepancakes @hsfallingsky @boywondrgrayson @evlkking @evie-119 @ijustwanttoreadlols @cixrosie @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @ellouisa17 @paintedbypoetry @hellowgoodbye @lpab @xlinxdax0704 @decafmickey @teti-menchon0604 @ctrlyomomma @sya-skies @likedbygaslyy @chilli-sainz @jazzyjade16 @ririyulife
180 notes · View notes
hoony2k · 1 day
Text
BEWITCHED AT FIRST SIGHT
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
It's supposed to be a simple task, film another challenge but...why does does his body feel numb, hands shake like jelly and heart beats like crazy?
PAIRING: OT7
GENRE: fluff, angst
WORD COUNT: 2k total
WARNINGS: none
NOTE: hii! It's finally here after eons! I'm finally satisfied with it, this was so fun to write. My favourite is hee's part <3 hope it lived up to your expectations, sorry for the wait. Enjoy :)
Requested. Masterlist
Part 4 of idol!enha x idol! Series
Tumblr media
★ HEESEUNG:
One look and he knows what the heart wants.
Spring wedding, open area near sea, 3-tier vanilla and chocolate cake-
Heeseung’s always been a man who follows his plan so as he approaches, he begins to slow his walk and make himself as charismatic as possible. He pretends he doesn’t want to giggle as he observes how you quickly check him out. Barely noticeable, so swift that one blink and someone would miss it. Thankfully Heeseung was looking, waiting for your reaction. Your expression remains neutral, pretend to be busy fixing your belt.
Heeseung smiles like he’s won the lottery. Of course, it’d be more fun if you pretend you’re uninterested.
After a greeting that shouldn’t be so casual but is, Heeseung’s heart swells with pride seeing how you’re not backing down, keeping up the act but giving him an opening, letting the bait flutter near him but not too close.
“Do you want to rehearse?”, he asks. You barely glance at him and look at his manager but he knows who you’re speaking to. “I was thinking we’d do it in one take”. He shrugs his shoulders. You’re so close that his coat brushes your bare shoulder. You don’t take a step back. Neither does he.
The manager gives the two of you a confused look. “If we take the perfect first take, sure”.
You shine a million-watt smile at her, lips pink with glitter and gloss stretch to show off your teeth. Then, you turn to Heeseung and straighten your shoulders, trying to appear taller than you are yet you still crane your neck to look at him. Your pretty smile is gone but your eyes speak to him instead, daring and bold.
"Are you ready?"
Good thing Heeseung has always loved a good challenge.
★ JAY:
He doesn't think too much about it, it's just a small challenge, greet the person, teach them the dance, bonus points if they already know it and then actually film it and leave. He came mentally prepared to follow the same protocol he usually did when they filmed with female idols.
Although he did not expect to be swept off his feet the moment he heard your laughter as he turned and entered the hall where it was to take place.
Definity is mentally unprepared to see someone so ethereal that for a solid second, he has to pause his walk. His legs seem to be glued to the floor. All he can think of is how he needs to impress you on the first encounter, he has to make sure you keep thinking about him the way he knows he won’t be able to stop replaying your laughter in his head.
However, it's the first time Jay ever felt like this, he’s not sure how to approach it. His hands shake not because he's going on stage for the first time. The tip of his ears feel red and not because he's eaten spicy fried chicken. His tongue feels heavy, his mind scattered with nervousness and not because he's mentally unprepared. He knows what to do- film a challenge of his comeback song, the song and dance steps that have been engraved in his mind.
But when you look at him with those sweet welcoming eyes, Jay knows he’s gone. He stands next to you while his manager speaks but ahh!! he thinks of how he needs your number to be able to feel like he’s crossed the distance between you two.
You turn to address him but he interrupts you with a greeting, voice wavering.
There’s a pause, and confusion in the air but thankfully before it could get any awkward, you cackle and everything is okay again. You stretch a hand out and when Jay encloses it, he can't help but compare the difference in size.
You give him a teasing smile, “how are you?”
He’s not making it out alive.
★ JAKE:
he's not someone that actively watches performances of other groups online but he read up on your profile before meeting you.
Jake knows the image the site uploaded doesn't do you justice because it didn't capture the mole on your face, the delicate curve of your eye or the puzzled look in your eyes as you nod in the conversation.
