#or it's the apocalypse with zero cars on the road
For @the-ever-present-julie, based off this tumblr post.
Five times Dean and Cas kissed and never talked about it, and the one time they did and still won’t talk about it.
It's not like Dean hasn't thought about it before.
That first month after he crawled his way out of his grave? He'd never told Sam or Bobby, but that entire month, hell, more like three, he'd been convinced that it was all just one of Alastair's tricks. That Alastair had moved on from the crude, visceral pleasure of blood and guts and shredded flesh to this—letting him dream, and then, right when he'd let himself believe it, that the impossible had happened, Alastair would take it away.
The sick fuck.
But two could play that game, alright?
Dean- Dean was good at this. Dean knew Alastair, like calling to like in the putrid depths of hell. Dean would find a way to trip him up, it was like that time with the djinn. Find the thing that didn't fit, the thing that was impossible to explain, and then tug at that thread until it all unraveled.
Well, he didn't have to look too far.
Castiel, angel of the Lord, who made his ears bleed, and his stomach swoop—well— come the fuck on, there was no possible way his mind could have generated this. This was Alastair, through and through, Alastair who had put him on the rack and taken more pieces out of him than he'd known existed, who'd worked him over and over and over, and somewhere along the way learnt enough about Dean that he'd—
The handprint buzzed and ached and tingled and Castiel's blue, blue eyes had looked right through him, and said things like you don't think you deserve to be saved, and if I tell you something, will you keep it a secret, I'm not a hammer, and no, this would not be the thing he let himself believe, this would not be one more way that Alastair broke him. In the backseat of his car, Anna had fitted her palm onto the scar, her delicate, smooth palm too small for it, the whorls of her fingers caressing the edges, and it had been electric, and all wrong, because it wasn't her mark that Dean carried on his friggin' re-hymenated body (it wasn't her who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and Dean's body knew it in a way that Dean wasn't going to think about, let alone—)
That sonuvabitch Alastair would not break him with a fairy tale that innocent people told their children, angels watch over you, but his mother had not been innocent in all of this, had she, she had sold Sammy to the Devil, and Castiel had laid a hand on his shoulder (but had not touched his mark, why hadn't—) and had looked at Dean with something like sorrow, and didn't seem to mind when Dean called him Cas, brought him down to his level, and fuck, here he was again, out of options, out of luck, out of fuel, and his brother was someone he didn't recognize.
The sickest thing was how that was the part that had felt real, felt painful in a way that Alastair could have never devised. Dean's soul was putting himself in the hands of a demon bitch, and there was fuck all that Dean could do about it. This was how he broke then, in the words of a prayer, the first he'd ever said, and he hadn't known whom he was praying to, but it had been Cas who showed up, eyes bluer than any summer sky Dean had ever seen, face striated by the colours of a vending machine, and said, faith is a good sign, Dean. What was it a sign of, Dean would have liked to know, and it wasn't faith, not by a long shot, but what could a creature like Castiel have known of desperation? Castiel who stood close, too close, but had touched him only twice, who'd said, it's not blame that rests on you, it's fate, and yeah, that was fucking Winchester Gospel for you, cursed from the start, the two of them, before they were in the womb, born under a bad sign.
But Cas had helped, and Dean had begun to think—but of course, Cas left, and there was only poor, stupid Jimmy Novak, and then Cas was back, but not really, Cas was a stranger, and Dean didn't know when he'd stopped thinking of Cas as a stranger, and just, strange—
Dean had laid one across Castiel's marble-face that didn't shatter, tried, because what else could he have done? This is real, this is the only thing that's worth it and even before the disappointment of having Cas leave could sink in, the handprint had buzzed and ached and tingled as Cas pressed him against a wall and pressed a palm against his lips and then bled on the floor, for Dean, (whom he didn't serve) and Cas had said, I'll hold them all off, go save him, but of course it had been too late, because that was the story of Dean's life, too late, too late.
Cas comes back, and oh look, Cas has learnt what desperation means, after all. There's something wild in his eyes, that he tries to hide but doesn't succeed when he says, we need God, it's not theological, it's strategic, and if Dean had a moment to take a breath, he would have wanted to sit Cas down, and say, listen man, I understand it, but this is a road to nowhere, you're only going to waste your time, you gotta stop loving what can't love you back, and yeah, that'd have been hypocritical of him, but so what, that was pretty low down on Dean's laundry list of sins.
But it's the Apocalypse, and as it happens Dean's got his own shit to deal with, and Cas isn't his responsibility, so what if he just died for Dean or whatever, alright, Dean owes him, but not like that.
And now it's the end of the world, their last night on earth, and Dean's not too late to make Cas smile at him, confused but fond, and Castiel's smile is nothing like Jimmy Novak's. Cas is nothing like Jimmy Novak who'd just been a naive man in an ugly suit, and well. He'd promised Cas a good time, and Dean's not got a lot to give Cas, by way of thanks or comfort or anything, and what had Cas said that time? Everything on earth is pain, but that's only cause he doesn't know, the good parts, the best parts, and before Dean can chicken out of it, he's pressing Cas up against the Impala, and Cas is letting him, goes willing, pliant, staring at him, eyes wide, and Dean sees the moment it happens, the small hitch of breath he takes, that Cas, who doesn't need to breathe makes, and his eyes dart to Dean's lips and flash up again, and Dean's kissing him, and it's—riding a comet—
Cas doesn't know how to kiss.
But that's fine, that's a-ok, because Dean does, and Dean can show him, and Cas is a quick learner, zero to six hundred in twenty seconds or less, and now it's Dean who can't breathe except in loud, panting gasps, Cas's warm, strong hand wrapped with his around their dicks, not enough slick, a little too rough, too painful, perfect, perfect, and Cas is eating his face, teeth sharp and painful on Dean's lips, eyes still wide open and unblinking, the freak, but his gaze is hot and ferocious, and Dean's eyes flutter shut again on a moan, because Dean's burning, has been burning all this time, he realizes, for this, for—
Cas rips his sleeve off, jacket and shirt, both gone, and then his hand is there, and Dean's coming, wet, thick and nasty all over an angel's hand, he should be going to hell for this, except Cas hadn't let him stay there, and hadn't thrown him back, and this was real, Dean shuddering, face hidden in the crook of Cas' neck, trembling, his knees giving way, but Cas' got him, the hand on his shoulder slipping lower, around his back to hold him up, holding him in place, and Dean should— he should—
He wakes up alone in a motel room, and there is a tomorrow, and then the day after, but no Cas, and then there is two thousand fucking fourteen, and Cas is still there in the ruins that Sam and Dean made of the world , jesus fucking christ on a candy stick, Cas is still there.
Cas is broken, because Dean did that to him, and Cas kisses him, once, open mouthed and filthy, and then draws back and says, the day I decide to stay, make sure I don't, please, if you ever cared even a little, promise me, and then Cas goes off to die with even-more-of-an-asshole-future-him, because that's just how he rolls.
If that mook Zach's little thought experiment had taught him anything, it should have been this- that Cas was off limits.
That he shouldn't keeping finding ways to keep him close.
He shouldn't keep finding ways to kiss Cas, but that's exactly what he does.
The world's ending around them in slow motion and they are fucking.
They're fucking in dank, stinking alleys, blood running down Dean's chin, and Cas licking it up, and feeding it back to him, tongue practically molesting Dean's tonsils, fingers squeezing his neck, rubbing against each other fully clothed, until Dean's coming in his pants. They're fucking on stained bedsheets of grimy hotel rooms, lights flickering, crackling, every electronic instrument in a five mile radius gone haywire, the smell of ozone and jizz making Dean dizzier, as Cas pounds him through four successive orgasms, each more spectacular and painful than the last, Dean's body a limp rag after. They're fucking squeezed together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean hunched over Cas, occasionally knocking his head on the roof, but he can't stop, won't stop, nothing has felt this good, a thick fat dick inside him, filling up his empty places, and Cas slack-mouthed, and eyes closed under him, hands wrapped around Dean's biceps so tight that Dean's gotta wear long sleeves through the hottest summer in three centuries, so that Sammy won't ask.