He's able to recognise his feelings immediately, they're too dangerous. Alarms are blaring in his head and he needs to bottle this up before it fizzes out and he has to explore the sensation in his fingertips.
So that's what he does, he greets you with a big jake sim smile and asks about your day and if you ate.
Your eyes crinkle in glee and thankfully you respond with the same joy as him. Though he ignores how you sound even better in real life. His brain tells him award show performances will never be the same again- he needs to experience you singing live. But before that, he needs to film the challenge.
His manager asks him if he's ready, the unsaid "You good?" is loud for Jake but he replies with another smile. Larger and more confident. He tells himself he won't lose himself in the act- he can't risk it.
Then, he chooses to surprise his manager and himself but moving his entire body towards you and addressing you "Let's do our best!"
You clap in agreement, more motivated than before and Jake almost feels bad. You give him a bright thumbs up and tell him you look forward to his comeback, how sweet venom raised the bar for you. These aren't empty words, he sees the glimmer in your eyes.
Jake fears that he might have been too convincing with his friendly act and now you'll look for him in the halls the way he will try not to do the same.
The challenge is filmed smoothly and time passes by far too quickly much to his distaste. If it was up to him, he'd freeze this moment. Get himself stuck in a time loop with you so he could have eternity to soak in your presence, your confidence, your being.
But it's not up to Jake, it never has and right now he hasn't reached his peak. There are other precious people tied to his career, he tells his heart. It's better if he leaves the interaction here, in the past, ignoring the what-ifs and focusing on how to politely say goodbye and good luck. Focus on how to keep you at a safe distance in the future and ignore the guilt he feels.
★ SUNGHOON:
Sunghoon is aware of the effect he has on people. He’s learned to grow accustomed to how people stutter and can’t hold eye contact with him but he’s never been the one who goes weak in the knees- until today.
It’s supposed to be a simple, quick challenge filming, except it’s everything but that because one looks at you and he can’t stop replaying your shy laugh in his head. He’s rendered speechless. He offers you a ‘hello” nod that he hopes you don’t find disrespectful in your first encounter. He prays it isn’t the last. It’s as if fate brought karma upon him for accidentally leading people on. You don’t even look at him while the manager speaks and he can feel his heart twist.
Sunghoon has never wanted someone to glance at him so badly, so desperately.
“I can teach you”, is what he says, so slowly that his voice catches you off guard. You look bashful again, embarrassed almost and he regrets speaking. Do you like his voice? It didn’t crack even once.
You scratch your cheek, “There’s just one move I’m confused about”. Sunghoon can’t help the huge smile that escapes him. “Want to go over it together before we practise?”
He steps a foot closer, everything is beginning to blur, he can’t hear the murmurs of the nearby conversations, he can’t see anyone but you, not even the managers. Your perfume smells so soft, he wants to drown in it. it’s just you and the confidence in your eyes.
You give him a firm nod and Sunghoon knows the ambiguity behind it.
“Sure, why not?”, you say intending to prolong the meeting.
This time when he smiles, it’s not at your response but at the future he knows you see with him.
★ SUNOO:
He's genuinely so so excited to be here and film another challenge, he loves doing challenges and meeting potential friends. However, when you enter the room, he flashes a knowing smile. there’s a friend to lovers already in the works in his mind.
Sunoo is so bubbly throughout the filming, that it makes you wonder if his cheerful comments are subtly patronizing you. Remembering the first couple of steps isn’t a hard task but he compliments you as if you can solo the whole dance. After you get used to his presence and comments, only then do you realise that there is not a hint of malice or ill intent behind his words and actions, he genuinely wants you to feel comfortable and elt down your guard.
It’s a sweet gesture, one that you’re not accustomed to which is why Sunoo is so careful to not say anything that could be misinterpreted. He tells himself he only feels like he has to protect you because he wants to befriend you.
does he find you pretty? Sure, you’re an idol you’re bound to be pretty. It’s not that big of a deal but as soon as the atmosphere turns warm, with you and the manager exchanging jokes like old friends, he can’t help but wonder if he wants to be friends…or if is there something more his heart wants.
He knows he won’t be satisfied by the line between friends but the ambuity he feels doesn’t scare him. It makes him wonder what the future may hold for you. If you will invite him to film with him. It would be good PR and marketing, it would be something fans would want after seeing you dance to sweet venom. It would be something Sunoo would love- to meet you again. On camera, off camera, it didn’t matter.
But he won’t ponder on the what ifs, he won’t let himself second guess his actions when he asks for your number, and he won’t think if you find him charming as you type in your number. He’ll let the relationship take its natural course and hopefully begin something romantic with you.
★ JUNGWON:
he’s gone a good couple of years locking his heart away, never letting it think too much while he gazes at idols performing. He doesn’t let himself think about other idols unless it’s with a sense of inspiration or admiration. He almost perfected rejecting affection but all his hard work goes down the drain when he sees you.
You’re not even doing anything unusual, just talking to him like any decent person would. You ask him about his day and then drop a “let's work hard!” with a thumbs up and immediately fail at the first take.
It shouldn’t be so endearing watching you practise the same step over again and again but he can hear his heart rattle the cage.
“Put less pressure in the swing”, he advises and has to stop himself from holding your arm mid-dance. He clenches his fist instead and lets a dimple show. You glance at your arm and then back at him.
“I didn’t think about that”, you confess, a bit appalled, “Is that how you do it?”
The question makes him pause and wonder if it is how they all do it. He thinks of Ni-ki and then himself and gives a firm nod, but you don’t seem satisfied, the furrow in your delicate brows doesn’t leave. So you do something that shatters Jungwon’s world, breaks the cage he sweat blood and tears to build- heart leaping out of his mouth.
“I mean, is that how you do it? I want to match my style with yours”.
He blinks once, then twice. The tips of his ears burn red and he stutters for a coherent response. He’s completely forgotten his dance style at the sudden spotlight. The light you’re giving him.
“I guess, I could teach you how I do it”, he laughs unsure at your determined expression. It makes his heart soften.
He knows he can’t afford to start anything less than platonic with you, but thinking about you can’t hurt right?
★ NI-KI:
Ni-ki knows what respect feels like, how the feeling slowly spreads in his chest when he watches his seniors perform. It feels like everything but this. It doesn’t blossom slowly, it doesn’t make him feel jittery all over, it doesn’t distract him from his work to focus on how cute your freckles are or how there’s a hair strand that’s slipped out of your braid. He shouldn’t fix it, should he?
All he knows is that your attention on him will settle whatever he's feeling. Whenever you turn to him with your dazzling smile and sparkly makeup, Ni-ki feels like he can breathe again.
So, he begins to speak and speak and speak until the manager asks him if he wants to practice the dance instead.
You chirp in and agree, somehow you seem comfortable with him and he hasn’t even complimented you yet. All he talked about was how he loved your comeback. He feels his chest swell with pride when he realizes you’ve become more confident and assured when you mimic his teaching. Ni-ki thrives on how well you’re responding to his subtle attempts to appear cool so you can compliment him.
But when you do say “You make the hook look so easy”, fingers pinched and head moving along the beat, Ni-ki is rendered speechless. He was focused on wanting you to compliment him so bad that he had no idea how to react if you did.
Now, he lets his neck flush red and stutters his words, “It’s not that hard”.  It isn’t when that’s what he’s been practicing for months but you haven’t!
The potential misunderstanding grabs him by the throat and he splutters, hands waving to console himself rather than you- you don’t look offended or upset.
 You stare up at him with soft eyes yet Ni-ki has never felt so small.
“I didn’t mind anything”, you comfort him and he notices how your arm jerks upwards to pat him but halts midway, hesitant. Ni-ki lets out a breath to rewire his nerves.
He nods at you, gaining fortitude by the minute but in these moments of hesitancy where he almost touches your hand to fix its position or when you bite back another compliment, he genuinely believes that he’s not the only one with wobbly legs. 
Tumblr media
Thank you for reading!
All rights belong to me. Please do not copy/translate/edit.
199 notes · View notes
Text
Milkman (Francis mosses) x fem! Reader
Thick as blood
Sweet as milk
Tumblr media
Ah yes, you. The new doorman. The DDD hired you for your attention to detail and ability to examine more than just physical detail but the way people talked, their actions even the movement in their eyes.