Sam knows, of course he does.
Cas isn't subtle when he turns up, dishevelled, hair sticking out in five different directions, looking pissed off and tired; shrinking, somehow, but still with that crackling power about him, and not looking at anyone or anything except at Dean, like all the roads he's taken looking for God have only led him straight back to Dean. Sam's taken to clearing his throat awkwardly, and hot-footing it out of hearing range the moment Cas appears, and just as well, Dean doesn't have it in him anymore to be quiet, sprawled wide open on the bed, hands twisting in the sheets as Cas fucks him fuck, fuck, fuck, jesus fuck, if he hadn't already gone to hell, surely this would send him there, profaning this holy thing of god, whose tongue was made for songs of praise and worship, and is instead all the way up Dean's ass, dragging an orgasm out of him.
It's alright, he reasons, on the days Cas is gone, and Sam is there, but gone.
Cas and him, they're not so different after all. They're both the disappointing sons of deadbeat dads, and Cas is losing his wings and his faith at approximately the same speed that Dean's losing everything and everyone, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and there's no way to fix it, no way to undo it, and he's going to have to kill the love of his life, and if this is his consolation prize, he's going to take it.
(Dean loves taking it.)
Dean will take it and he doesn't want to talk about it, and hey, apparently, neither does Cas, so that's peachy, that's perfect, and Dean shouldn't, but he does, and Cas lets him, and he does, right until Sam gets thrown into the pit, and Dean doesn't.
Cas' grace knits him together, once more, and then he's gone, and so is Dean.
Cas comes back.
But he's more of a stranger than he'd ever been, even in that barn, what feels like a lifetime ago, and he won't talk, and sure as fuck won't listen, and his blue gaze when it meets Dean's is cool as lake water, as if Dean doesn't know what Cas sounds like, strung out of his mind with pleasure, from having Dean hold him down with a binding sigil and fuck him raw.
As if they'd never been friends, and perhaps they hadn't, that was just what it was like in the war, and the war was over, and so were they.
Cas is all impatience, and anger, and sullen resentment, brittle in a way that scares Dean if he really thinks about it, because it's Cas, and something's wrong, Dean can feel it deep in his bones, just like he knew with Sammy, but he—
Look, if Cas wants to reach him, he knows how to call.
But then it's too late (again) and there's a war (again, or it was never over, why is it never over), only this time it's Cas that Dean needs to kill, really kill, and fuck if he knows how, but in the end, all he can do is watch as Cas walks into the water, and all that's left of him is a stained, torn trenchcoat.
Dean keeps it.
He can't look at it, can't stand to, that entire year, but he keeps it.
And then Cas comes back (again), but then he's gone (again) and what had Dean expected, really?
And Dean's tired, ok, so tired, so tired and sick and done, and the war is still on—maybe he shouldn't have left Cas, maybe he should have tried harder, maybe he should have called, maybe it wouldn't have all gone to shit, if Dean hadn't screwed it up once again, hadn't failed—
"Cas" he says, squinting against the sun on his face, up at where Cas is perched on the roof of the Impala. "Why are you covered in bees?"
The air is filled with a humming that Dean's only 90% certain are the bees.
"They like me, Dean," says Cas, as though that were a reasonable explanation, and fuck knows, maybe it was, in that fucked up noodle of his. "They wanted me to stay with them."
Dean rubs his hands over his eyes.
"You maybe want to come inside and talk?"
Crazy or not, they needed all the help they could—
Cas hops down from the car, and the bees rise up in an angry, buzzing cloud before settling back.
"Lose the bees first", says Dean, and then regrets it, when Cas stands before him naked as a new-born.
"Dude!" yelps Dean, "Come on! Where the fuck are your clothes?"
"I—", says Cas, sounding lost and forlorn as he stares down at himself. "I'm not sure. The bees didn't like them."
And fuck, like this, Dean can see that Cas is just skin and bone, pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, hip bones jutting out—
"Well, mojo them back from wherever you left them", Dean growls, "There's a sandwich in it for you."
Cas looks up, hopeful.
"Sure", says Dean and hopes to god the vending machine has something that resembles a sandwich. "But get some.." he waves his hands, not looking at Cas, because it hurts to see him like this.
There's nothing like a sandwich in the machine, so he ends up instructing Cas to wait for him in the room while he makes a quick run to the nearest store. He picks up some orange juice and bananas while he's at it, along with the bread, peanut butter and jam.
"This is very kind of you, Dean" says Cas, as he sits (fully clothed, in his hospital scrubs and trenchcoat), his hands in his lap.
"So, what, you need to eat these days?" Dean queries. "You look like you've just spent six months on a fad diet".
Cas looks away, up at the ceiling.
"The grace is more useful for other things" he says, "There's so much to do. So many creatures in pain. I forget to."
"Listen", starts Dean, because he can guess where this is coming from, hell, it isn't like—
"Is my sandwich ready?"
Dean slides it across the table, and watches as Cas wolfs it down.
There's a bit of jam that gets stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Dean gestures at it, and then, when Cas looks confused, reaches out to—
Dean freezes, hand stuck awkwardly in mid-air, throat closing up.
He leans back, withdrawing his hand.
"You've got some jam smeared at the corner of your mouth, like a goddamned three year old, Cas".
"Oh", says Cas, and it vanishes.
Dean swallows the guess you don’t mind wasting your mojo on that then, that sits on his tongue, and Cas finishes his sandwich, suddenly quiet, staring down at his sandwich, though it wasn't like he'd been saying anything before, but it's a different sort of quiet between them now, filled with all the things that Dean wants to scream at him, and can't.
Cas doesn't touch the bananas, but slurps the orange juice, loudly.
Dean watches as Cas licks his lips, tongue darting out to taste the last of it.
When he looks up, Cas is looking at him.
He feels his cheeks heat, caught out.
"You’re sweet", says Cas, suddenly. "Sweeter than all the honey in the world".
And before Dean can process it, he leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's; a butterfly of a kiss, and then he's gone, in a quiet whoosh, and Dean's left alone, and when he wets his suddenly parched lips, he can taste the faint bitter-sour flavour of canned orange on them.
Well, Dean's not making the same mistake twice.
There's no way he's gonna leave Cas behind.
Where's the angel, he asks, as he hacks his way through Purgatory, where's the angel?
Cas, he prays, c'mon man. Don't do this to me.
Once he gets slashed by something, some kind of hellbreed that seemed half werewolf, half vampire, and it's pretty bad, but somehow he manages to lose them, holed up high up in cave he'd discovered in some time ago. The view's spectacular from the ridge or would be, if the hills and valleys and forests weren't teeming with things that were out for his blood, and Cas'.
He manages the staunch the bleeding. The gash isn't too deep after all, but he's gonna have to stay put for a couple of days. But then the chills start, and he thinks, shit, shit. Starting a fire is a sure way to get killed, no way he's gonna be able to take on anything more dangerous than a field mouse right now, and fuck, he's exhausted, suddenly, and ok, this wasn't good, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet his face—
Cocooned in the softest of embraces, safe, untouchable.
"Mom?" he whispers, "Is that you?"
A hand brushes over his forehead, light and gentle.
He struggles to open his eyes, which seem to be refusing to cooperate.
It's not mom.
"Cas" he rasps, bleary eyed, throat drier than a desert. "Cas?"
"Shh" says Cas, "You're safe now. Rest, Dean."
And it's true, Dean can feel it, cradled here in—Cas' wings, he thinks, sleepily, unable to hold on to the thought. Those are Cas' wings he can feel, sheltering, soft, warm.
"You found me", he mumbles, "I've been looking for you."
"Shhh", Cas rumbles, "Don't talk. It's alright."
A feather light press against his mouth, and then another, and then a third.
"I'm here", Cas whispers, "Dean. Rest now."
But when he wakes up, he's alone.
If it weren't for the healed gash, skin smooth and untouched, every aching muscle restored like he'd been checked into a fancy spa for a month, he'd have been certain he dreamt it.