Dopples are horrible at those details, some are just straight stupid and don’t try
But today was your first day in the building fresh from training, the building didn’t have a doorman before so you were ready for confrontation and confusion
Your uniforms was meant to look friendly, with a DDD button the the left breast. the DDD issued you with a pistol in case a Dopple did get in.
Tumblr media
The block has been notified and given everything they needed to get in. Now it was your job to make sure they were safe
The day went slow no one coming in till lunch, you were not given one but you were allowed to eat whenever suited you
Soon tho a very happy woman came by…she had heterochromia at first you assumed dopple before looking at her papers
Right Nacha Mikaelys . Everything checked out as you studied her taking notes in your head, she smiled seemingly unaware of what was happening “how’s your day so far?” She asked looking through her purse, possibly for her keys “going well, I’m y/n your new doorman” you replied passing back her papers “have a good day ma’am” she nodded taking them back “pleased to meet you y/n see you tomorrow “ Nacha waved and walked out of sight
You got up from your chair to walk around your small office, you fix up your uniform as you hear someone come up to your glass panel. It was a milkman..? you raised your eyebrows at him. He didn’t look quite surprised to see you. He slid his papers into the slot and waited. You grabbed the papers and looked up and down at them. You then looked up at him and studied his features while trying to talk to him. “Hi I’m y/n the new doorman pleased to meet you, Mr. Moses.”
“Mm…pleased to meet you y/n”
Oh god. You blushed! What a schoolgirl
You slid the papers to him quickly looking down “all is in order, good day sir” you almost stuttered before looking back up at his dark tired eyes “good.” He walked off not noticing your sudden change in tone.
Oh god he sounded like a night time soap, deep and soft. you could listen to him read a chapter book and hang on every word, a phone book would sound sexy! And his eyes! Ugh you would kiss them if possible! You let your blush stay as you fell head over heels for a man that spoke 6 words to you (I counted) another person stood before you, before you could even greet them you stopped in your tracks
It wasn’t human. Its face was a drawing taped to it. No mouth but it spoke “allow me in please”
You softly pressed the urgency button as you slid out your gun. You could hear the dopple screech and writhe behind the glass and metal shutter while you called your superiors “I have one” you spoke sternly not wanting to show any fear “on the way” the triple D officer spoke. You stood back pistol in hand breathing slowly to calm down soon though the screeching stopped and the metal shutter lifted revealing a man in a yellow suit “dopple eliminated. Good work” he walked away with 2 others carrying a body bag.
You shivered placing the weapon back in its place you were glad most of those things were dumb but it made it no less horrifying
Your mind raced as you thought about the two things that just happened to you almost simultaneously first having a girl crush on a milkman and now almost getting killed by a stupid Dopple
Your immediate thought, as you sat down and tried to organize to calm your mind was, how does a milkman live in a building with such high earners ? How much does a milkman make ?you pondered looking over the files of residents
After introducing yourself to a couple of other residents, the day ends, and it’s time for your shift to end as well.
One Dopple the rest human honestly the best you could hope for on a first day, the other thing you could look forward to is that because you do work in this building, you can live in the building for way less rent than everybody else, you picked up your items from the desk and made sure everything was clean before you left and lock the door behind you no one was allowed to leave or enter the building after 10 PM unless of course it was an emergency, but they would be escorted by DDD officer at the front of the building 
You took the elevator to your apartment “F05” the old landlord room, it used to be boarded up but the DDD had it refurbished for you, still looked a little dingy but ultra cheap rent for a 2 room apartment was worth it
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
You opened the door but jumped a little hearing another door “oh” you heard the deep voice looking to your left, Francis in a white wife beater and a cardigan. He has a cigarette in his fingers unlit “oh sorry you startled me goodnight Mr.mosses” you tried to excuse yourself quickly but to your surprise he spoke up “I didn’t know you lived here, actually I didn’t know there was a 5th apartment” he finally lit his cigarette taking a long drag (it’s the 50s) you nodded hoping to clear his confusion “ it was boarded up in the early 40s, it’s called a lord suite. a place for the landlord to stay in case of quick repairs or whatever else may happen” he listened rather intently taking the cig out of his mouth, god did you want him to ask you to take a puff just to indicate something “oh…I remember those really fell out of fashion huh?” He asked passing the half done cancer stick. You screamed in your head agreeing with him and taking in the smoke “well enjoy, I need to sleep” he walked back to his apartment almost slamming the door, was he mad? He didn’t indicate anger or distrust, you finished the cigarette and smudged it out on your stove placing the butt on the counter almost contemplating about saving it… you were weirding yourself out a bit but came back to.