Then they get topside, and he wishes it had only been a dream, and not one more thing he'd have to forget.
Sam's here, finally.
Bobby had been right, time sure passed different around here.
Sam's here now, and it's perfect.
Cas isn't around.
Or he's everywhere, but nowhere where Dean can see him, reach out and touch him.
When he asks around, he gets vague answers.
Ellen says, oh, I think Jack and Cas are in some other planetary system this week.
Two weeks later, by Dean's counting, Rufus says, you just missed him, boy, he was here helping fix my roof not half-hour ago.
Jack says, looking embarrassed, uh, I sent him on a mission, to, um, uh, Andromeda, and then, uh, I have to go, nice seeing you again, Dean, and vanishes before Dean can whup his ass for lying to his family.
Dean gets into the Impala; tells Sam he's got a supply run to make.
"You've got like a 100 cartons of beer, Dean", says Sam.
"Not beer, Sammy."
Sam gives him a long look.
Dean shrugs, look, it wasn't like Sam didn't know.
Sam nods, once, lips quirking a little.
"Good luck, then" he says.
Dean flips a finger at him.
"C'mon, Baby" he says, as he pulls onto the road, "Take me to him."
Baby's never let him down.
Of course, Cas has gone and set his feathery ass down somewhere on the highest mountain that Dean has ever seen, the top of it half hidden in a swirl of clouds. There's only a narrow trail, no way to take Baby up, so he parks her under the shade of a leafy tree of some species he's pretty sure isn't found on earth, and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist.
Jesus, but Cas could be a real dick, and it wasn't like Dean didn't already know that, but, wow.
The trail is narrow, though not very steep, and the foliage dense for most parts, as he begins to climb. There's a river or a small waterfall somewhere, he can hear the sound of it, a muted roar. Up and up it goes, through plants and shrubs- or things that look like plants or shrubs, he can't be sure of anything here, he's realized. Occasionally, a small woodland creature of indeterminate origin will cross his path. Some of them stop and stare. One or two get experimentally close, while he stands as still as possible, and lets them acclimatize themselves to his scent. The foliage isn't dense enough to block out all sunlight, and every now and again the path will emerge onto an outcrop of rock and grass, probably intended as a rest-stop for the weary. Dean's only slightly out of breath, though the air gets cooler as he goes higher. But the sun is warm enough for a sheen of sweat to form, making his t shirt stick to his spine.
He sinks down onto a convenient grassy knoll and takes a few breaths. Clouds float lazily over the valley below, that stretches out farther than his eye can see. The river he's hearing winds through it, clear and blue, through acres and acres of green and violet, and brown and red. He turns his face up toward the sky.
Was it possible to get sunburn in Heaven?
Well, he was going to find out.
He turns his head a little.
He's about half way up the mountain, he estimates.
Given the position of the sun, he's been climbing about three hours.
Making me work for it, huh, buddy? Dick move, Cas, gotta tell you that.
Something rustles in the grass near him: a tiny grass snake, slim and green.
Snakes in paradise, wow, wasn't that theologically wrong or something?
But it gives him a beady eyed look and slithers over his outstretched palm and then away, unbothered, leaving behind a fleeting sense of dry leather.
"Cas?" he says, softly. "You're waiting for me, right?"
He doesn't know what he'll do if Cas isn't.
The thought makes his heart triphammer in his chest, fear gripping it.
What if he was too late, again?
But he's got to believe that he's right about this.
That he's here because Cas is ready, finally, to let Dean find him.
In those years after Purgatory, they'd never managed, somehow to make it work.
Every time Cas left—every time Cas came back—it got harder, somehow, to say, don't go, please, I need you, forgive me, stay.
Dean- he'd just become angrier and meaner, falling deeper and deeper and this was a grave that even Cas couldn't pull him out of. And then, when he'd been ready-almost—that second time in Purgatory, it had seemed like Cas wasn't ready, though surely, he knew, why else had he stopped Dean—
But the joke was on Dean, because Cas hadn't known, and then it had been too late. Cas was slipping through his fingers one more time, beatific in his joy, as he threw himself into the pit for Dean, and Dean had known, had known, that it was the last time.
When it was all over, he had waited.
Hope was a thing with feathers.
He had waited for Jack to bring Cas back to them, to Dean.
But Jack hadn't.
No way that Jack hadn't sprung Cas from the Empty, there was just no fucking way that would have happened, so that meant that Cas didn't want to see Dean.
And alright, maybe Dean deserved that, maybe that was his penance, and he would do it, gladly.
He wouldn't complain, and he'd go through the rest of his life with a piece of him missing, and it was what it was, there were things you couldn't undo, there were sorrows that had to be borne.
On the bad days, after a hunt that went wrong- there were, after all, still some of those—he'd lie in bed, every tendon and muscle and bone aching, and when he closed his eyes, he'd try to will himself back there, to that cave in Purgatory, the safety and comfort of Cas' shelter, and the sweet press of his lips against Dean's.
Sweeter than all the honey in the world.
He blinks awake.
Apparently he'd taken a nap, though given that the sun was still steadily beating down on his face—and yes, you could get sunburn in heaven, thanks for nothing Jack—it hadn't been too long.
It takes another two hours, and he's almost giving up hope, wondering whether he's going to end up just spending the night alone on this mountain after all, when he breaks through a particularly dense grove and finds himself in a middle of a garden.
The garden- in flagrant, dizzying bloom around a cobbled stone path that leads to a small wooden cabin nestled against the wall of the mountain- has an occupant.
Dean feels like his breath was punched out of him.
My true form is as tall as the Chrysler building, Cas had once said, the lying liar that he was, because he's probably twice as tall. He's all iridescent wings that span twenty feet either side, and a dozen wheels spinning in different directions and something that looks like blue flames trailing the edges of his wings, and Dean is—
Cas turns toward him at that, and Dean senses his-shock?- before the almost unbearable brightness dims slowly, coalescing into a familiar shape.
"Not quite", says Cas. "Hello, Dean."
Dean's feet seem locked to the ground, and Cas doesn't make a move toward him either.
"Hi", Dean breathes out, the air rushing out of his lungs with the word. "Cas."
Cas has switched out the trenchcoat and suit for comfortable looking pair of white linen pants and a loose short tunic of sky blue, that match his eyes, and there's what looks like a week's worth of stubble along his jaw.
"Heaven can't afford a razor?" is what Dean says next, like the idiot he is.
Cas' eyes crinkle. "I've been told it makes me more attractive".
What, who- no- fuck.
Dean's already up in Cas' space before he realizes it.
"Who told you that?" he rasps, and up close he can see the flecks of grey in the stubble, and at Cas' temples, and yes, it made him breathtakingly hot, but damned if Dean was going to— "They were lying, just so you know."
Cas is smiling at him.
"Dean," he says, softly.
Dean reaches out to run a finger against his jaw, going against the grain, ends up with his fingers resting lightly against Cas' cheek, just under his ear.
"You’re a dick" he says, softly, "you know that?"
"I've been" starts Dean, and then finds he's out of words, takes a shuddery breath instead, furiously trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes.
Cas's hands cup his face, warm and sure, and he draws Dean's forehead down to his.
"I know", Cas says, softly. "But I would do it again if it meant I saved you. I would do it all again."
"I should have told you," whispers Dean, "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough."
"Dean", says Cas, softly, "You've always been enough."
Above them the sky starts turning a fiery orange as the first of the suns starts to set.
Cas' wings- which he hasn't tucked away- take on a metallic shine, but they feel warm, and safe, just like Dean remembers.
Dean kisses him, softly, once, then again, then again.
"Sweeter than all the honey in the world", he whispers, glad that there's nobody to hear this but Cas.
"You don't even like honey", says Cas, after a moment. "You never let Sam put any in your tea."
Dean draws back.
"You don’t remember", he accuses, genuinely horrified.
Cas' brows draw together in a frown.
"You kissed me! And said—well you said what you said! Back in the day when you were all crazy!"
Dean groans, thumping his head onto Cas' shoulder.
Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and tucks him closer in his embrace.
"I remember" he confesses, quietly, after a moment. "But I thought you'd want to forget it."
"Cas", Dean, sighing, as he turns to nuzzle the soft, tender skin beneath Cas' ear, placing a small kiss there, as he presses closer. "Let's never talk about this again, ok?"
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— 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐭𝐡
chapter summary; Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook.
overall warnings; gorey scenes, depictions of death, appearance of weapons, survival!au, apocalypse!au, super l o o s e bird box!au (no birds - jk is the bird 👀), eventual smut, dark and angsty, character death
chapter specifics; depictions of death, depictions of animal dissection, fall of society, otherworldly entities, appearance of weapons, assault of main character, mentioned acts of self-sacrifice, brief nudity
notes; yes this is dark and sad BUT it’s the introductory part where I have to dump all this info on u guys so u understand later hehe enjoy, all feedback is welcome !!!
special thanks to; rumu ( @kigurumu ) my amazing proof reader and editor🥺 i would be in a ditch without her ...
When Jungkook was in his last year of primary school, his class had been tasked with the very grown up job of caring for the school’s pet rabbit. It was a fuzzy brown ball that lived in a wooden cage, built along the side of their communal garden; a little on the overweight side, a fact that greatly confused the school. As far as his classmates and teachers were concerned, the rabbit ate its regularly scheduled two meals during school hours, an additional serving given to him by the night custodian. A scan through the cameras proved that no one broke into the primary school lot after hours, no one was unnecessarily feeding the rabbit. So there was really no reason for the rabbit to be as big as it was.
But Jungkook knew better.
The rabbit, as endearing and angelic as it appeared, was an intelligent creature that had wormed its way through a loose board on the side of his cage, sneaking into the neighboring garden frequently to munch through their cherry tomatoes. It always did so when it knew no one was around, save for the day Jungkook had seen it, the two of them caught in a staring battle that had both parties grappling for a way out.
Jungkook had never snitched.
He simply pocketed that little secret for himself to laugh about when his mind drifted too far from the material on the chalkboard. He remembered the tiny twitch of its nose as it regarded Jungkook. Its eyes were two dark marbles, no signs of the milky white that Jungkook had, zeroed in on Jungkook’s frozen figure. In the moment, Jungkook was amazed by its cunning nature, even more so by the way it had come to recognize him, repeatedly showing off his little trick whenever it was Jungkook’s turn to clean his cage. He slipped to and from the garden with ease, as if he trusted Jungkook to carry this secret to the grave.
He did, and when he graduated from primary school into secondary school, he often found himself wondering what that sneaky rabbit was up to then. Had it been discovered? Had the adults caught wind of the rabbit’s thieving nature and patched up the board? He’d never know. All he knew was that rabbits were quite devious creatures. A cute exterior that hid a more complex personality.
It is probably why he doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse now, dark brown fur clutched tightly between his knuckles, squeezing until the last breath escapes the small rodent. The memory flashes through his eyes, a glance into an innocence he will never have again. The rabbit thrashes in between his hands, muscular legs kicking wildly until finally, it falls still.
He should feel bad, he knows he should.
This animal had played a nostalgic role in his youth; for a brief moment, this rabbit had been a leading source of happiness for him. Its black eyes remain open, forever frozen on Jungkook during its last few moments. Jungkook should be disappointed in himself for ever harming such a creature, and he almost does, before he’s interrupted by the painful tightening of his insides contracting on an empty stomach.
So he pushes it away, choosing to rise to his feet instead, dead catch dangling in one hand.
The trek back to the gas station is lonely. When he crosses the street, there is no angry driver to honk at him for not checking both ways, or a jogger rudely bumping into his shoulder. The street is empty just like the rest of the town.
Jungkook imagines it was probably like this before anyway. It’s practically in the middle of nowhere, this place he finds himself in, just another unimpressionable name on a map that Jungkook’s probably never heard of. There’s a main street lined with essentials—a diner, a car shop, and this gas station—and a few tiny homes littered behind it. It was one of those places his family would drive through on their way to see a far-off family member or as a stop on a road trip.
Either way, it looks exactly like the handful of towns he’s been through, all small and empty just like this. At least in the city there was variety, there was excitement. The most exciting thing Jungkook sees these days is the occasional deer.
The bell above the door chimes when Jungkook enters, not that there is anyone it would have alerted of his presence. It’s empty just like the rest of the town. Well, kinda. There’s a body in the women’s restroom that had scared the shit out of Jungkook when he first arrived, had left him trembling in shock for about an hour before he was able to go back and tug the stall door shut.
He finds them occasionally, the undeserving victims of an evil he will never understand. Each encounter wears him down, until eventually he feels no emotion toward them at all. They were bodies, he tells himself, nothing else.
How they ended up like that is another story in itself.
Truthfully, Jungkook isn’t completely sure how it happened, but he remembers when it started.
He remembers the cacophony of laughter that had filled their club bus, some corny Top 50 song filling the speakers, as they had celebrated another win that would push them further up the league ranks. His feet were sore from all the running they’d done on the pitch that day, and he was hungry as hell. Luckily they’d been on their way to their favorite celebratory diner, ready to suck the place dry of its Cherry Coke and bottomless fries the same way they did every other Saturday after a victory.
Jungkook’s coach had pulled him aside shortly before they arrived and had mentioned the possibility of Jungkook becoming the team’s captain next season. He had been ecstatic at the news, immediately pulling his phone out to call his dad.
His hand stills on the counter where the dead rabbit is limply sprawled across. He can’t remember where the switchblade he’d opened last week was, so he stomps to the other end of the shop, snatching another one off a rack. The only problem then is the zip tie that binds the blade to the cardboard display sheet. It doesn’t give when he tugs at it, and with a growing sense of irritation, Jungkook realizes he doesn’t know where the scissors are either. Before he can get too down on himself for misplacing things again, he angrily tears at the tie, loops two fingers on opposite ends. The skin on his palms pales at the pressure, and one mighty tug later has the tie snapping apart.
There. Now he could skin the rabbit in peace.
His dad answered on the second ring, immediately launching into a congratulatory song. Jungkook’s parents watched all his games, sometimes from the sidelines, sometimes through a TV. They were his biggest fans, the same people who had first enrolled him into summer little league watching him grow into the leading scorer of his city’s club.
The first chorus had just ended when the coach bus began swerving, the men stumbling across the aisle as it became apparent it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Their manager had shouted first, snapped at them to find their seats, before lurching forward to the driver’s seat to presumably stabilize the vehicle. An effort made in vain when the bus flipped. It had almost happened in slow motion, Jungkook recalls, the two turns of the bus, ultimately skidding to a stop on its side, ramming straight into a light pole.
The initial shock had lasted for a few beats, the pained groans from his teammates around him slowly filtering back into his ringing ears. Some of them had panicked right away, choked gasps as they struggled to breathe. Dongmin was the first to get up, jamming the emergency window open on the side of the bus that wasn’t flush to the pavement.
Immediately, Jungkook knew something was very wrong.
Outside there were terrified screams from all around, the telltale shriek of car brakes working hard, the eerie wailing of weather sirens. Was it a storm? A quake? Jungkook didn’t know as he climbed out of the wreckage, taking Mingyu’s hand as he hopped off the side of their bus.
The ears are cut off first.
Two, silky appendages that don’t stand a chance against the blade. Without them, Jungkook finds the rabbit looks funnily enough like an otter. But with the separation of the ears comes an unsettling feeling in Jungkook’s chest as he falters.
He’s never killed a rabbit before, but he has killed a handful of birds these past few weeks. He imagines the process is the same. With the birds, one quick twist of the neck made them go limp, their feathers easily falling away. With the rabbit, Jungkook only remembers the rapid thumping of its hind legs and the soft texture of its ears.
He didn't particularly care for the birds—and he probably never would. The rabbit, his memories remind him, is a different story.
There was neither a storm nor a quake that had brought upon this chaos. Whirling around, there was no imminent attack occurring, no invasion, that could cause all these people to suddenly lose all semblance of normalcy.