You did as all necessary and got ready for bed
You dreamt of Francis sitting on the roof with you holding you close both of you in your uniforms as you kissed him deep and hungry begging for more in your movements you felt him move down to bite softly at your ne- TRRRIING TRRING
your alarm clock yelled at you a few more times before you could slam your hand down on it groaning and streaching “god I am down bad”
End pt 1
I know but the game is set in like 1955 America but it gives me such Soviet vibes 
148 notes · View notes
literaila · 3 days
Note
okay but like do you think gojo and oc would ever have a baby of their own, giving tsumiki and megumi a sibling, or are their adopted children enough?
sometimes i like to think oc would agree to become a teacher just to feel like all her students are also her babies.
i am personally of the belief that satoru wants a million children. and he says this, verbatim, when you get together.
“oh, just by the way we’re having ten kids, kay, love ya!”
but then there’s the fact that he doesn’t care where they come from. biological children, adopted children, curse wombs, mahito’s silly little transfigured humans… you got ‘em, he’ll take them.
you, on the other hand, have always been… wary about kids. i mean there’s no doubt that you adore them, think they’re precious little angels to be bestowed on only the best of beings—i mean, really, the reason satoru sought you out to help with megumi and tsumiki is because he knew you liked kids.
still… there’s that doubt, that worry that you could never be enough for a child. that you could never give them a childhood that you wanted and deserved.
teenage you is the gloomiest of them all, and if you asked her, she’d probably say no.
but then a stupid man brought home two children unannounced and swore he was going to help with them (he does… occasionally).
so, without warning, you gets the kids you’ve always (secretly) dreamed of. and who could ask for more than megumi and tsumiki, really? who even could?
(so obviously that fear is quickly washed away. i mean, there’s days, weeks, months of doubts where you’re sure that you’re doing everything wrong. sure that megumi is never going to be able to live in society as a normal human being, and that tsumiki is going to suffer from her soft, easygoing heart.
luckily satoru is also there to prove that if you think you’re doing anything wrong, he’s doing it ten times worse.
and sometimes he sweet talks you. but only for the rewards, of course.
you both learn that parenting is less about being perfect than adapting to the needs of the tiny beings, bending at their every will…)
still, even though you love megumi and tsumiki like they’ve crawled into your veins and strained all livelihood from you, having your own biological kids is a bit different.
satoru is all for it, no doubt, but he doesn’t push. he understands your hesitation—especially with how difficult everything’s become as the kids get older. the increase in curses, the rising fear that the world isn’t a safe place as is, and could never be a safe place for another baby.
(but don’t expect him not to stare at you when you’re helping a lost little girl across the street. or holding the baby of a friend. really, he’s just reminiscing… he’s not planning anything… probably…)
though, it doesn’t help either of you that satoru teaches the first years. in hindsight, you shouldn’t have let him make that decision, but it’s too late now.
satoru tries to bring every student home. even if they’ve got two healthy, loving parents—he’s calling a lawyer to draw up legal paperwork the moment yaga tells him there’s a new student about to come to jujutsu high.
what? the house is big enough for a guest, isn’t it? why do you think satoru was so pushy for all of those extra bedrooms?
(and you’ll scold him when there’s a another place set at the table. you’ll ask megumi to show the new student around the house, pointedly, and then you’ll make him recite the lengthy list of things he’s not supposed to do with every kid he meets (again)
but really, you don’t mind.
you’ve always thought that hearts were rather expandable things, and your son and daughter have only proven that fact.
and there’s a little part of you that can’t deny the admiration you have for satoru. his need to coddle every student of his, to comfort them endlessly, even if they don’t want it.
if you had to guess, you’d say that satoru’s heart is the stretchiest.
so you only tug on his hair a little. and then you’ll sit right next to him at dinner, letting him hold your hand under the table).
and there’s been a couple of times where you bring someone of your own home. just as a little payback, of course. no other reason….