There was a woman beside a fire hydrant, an abandoned stroller flipped on its side. A bundle of fabric in her arms cried loudly, nearly drowning out her own tears as she begged for her life. From what? There was nothing attacking her, nothing threatening her and her child. But the longer Jungkook watched, the more distraught she became, until eventually, her eyes cleared over. Her screaming stopped, though the baby’s continued. She began ramming her head face-first against the metal of the hydrant, blood gushing down over her eyes.
Jungkook and his teammates had stood by in horror, watched her bash her head in until she fell back lifelessly, the child on her chest wailing before a sight it would never understand.
It was Jaehyun who had urged them to move the second time, pulled him away from the scene before them.
With every stride he took, he was rewarded with similar scenes. All around him the chaos spread, people being infected with this, this madness, Jungkook supposed.
They’d stepped out of their cars in a daze, eyes clouded over before taking their own lives in a multitude of ways. It was a disturbing scene to watch, one that spurred Jungkook to run faster and faster, until he bumped into the back of a teammate that had been running before him. He remembers the shout he’d let out, frustratedly scolding the man for stopping now of all times. He was their main striker, could run faster than anyone else on the team, yet here he was, frozen stiff.
Then, slowly, he’d turned around. Jungkook had watched as if behind a glass wall, watched a man he had played alongside with for years saunter over to where the railing of the highway began. His face was devoid of any fear, almost peaceful, as he climbed over.
Jungkook coughs, the overwhelming stench of animal blood flooding his nostrils. This is always the most difficult part for him, trying to overcome the initial putrid stench as he slices the animal open with one clean cut down its ventral side. When he does, one of the rabbit’s hind legs surprises him by twitching.
He vaguely remembers learning this in a high school anatomy class. Something about the stiffening of muscles after death. Rigor mortis? He’s not really sure, pushing the leg to lay flat against the table gently. He lets out a humorless snort, like this animal needed this type of caring treatment now.
The wail Jungkook had let out had wrenched itself from the depths of his soul, and he fell to the ground in horror at the scene he’d just witnessed. His forehead touched the rough pavement beneath him, body trembling as his mind struggled to process the world around him. As he did so, a strong gust of wind whipped around him, the mania around him increasing as it went. It fluttered through the cotton of his tracksuit, tickled his skin as it went, until eventually disappearing.
He had either laid there for seconds or hours. Jungkook wasn’t sure. Dongmin had been the one that had finally hauled him to his feet, grip deathly tight around his wrist as he pulled him along.
They ran and ran, until the forest outside the city came to view. He didn’t want to look back, in fear that whatever had possessed those people would get him too. He was out of breath and lost, caught up in the whirlwind of whatever those things were that made people lose their minds. He was comforted by the fact Dongmin was there. Mingyu and Jaehyun, too. He was too afraid to ask where the others were.
There’s a hot dog cooker on the counter, thick with years of grease. The overhead heating lamp takes a moment to flicker to life, and when Jungkook decides it’s stable, he tosses his lunch onto it, watches the pink meat roll back and forth.
He could use the sacks of coal littered along the back aisle to start a real fire, the prongs and tools above them, but that was too much work.
They had done fine for a while, aimlessly traveling about in search of help. But after the first town they realized whatever happened that day in the city wasn’t an isolated event. The entity had scoured through this town too, leaving bodies in its wake at a smaller scale compared to what had happened in the city, but just as horrific. They were a fleeting creature, whatever they were, that confronted people with their greatest fears. Infected them with a madness, as Jungkook has grown to call it, so twisted and gruesome that it drove people insane. After infecting every person with the madness they’d leave. They seldom returned, most likely content with the way they left things.
From Jungkook’s understanding, the entity was a singular being that felt like a thousand. It could easily spread over large places, infect everyone with the madness at once, but that would be too easy. It took pleasure in catching people one by one, focusing its powers to properly torture each individual to the fullest.
Their little gang had gotten along fairly okay after that realization, their own natural abilities supporting each other. Dongmin led them, mostly because he was the only one among them with a sense of direction. Jungkook knew which way was what only when the sun rose and set. During the day he was clueless. Dongmin always knew which way was north or south, east or west, regardless of the time of day.
Mingyu and Jaehyun had been the brawns of the group, muscular bodies lifting fallen signs from in front of shop entrances, wrenching car doors open. There wasn’t a place they couldn’t get into. They were quick to barricade buildings they slept in, even better at dismantling them. Without them, Jungkook thinks they’d have starved early on.
As for Jungkook, well. Jungkook had a special ability under his belt—he could sense the entity before the others. It was difficult to explain such a feeling, but he knew he had it because he’d saved them many a time. Sure, the tell-tale gust of wind alerted them of the entity entering their little circle, but that was useless. Once the entity was there, they didn’t go away until they completed whatever fucked up mission they had.
It was a tickling on the back of his neck, the faint feeling of never being alone that Jungkook felt, usually a few minutes before they appeared. It was like the uncomfortable silence of a concert hall, the voices all echoey and distorted. It awoke an animalistic reaction in Jungkook, one that would have him shoving his friends into a pile of dead bodies.
Whatever it was, they didn’t distinguish well between those alive and those, well, not alive. Tricking them was by no means a simple feat, but it certainly did save them a few times, even if Jungkook was forced to lie face to face with an unmoving figure, stare into the horrified gaze of someone who was taken too soon.
Overall the four of them together were a great team. Well, were. It's been a couple weeks now since they’d gotten separated. Since he got separated, watched their retreating forms head down to a lake to bathe. He had been reckless, forgot about the feeling behind his neck until it was too late, the window shutters of the motel they’d taken shelter in suddenly flailing wildly.
He remembers dropping to the ground with shut eyes, cupping his hands over his ears as the sinister presence of the entity surrounded him, trying to get inside his head. He had suffered through it for twenty minutes, quietly sobbing against the motel’s ugly green carpet.
Just as he’d resigned himself to the same painful death he’d seen so many others fall prey to, he’d heard Mingyu’s harsh laughter, the soft chattering of voices, as his friends returned to the motel.
He knew what he had to do then, desperate to save his friends from suffering through this same, undeserved pain.
So Jungkook did the same thing they’d been doing until then: he ran.
Blindly at first, arms feeling around for the door, for his coat. The pavement of the single road that passed through this town had been smooth, his ratty shoes slapping hard against it. He could feel the tears squeezing out from his screwed eyelids, the air that whipped at his face with every step he took. The entity had followed him for hours, whispering in his ear, caressing his skin.
He’s not sure how long he ran, how long he wished it would all end, as he listened to those twisted visions. Jungkook just knows that one moment he was running, and the next he was falling, tumbling into a small stream filled with cold water that soaked him to the bone.
Beneath the water, all sound was distorted. He couldn’t hear the entity, nor sense its all-consuming presence. And when Jungkook had broken through the surface, gasping for air, he couldn’t feel it there either.
In his paranoia, he had sat there for an hour, routinely dunking his head in and out until he was brave enough to open his eyes again.
That had been weeks ago. Jungkook’s great escape from the entity feels so far away now, he thinks, idly watching the meat roll over the hot dog cooker. It’ll be hours before it’s cooked safely, but Jungkook will probably grow impatient and eat it before. Whatever, he thinks, settling against a plastic chair behind the counter. The cash box is unlocked, a multitude of bills sitting out in the open. Jungkook flips through them, figures they’re pretty useless now.
If the entity had been able to dismantle a city as populous as the one Jungkook had lived in, the one he had spent his whole life in, he imagines it’s done it again. After all, the towns he’s crossed through until this point were all devoid of life.
He’d like to wash his hands after touching all that money, but he knows none of the water lines in this town work. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a shower or cleaned himself. The old clean freak in him was suffering.
He’s just about settled in for a nap when he hears something.
It’s quiet at first, a faint humming from outside. As it grows closer it becomes louder, until Jungkook can distinguish the sounds of chattering somewhere down the street. Shit, he panics. He’ll never be able to say why exactly the thought of meeting other people terrifies him, but it does. He slinks down behind the counter, glancing at the emergency exit that leads to the dumpsters behind the gas station.
He shifts over slowly, ears perked like the rabbit’s. The voices grow closer, and when the bell over the door rings, Jungkook uses the opportunity to shuffle completely across the floor.
There’s a ball of nerves caught in his throat as he listens to these people come in, though it will never match up to the fear that the entity instills in him. They move around the shop, picking up things as they go. There’s a relaxed tone to their words, like they’re the least bit worried about whatever horror awaits them, just another group of friends stopping by a convenience store.
In another life, he’d feel drawn to such a group. He was a somewhat shy kid in high school, too focused on his training to truly make friends. Not that he didn’t have any; the soccer team had always been his friends. Jungkook could always count on them, young boys and men who were there for him at the lowest points in his career. College had been the same, and by the time he made it into the league nothing much had changed.
After being separated from his friends now, he doesn’t see the point in making new ones. They were all going to die anyway.
When he places his hand on the doorknob, the metal releases an obnoxiously loud creak. Jungkook freezes, as do the people on the other side of the counter. The longest second of his life passes, breath caught in his throat as he waits for them to brush it off, letting him escape into the forest behind him in peace.
They eventually do, conversations picking up albeit more quietly than before. Jungkook exhales, tightens his hand around the knob as he turns it. It doesn’t make a sound.
But when Jungkook nudges the door open, the opposing air on both ends emits a popping noise, and that sets the group off. “What was that?” One of them barks, and before they can find him, Jungkook is flinging the door open, all reservations thrown aside as he stumbles into the forest.
He tears through the initial overgrowth of bushes behind the gas station, stumbling into the dirt. Faceless voices are shouting behind him, their hurried footsteps jumping over the counter in their attempt to grab him.
Fuck, why were they chasing him? Why couldn’t they just let him leave? He wasn’t the entity they feared, he was just some guy trying to live.
He runs for about twenty yards, but the tree line nearest to the town is thin, and he doesn’t doubt they can see him out in plain sight. He needs to lose them and fast. Running a few more meters, he dives into a thicket of bushes. If he curls himself up small enough, maybe they won’t see the glimpses of his blue tracksuit from above.
He knows it’s stupid, thinking the distance will delude them into thinking he was farther or closer, but what else can Jungkook do? Literally nothing. He hugs his knees to his chest, slows his breathing as they come up closer.
“Where’d he go?” One of them shouts a few meters ahead of him.
Jungkook holds his breath, listens to their dragging footsteps against the forest floor. They pad around for a few minutes, probably sweeping over the tree line in search of him. One of them comes scarily close to his hiding spot, and through the gaps in the flora, Jungkook can see a knife strapped around their thigh. Eventually, they seem to congregate a little further away from him, quiet murmurs as they pronounce him gone.
Jungkook nearly cries in relief when they begin marching away.
He celebrates too soon.
“You alright?” One of them calls to another, and a long beat of silence follows. Jungkook wonders if they got injured, hurt themselves in their hurry to catch him, but he finds he doesn’t really care anyway. Just as that selfish thought hits, so does someone’s boot against his face.
Jungkook splutters, the iron taste of blood flooding his mouth as someone drags him out from the bush, the cold glare of a stranger greets his blurry vision. “Got ya,” he sneers, shoving Jungkook down to the ground. “Look what I found,” he calls to the others, and they all chatter excitedly at his find, swarming Jungkook’s body.
A wave of emotion floods him one by one. First is the fear that tightens around his heart when he registers the guns in their hands, on their waists, or over their backs. The knife alone had startled Jungkook; the sight of an even more murderous weapon scared him shitless. Second is the confusion, similar to the one from earlier. Didn’t they recognize there were bigger, scarier evils out there to worry about? Why were they so bent on catching him, just another straggler as far as they were concerned. Lastly is overwhelming humiliation.
Here he was, pushed to the ground in front of a group of strangers who sneered and laughed at his trembling form. They were obviously amused by his discomfort. Jungkook never wanted to hide so bad in his life.
The one from before nudges him hard in the ribs, pulling a pained groan from Jungkook. “Who are you with?” He spits, narrowed eyes focused on Jungkook.
Jungkook flounders, weakly covering his body with his arms. “H-Huh?” He stutters, not understanding their question. Who was he with? Obviously no one. Why else would he be here hiding in the forest like a baby?
The man, who Jungkook assumes is their leader, doesn’t find his answer amusing it seems, as he digs the toe of his shoe against Jungkook’s side again, rough enough to fracture. “Who the fuck are you with?” He repeats. Jungkook flinches.
What is he supposed to say? No one, I’m alone and scared of whatever is out here. As if the man would understand. The glint in his eye tells Jungkook he won’t be gaining any sympathy points with that one.
Enraged with Jungkook’s lack of response, he begins raining down more painful blows against him. The others join in, kicking his quivering body until Jungkook is crying out, begging them to stop.
After all his grueling efforts running from the entity, he can’t believe he’s going to die at the hands of another human. Fate was cruel.
Just as he’s resigned himself to his shameful death, the crack of a gun bounces across the treeline, the whizzing of a bullet filling his ears. For a moment he thinks he’s been shot, body coiling up as his attackers slow to a stop.
But then one of them curses, hiking his weapon into his arms. “Fuck, where are they?”
“I don’t know!” Another responds, whirling away to scan over the area. With their attention turned away, Jungkook goes to escape, making a pitiful attempt at crawling away. “I don’t see anyone.”
The leader seethes at the reply. “Well, they’re fucking here.”
Jungkook doesn’t know who ‘they’ are or why this admittedly terrifying group of individuals is afraid of them, but he supposes he should be too. After all, whatever scared these folks was certain to petrify him.
Another gunshot sends them scrambling apart, the metal bullet digging into the wood of a tree just behind Jungkook. They all see it, his attackers sharing a look of unease amongst themselves. Finally, they seem to come to the same conclusion, gesturing for the leader to speak.
“Alright,” he shouts to no one in particular. “We get it. We’ll back off now.”
A pause, another shared look, before they slowly begin retreating in the direction of the gas station. Jungkook wants to follow them, despite how scary they are, because he’s even more terrified of whoever scared them off. When he leans up onto his elbow, one of them kicks it from under him, sending him face first into the soil.
They snicker as they leave. “Good luck with those bitches,” one of them jeers, gives him a wonderful parting gift by spitting in his face.
Feeling thoroughly humiliated, Jungkook stays put.
Maybe it’s better to let whoever is out there just end this for him now. He can’t believe his first interaction with people outside of his friends was this degrading, this disheartening. Why had he spent so much time running from the entity if this is what waited at the other end?
The rev of an engine starts up, and he watches in disgust as a Jeep full of assholes takes off down the road, hurling a multitude of insults his way one last time.
As if he didn't feel bad enough already.
So caught up in his depressing thoughts, he forgets about whoever scared them off in the first place, finally sitting up and dusting himself off. His already dirty tracksuit reeks from weeks of usage, the front now stained with blood. When he reaches up to wipe the spit off his face, he sees the dirt that crusts over the sleeve. Would anything ever go right for him?
Something moves to his left.
Jungkook pales, stills his movements as the shuffling continues, eventually registering in his ears as the harsh crunch of leaves under someone’s boot. His heart thunders in his chest, expecting another kick to the face, a shove to the ground. When a hand touches his shoulder he nearly sobs.
“It’s just a kid,” a gruff voice calls out, and the announcement has more people crawling out of obscure hiding places, more strangers appearing before him, until a new set of faces towers over him.
There’s not as many of them, only about six that surround him. The group from before easily outnumbered them two to one.
Amidst the people, one person maneuvers their way to the front, an inquisitive face that’s presence makes everyone step away from the claustrophobic half-circle they’ve formed around him. “Let me see,” the woman says, dropping down to a squat before him. She's got a pistol attached to her hip, a larger rifle slung over her back.