148 notes · View notes
dwaekkilinos · 1 day
Text
savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan
Tumblr media
summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3
Tumblr media
chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )
Tumblr media
Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.
It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.
Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.
Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.
The apocalypse had come.
You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.
Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.
And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.
That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.
You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.
From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.
At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.
Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.
It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.
It.
Armageddon.
The Rapture.
The fucking apocalypse.
It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.
The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.
The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.
The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.
That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.
You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.
But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.
By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.
But by eighteen, you knew better.
It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .
You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.
That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)
You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.
Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.
This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.
As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.
He didn’t believe.
No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.
The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.
That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.
That was what was told, and that was what was believed.
You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.
Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.
— Revelation 6:1–2
That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.
While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.
As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.
Only by that time, it was too late.
Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.
And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.
The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.
Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.
By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.
Then . . . it all just stopped.
But your town continued to spread its lies.
The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.
They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.
Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.
But you knew better.
While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.
You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)
And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.
The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.
But you couldn't believe it.
Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.
Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.
Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.
He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.
Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.
War will come, she warned.
War will come.
But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.
And then . . . then he did.
The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.
The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.
War will come.
It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.
This was no man. This was War.
And it all became clear soon after.
While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.
The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.
The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.
That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.
Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.
(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)
Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.
War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.
From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.
But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.
There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.
Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.
The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.
And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.
(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)
While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.
The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.
That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.
It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.
The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.
It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.
It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
— Revelation 6:7–8
Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.
Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.
She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.
You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.
Now there was no more living, just surviving.
Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.
Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.
How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?
You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.
But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.
Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.
Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.
You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.
Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.
You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.
And then you looked at him.
Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.
Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had killed someone.
This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.
(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.
(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))
That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.
The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.
And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.
(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)
But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.
You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.
And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.
It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.
And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).
Survival became all that you knew after that.
Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.
The burden became yours to bear.
This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.
Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.
And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.
Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.
If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.
So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.
Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.
Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.
Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.
When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.
You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.
In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.
But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.
You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.
So you let yourself turn into a machine.
And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.
That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.
You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.
Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.
That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.
Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.
When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.
No, killed was too vague.
Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.
The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.
You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.
But you had that night.
And now you paid the consequences.
It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.
She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.
So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.
Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?
How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?
You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.
Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.
Were you no better than the dead to her?
You swallowed hard.
Had you become a monster?
“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.
But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.
You did what you had to do.
You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.
You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.
Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.
Kind had been rare back then. It still was.
And Felix stayed kind.
When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.
You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.
But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.
That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.
He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.
But you?
Well . . .
“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”
”You’re not."
“Lix."
“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”
Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
”She’s just a kid."
“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”
A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .
”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “
”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”
You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.
His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."
His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.
But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.
However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.
You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”
”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.
”Sleep, little bird."
He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.
But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."
You swallowed hard but said nothing.
You're not too far gone.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
Tumblr media
As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.
A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?
But you already knew the answer.
Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .
And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.
His face was always there.
Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.
Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.
And you knew you had.
At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.
You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.
Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.
And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.
But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.
Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.
He would still be here if you hadn't—
"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.
You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.
It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.
She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.
But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.
You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.
Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .
. . . You’d still killed a man.
You’d actually taken a life.
(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.
It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And maybe you had been.
That would’ve been easier to fathom.
But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.
"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.
Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.
And you couldn’t blame them.
The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.
Tumblr media
The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.
Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.
That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.
With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.
You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.
But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.
Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.
Had he felt like this, too?
Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?
Did he ever wonder if—
“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.
You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”
She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”
“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.
But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.
Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.
Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”
But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.
“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”
“Your father filled your head with lies.”
You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”
Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."
There were the tears now.
But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.
Twist the knife, and she did.
"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”
Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.
This was what you deserved.
Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.
But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.
Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”
She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.
“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”
Your mother remained silent.
And you knew her answer.
Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”
“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”
But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”
Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”
“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”
Once again, she remained silent.
But you knew the truth.
“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”
Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .
And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.
Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.
It happened too quickly for you to think.
Beat. Beat.
You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.
Beat.
Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.
And you knew what to do.
For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.
The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.
One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.
Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.
You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.
. . . You were getting worse.
Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”
But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.
And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.
The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.
Would they make the decision to put you down then?
Tumblr media
Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.
If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.
But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.
Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.
According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.
So, you listened, but you did not believe.
The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.
Whatever.
(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.
Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.
He’d made sure there was nothing left.
Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.
Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.
Survival was all that mattered.
Everything else was fucked.
And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.
Survive long enough for them.
For your father.
For your sister.
For your mother.
For Felix.
For them.
Tumblr media
By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)
But, just your luck, sleep never found you.
Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.
Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?
You didn’t want to see that day come.
It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.
With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.
You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.
Nothing was left.
Truly.
Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.
But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.
Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.
You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.
The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.
Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.
You swallowed hard.
Death was near.
You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .
The man.
Your eyes widened.
The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.
And his screams . . .
You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.
And . . . it was all your fault.
You exhaled a shaky breath.
Death was coming.
Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.
Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.
The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?
You swallowed hard.
Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—
But then you saw it.
In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.
You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.
Death was here. So close. Too close.
They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.
There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.
Fuck.
You wanted to scream.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.
“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”
You could only shake your head.
Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."
You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.
There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.
Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.
There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.
You knew what that meant.
This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.
It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.
And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.
This was how you made things right.
You nodded at your thoughts.
Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.
Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.
This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.
So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.
Still: "Little bird," you whispered.
Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.
You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.
"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."
Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."
You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.
But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.
Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.
Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.
You knew this.
Felix did, too.
He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."
Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."
The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.
"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.
You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.
The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.
"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."
Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."
"You don't get to die."
"Neither do you."
"Then I guess we have a predicament."
Your eyes softened. "Lix."
His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."
And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.
He shook his head.
You swallowed hard.
The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.
You gripped his hand. "Protect them."
He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”
Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”
But it was. You both knew that.
Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”
“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.
But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.
You worked quickly. You had to. For them.
The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.
You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.
You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.
Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.
So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.
You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.
It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.
Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.
The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.
Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.
And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.
Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.
Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.
Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.
Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.
You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.
Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.
You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.
All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.
Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.
You're not too far gone.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.
Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.
This was the only way to save them. The only way.
Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.
The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.
The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.
You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.
Fuck.
Had that been too loud?
Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.
You swallowed hard.
Death itself had seen you.
Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.
And end it you would.
You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.
Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.
And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.
There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.
“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.
With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.
And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.
The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.
But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.
This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.
You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.
It hit you then.
Beat.
This really was the end.
You couldn’t run.
Beat.
The hoard was gaining on you.
This was the end.
Beat.
Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.
But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.
Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.
It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.
What was he doing?
But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.
“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”
You skipped a beat, not answering.
His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.
But you only blinked.
You didn’t want to be saved.
No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—
Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—
“Run,” he bit out, an order.
And it all happened so fast.
You stayed put.
He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.
Beat.
Beat.
Be—
A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—
Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.
And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.
Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.
And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.
As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.
And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.
What the fuck?
But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.
There it was, you realized.
Your punishment.
You were going to die.
And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.
Tumblr media
The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.
There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.
In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—
And then . . . then the memories all faded in.
The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.
This was Death’s doing.
The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.
Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.
But . . . why were you still alive?
Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.
You were alive.
Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”
And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.
Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?
Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?
Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.
Him.
The man.
Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.
You clenched your jaw hard.
The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.
And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.
“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”
But you remained silent, watching.
"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”
You swallowed thickly.
There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.
"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”
And you hadn’t.
You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.
Had your mother been right about you?
Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?
The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.
"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”
You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?
Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?
Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.
And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.
Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.
(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)
And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.
Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.
Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?
Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.
Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)
And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.
You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?
Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.
Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"
Why aren’t you fighting?
The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.
Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.
It was surely daylight by now.
Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.
By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.
So . . . where was your fight?
You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.
Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.
Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"
For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.
The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.
And you almost laughed.
Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.
It all felt a little unreal.
Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.
You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.
But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.
There it was.
This was the end you were promised.
Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.
On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.
"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.
His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”
But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?
"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.
His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."
Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.
This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.
So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?
Why—
"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"
You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.
His stare only unnerved you more.
Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.
Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."
The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”
That only unnerved you further.
Was this truly Death?
Surely he had killed before.
Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.
As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”
But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.
There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.
You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.
“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.
Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”
His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.
“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.
His brows twitched, taken back.
“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”
But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?