Her eyes flicker over Jungkook’s face, and his over hers. She’s got ethereal features, he thinks, that don’t match the automatic weapons decorating her body. Despite the protection she carries, Jungkook doesn’t feel the same crippling fear from before. In fact, there’s something comforting about the way she glances over him, over his bruised eye and bloody nose.
A hand taps his cheek, a tentative pat, as if she senses he’s not fully there. “Hey,” she greets carefully, meeting his gaze for the first time. “You okay?”
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. For many reasons, he was obviously not. Mentally, he was still as distressed as he was the first day the madness hit, since the entity appeared. He feels like he’s going insane from the weeks he’s spent wandering through a desolate world, alone and desperate for human interaction, a sort of self-induced madness of his own. He’s so afraid too, but he imagines she understands that. Physically, he doesn’t think he looks much better.
He wants to say, no, not really, those people made me feel more humiliated than I ever have in my entire life and I would like to go home now except my home doesn’t exist anymore and it probably never will.
In a monotone voice he replies, “just peachy.”
A couple of the people behind her snort, and her lips pull into a subtle smile.
“Well,” she claps, rising to her feet. “Glad to hear it.” She sticks out a hand for him. He stares at it like he’s never seen one before. She shakes it in his face, and he belatedly realizes he’s supposed to take it. She hauls him up with a strength Jungkook doesn’t expect, wiggles the sleeve of her dark sweatshirt down in a fruitless attempt to wipe the spit and blood from his face. He imagines it doesn’t do much, but it’s the thought that counts. “My name’s __,” you tell him, and he lets the name roll around his head as he stares deeply into your eyes.
Fifteen minutes ago Jungkook had given up on humanity as those psychos pummeled him into the earth.
He wonders if this is the universe’s way of apologizing to him.
“Jungkook,” he says breathlessly, eyes focused on your every feature, like if he blinks you’ll disappear from right in front of him. He’s partially convinced himself you’re a figment of his imagination, a reprieve his mind provided in these dark times, when you speak again.
“Jungkook,” you repeat; he doesn’t think anyone’s ever pronounced his name so beautifully before, but everything about you seems to be just that.
Vaguely, he remembers learning about this in some freshman psychology class. What was it called? Suspension bridge effect. Was he seeing you like this just because you’d saved him from a very dire situation? Probably. It’ll go away soon, he assures himself.
“Well, Jungkook,” you say, stepping back into the comfort of the group of people with you. The aura you emanate is the complete opposite of his attackers from earlier, despite the fact you’re nearly identical in appearance; dark clothing, utility boots, armed weapons. “Are you alone out here?” He barely remembers to nod. You hum, glancing at the man beside Jungkook who initially stepped out. “My friends and I have a place out here. Hidden from psychos like them,” you glare pointedly at the gas station obscured by the trees, “you’re welcome to come rest up there if you’d like.”
Unlike his attackers your group seems to travel on foot, carefully navigating through the forest like you’ve got it memorized. You stick him with the guy from before, a fellow named Taehyung who’s quite the chatterbox once Jungkook breaks through his serious exterior.
Before anything, Taehyung gives him a practiced speech detailing the horrors of the world right now, almost like he’s had to explain this to people before. Jungkook already knows it all, but still nods along politely to everything he says. The longer they walk, the more anxious he becomes.
Maybe following this pack of strangers back wasn’t the brightest idea, he begins to think. For all he knows you could be exactly the same as that original group of stragglers, luring him deeper into an unknown landscape to kill him. Part of him is disappointed in the negative progression of his thoughts, the lack of faith he has in his fellow human. But what else is he to do?
Since the appearance of the entity the world he knew had begun to dismantle itself. Societies they had spent centuries building up crumbling in the mere span of a few weeks. He hadn’t seen a person in almost a month now, and the first ones he did see almost beat and humiliated him to death. He can’t be blamed for his pessimistic outlook.
They walk through the forest until they reach a creek, a thin trickle of water that widens the further south they go, and continue flush against the water bed. Eventually, Jungkook begins to hear the bustle of more people, which immediately sets him on edge. Taehyung flashes him a wide smile that grows the closer they get to the noise.
His heart pounds in his chest, feels it in his ears.
Part of him is expecting an end to this long journey, maybe a bullet to the head or a knife to the chest. No matter how much he tries to convince himself that you and your friends are nice people, he can’t. He’s caught up in a whirlwind of anxieties, breaths growing more shallow and choked off, and by the time they finally stop walking, he’s nearly struggling to breathe, peering through the trees only to find—
A huddle of tents. A few wooden structures. Some kids kicking around a ball.
A hand claps down on his shoulder, and Jungkook flinches with a loud yelp. “This is Oleander,” you inform him, waving a hand over the tiny establishment.
He walks through the grounds with his shoulders pulled up damn near his ears, nervously glancing around at the people that wander by him. There’s about fifty of them—some older and some younger—that mill about, all greeting him politely. In his shock, their faces all blend together and he can’t tell one apart from another. The first face that his mind truly registers is that of a trustworthy man with a big smile.
Hoseok, you introduce him as before promptly disappearing.
Hoseok is the man who shows him around this Oleander place, walking him to and fro. He’s also the man who shows him to the creek about a hundred meters behind the Oleander base, as he calls it, watches over him as Jungkook scrubs weeks of grime off his skin.
Oleander, apparently, is a safe haven established by Hoseok and you. You make do by scavenging through nearby towns, occasionally sending groups of scavengers farther out. You’re accepting of all those who wish to escape from the entity, finding solace in a carefully secluded plot of land far from any signs of civilization; Strays, Hoseok refers to him and others like him as.
Beneath all the dirt, his skin is tender, soft, and pink. When he rises from the water, he’s extra careful of covering his privates with both hands. Hoseok says nothing of his nudity, tosses him a towel and new clothes, though he advises him to wash his smelly tracksuit anyway. The garments are similar in style to the ones everyone else on this base wears, a collection of muted browns and muddled greens that make him blend into the trees around him. The stained tennis shoes go back on his feet, because Hoseok doesn’t have anything else to offer him at the moment.
“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions about what this place is, so feel free to ask me!” Hoseok tells him when they get back, passing by the largest of the wooden structures that smells absolutely heavenly. Suddenly, he remembers the rabbit meat he left on the hotdog cooker.
Jungkook’s mouth starts before his brain. “Why the tents?” He asks, watching people duck in and out of the shabby quarters. They’re camping tents, the same kind his dad used to rent on their family trips. He quickly pushes that memory away.
Hoseok answers his question. “Well, as you probably know, the Thing out there likes hitting up cities, towns. Anywhere with noticeable traces of life,” he explains. Jungkook nods. “This place is pretty empty as you can tell,” he says, gesturing towards the vast expanse of forest around them. “So we’re not too worried about it finding us here. But in the case that it does, however,” he shakes his head here, like he doesn’t even wanna imagine that possibility. “We gotta be ready to move everyone quickly.”
“It’ll follow you,” Jungkook blurts out, hates how negative he sounds telling a sunny man like Hoseok such news.
Hoseok doesn’t seem the least bit phased by Jungkook’s words. “Yeah, but,” he trails off, glancing over the grounds, until he finds what he’s looking for. “We have a secret weapon,” he sings, gestures towards where you’re standing by a group of kids trying to scale the side of a tree.
Now what did that mean? “A… woman?” He says tentatively, and Hoseok laughs.
“You’re a funny guy, Jungkook,” he says, patting his back. “But no. We have someone here with a, let’s say, unique ability,” he explains. Jungkook blinks. Hoseok grins, tugs him close like he’s about to share some national secret with him. “Our friend __ over there can sense the Thing,” Hoseok whispers.
Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “So can I?”
Hoseok, a fairly relaxed soul as Jungkook is quickly learning, let’s go of him in favor of releasing a deep, belly-shaking chuckle. “Let me guess,” he teases. “The wind and the voices? We can all do that, buddy.”
Jungkook shakes his head, eyes slowly returning to you. You’re holding onto one of the kids now, tucked beneath your arm like a football as you drag them closer to the camp. “No,” Jungkook says softly. “It’s different.”