A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.
Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.
Then . . . you felt it.
A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.
You nearly gasped.
Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.
But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.
The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”
Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.
“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”
And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.
I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.
But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?
You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.
And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?
It all hit you then.
These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .
I won’t kill you.
But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.
These were good people. And you were their bad omen.
It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.
You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.
It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.
Tumblr media
taglist:
@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin
(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)
137 notes · View notes
silverynight · 1 day
Text
Dynamight's type
Izuku has noticed that whenever someone asks Katsuki's certain questions during interviews he gets really irritated; it's usually things about love and relationships that bother him the most.
It's one of the many reasons why Izuku hasn't told his best friend he likes him romantically; maybe Katsuki is not interested in romance at all or he just hates sharing his love life with the world.
Although it's not like Izuku ever thought he had a chance; he probably doesn't. Sometimes he thinks about looking for someone to start a relationship with.
"Let's move in together," Katsuki tells him for the... actually, Izuku has lost count of how many times he has told him that.
But Izuku always thinks he doesn't mean it because it doesn't make sense.
"Why?"
"Just because..." Katsuki says this time, looking particularly frustrated.
"We don't have the need to," Izuku points out, getting a little bit confused by his friend's response.
"I know."
"Kacchan... what if one of us starts dating soon? Wouldn't that be–"
The look Katsuki throws at him is enough to make Izuku shut up immediately; the other pro hero not only looks angry, he also seems hurt.
"Are you seeing someone?" The way Katsuki asks the question makes it look like each word is hurting him somehow.
"No, but–"
"I'm not going to start dating an extra!" Katsuki growls and, as usual, he walks away more irritated than when the day started.
Izuku honestly doesn't get it.
However, he usually goes back to normal when his patrol begins.
Until a reporter finds him after an incident; just right the moment after Katsuki and Izuku manage to save a group of people from a villain.
Actually, there are a couple of reporters, one of them even tries to corner Izuku and instead of asking him about the villain or the civilians, she asks Izuku about romance.
Alright, Izuku has started to get why Katsuki gets irritated at those type of questions.
"Are you dating someone at the moment, Deku?" The young woman asks, smiling at him and using one of her fingers to play with her own hair.
Izuku doesn't understand; is she nervous?
"Uhh... no."
"That's great!"
Not that far from him, one of the reporters is asking about Katsuki's type... again.
"So what would your ideal date be, Deku?" The reporter manages to draw Izuku's attention away from his friend.
"Maybe an amusement park? Sharing a crepe?" The green haired hero doesn't mean to make it sound like a question, but interviews always make him feel flustered.
"That'd be a perfect date for me too!" The girl says. "Would you like to–"
"DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW MY FUCKING TYPE?" Katsuki's loud voice cuts off the reporter who's interviewing Izuku.
"Of course, Dynamight!" It's a good thing most of the reporters are used to Katsuki's explosive personality already.
Instead of answering right away, Katsuki gets closer to Izuku and to everyone's surprise, grabs the other pro hero's freckled face and kisses him on the lips.
"There. That's my type!" Katsuki growls as Izuku's face turns completely pink. "Him. Only this nerd. Now, fuck off!"
The female reporter who was asking Izuku questions looks particularly upset about what happened, although it seems like she's a little bit reluctant to go... but she does anyway when she notices Katsuki is glaring at her.
Izuku doesn't get his hopes up, because it's obvious that Katsuki only wanted them to stop asking questions about his love life.
"But Kacchan... they're going to think we are–"
"Move in with me."
"Why?"
It feels like this is not the moment to have the same conversation all over again, but there's something different in Katsuki's eyes this time; he looks determined.
"Because I'm in love with you, oblivious nerd!"
Izuku's face is on fire, he's sure of it; Katsuki just told him he loved him. It almost seems like it's a dream.
"Are you sure, Kacchan?" His voice doesn't sound shaky at all, which is something Izuku feels ridiculously proud of.
"Of course I am! Wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't!"
After a heartbeat in which Izuku thinks about all the time they've been together and tells himself this is going to work, he nods.
"Let's move in together, Kacchan."
Just a year later, Katsuki proposes to him and of course, Izuku can't help but tear up. He's never been so happy before.
***
Patreon
134 notes · View notes