“Really?” Hoseok drawls, though Jungkook can tell he doesn’t believe him for a second. “What’s it like?” He plays along anyway.
Jungkook shrugs, glances down at his fingers. He recalls the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the memories. “It’s like… a rope around my throat. Except the knot is never tied, so it just brushes the back of my neck, over and over again.”
When he opens his eyes, Hoseok is staring at him like he has three heads. Jungkook takes a step back, fearing he’s grossly overshared and now they think he’s some nut job. “Holy shit,” Hoseok exhales, glancing over him with wide eyes.
“Seokjin!” He screeches, catching Jungkook’s wrist in between his bony fingers before he can run away. Jungkook’s heart lurches in his chest, cheeks flushing when Hoseok pulls him across the grounds under everyone‘s inquisitive glances. They stop before a tent that’s larger than the others, one flap pinned open. “Seokjin,” Hoseok repeats once inside, the space smelling strongly of antiseptic.
How long have you and your friends, as you called them, been here? There’s a huge amount of medical supplies overflowing inside this tent, like you’ve raided every pharmacy in a fifty mile radius.
Hoseok pushes him into the center of the space, where he nearly bumps into a tall man in glasses. “Seokjin,” Hoseok gasps. “This kid has the thing.”
“Huh? What thing?” The man—Seokjin—asks, seemingly unimpressed with Jungkook’s appearance before him. “Who even is this kid?”
“Jungkook,” Jungkook offers, though it gets lost in Hoseok’s sudden outburst.
“He has the thing,” he emphasizes. “The __ thing.” He glances at the entrance to the tent, like you’ll suddenly appear at the mere mention of your name. You don’t.
Something registers in Seokjin’s features, a slow realization as his eyes flick over to Jungkook. “Holy shit,” he says, wide eyes bouncing between him and Hoseok. “You’re kidding.”
Hoseok looks oddly proud of himself as he plops down on the cot pressed against one end of the tent. “Nope,” he responds. “Described it just like her and everything.”
Seokjin pushes his glasses up his nose, eyes scanning over Jungkook’s frame behind the magnified lens. “Uh huh,” he hums, pinching the skin over his tricep. Jungkook flinches. “I see.”
Jungkook can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry—who are you?” He blurts out, taking one cautious step away from Seokjin and his grabby hands. He hadn’t interacted with another person in weeks and today alone he was beat up like a loser and now gawked at like a slab of prime meat.
“Oh, right. Kim Seokjin, only registered nurse in this lovely Oleander,” he introduces, sticking one hand out for Jungkook to shake. He does, surprised by the force of his handshake. He doesn’t give Jungkook the chance to introduce himself either, using their connected palms to hold Jungkook’s arm up and glance over him some more. “Lean, healthy. How old did you say you were?”
“Twenty-five,” he responds, snatching his arm away. Seokjin doesn’t seem offended, instead circling around him. Sensing Seokjin won’t be of much help, he turns back to Hoseok. “You said if I had questions to ask you.”
Hoseok nods. “I did.”
Seokjin gasps. “Hobi, look at the thighs on this kid, Jesus,” he exclaims, poking at the corded muscle beneath his borrowed pants. “You run track?”
“Soccer,” he corrects. “Who were those people and why did they attack me before?”
Another voice answers, significantly less loud than the men he was currently stuck with. “Magnolians,” you reply from the entrance. Jungkook jumps at your abrupt appearance, suddenly finding it hard to look you in the eye. “Another camp like ours who used this catastrophe to become the sick fucks they never got to be in their regular lives,” you explain, coming around to stand in front of Jungkook. Your solemn expression fades upon meeting his gaze. “Jungkook, how are you feeling?” You inquire, worried eyes checking him over the same way Seokjin’s just did, except it sparks a sense of bashfulness in him when it’s you.
“Fine,” he mumbles, suddenly wishing Seokjin was back on him again. But the guy chose now of all times to fuck off, settling beside Hoseok to watch him talk to you.
“That’s good to hear,” you say, and then almost absentmindedly reach a hand up to caress his hair. Jungkook freezes, hyper aware of your close proximity. He very pointedly ignores looking at your beautiful face. It’ll go away, he reminds himself, heart panging when you retract your arm. “Is Seokjin evaluating your health?”
He glances over at the man, who gives him a half-assed shrug. With not a lot of confidence in his answer, Jungkook replies, “kinda.”
Before you can question him or Seokjin, Hoseok is jumping in to intervene. “Jungkook has the same freaky power as you,” he reveals, eyes sparkling at the news he reports.
Though you initially jolt in surprise, meeting his gaze with a wondrous glint in your eyes, it eventually fades away. Replacing it is a look of skepticism. “Really?” Your arms fold over your chest as you trace over his features. Jungkook has never felt more shy in his entire life, having a woman like you drink him in with absolutely no shame. “And what power is that?”
If it’s a test, Jungkook fails it. “The, um. Thing.”
Seokjin snorts, burying his face in Hoseok’s shoulder at his weak response. His cheeks flush, the rosy hue slowly filling his face until the tips of his ears are warm, your unimpressed expression staring back at him.
He rushes to redeem himself. “The feeling,” he adds. “Around your neck. Like there’s someone else in the room but you don’t know where.”
Slowly you nod, arms falling back to your sides. You don’t say anything else about this power (as Hoseok calls it), instead turning to face Seokjin. “Your thoughts?”
Seokjin claps his hands together, hopping off the cot to round Jungkook again. “Great body, experience in sports, so I’m assuming lots of stamina. Doesn’t look like he knows his way around a gun, but that can be taught.”
The ending of his evaluation leaves Jungkook confused. “Why would I need to know how to use a gun?” Seokjin glances at you pointedly.
“Actually,” you admit, “I came here with a proposal for you, Jungkook.” Jungkook stills. The only proposals he’s ever heard of usually end in big, classy ceremonies on the beach. He’s just met you a few hours ago. “I would like it if you joined us here in Oleander.”
Jungkook falters, glancing warily between you and the other men in the tent. “Why?” He says, sounding like a child.
You don’t mind. “Well, truthfully, I think it would be good on your end,” you say, “to have the extra protection. Taehyung tells me you’ve been on your own for a while now. We wouldn’t mind taking you in.”
“What’s in it for you?” He interrogates next.
Jungkook thought you were really cool. You had saved him from a group of crazies who wanted to kill him, showed him your secret hideout, and on top of that, you shared something in common with him (apperently). Sure, you had helped him, but Jungkook knows better than to not expect anything in return.
His straightforwardness brings a smile to your face. “Well, if what Seokjin says is true, I think you could become a valuable member of Oleander. I think your support and protection would be a huge help to us here.”
You’re looking at him with these big, sparkly eyes, like the mere idea of Jungkook joining this group of strays is all you’ve ever wanted. Admittedly he sees the logic in your words.
Jungkook thinks about leaving here alone, about returning to that nameless town in the middle of nowhere. There were only so many bags of beef jerky he could eat through, so many rabbits he could strangle before it wasn’t enough. What would he do in the winter? It didn’t snow often in this part of the world, but with the animals in hiding, what would he eat? Would he have to keep traveling from town to town, risk encountering those Magnolians from before?
They really did a number on his faith in humanity. How could people just resort to violence so easily, even after having the knowledge that there were far more harmful things out there than a loaded gun? Jungkook’s been thinking about it since it happened, hours after the event, and he still hasn’t reached a plausible conclusion. Were they deranged? Or simply losers, as you’d so eloquently implied, who were taking advantage of such calamity to live out these frankly disturbing lifestyles. Jungkook didn’t understand, and the longer he ponders it, he realizes maybe he never will.
Some things are just better left unknown, he supposes. But that didn’t mean one had to face them alone. He returns his attention to you and your expectant eyes.
As for you, he still had a lot of questions— who you were, why you did this, what this shared power of theirs was. He figures he can ask you them later. For now, he sticks his hand out for you to take.
⇢ part two
Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
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Is that NYC Anon for real!?
"I rent a place on Cornelia I say casually in the car..." A bitch rented that place June 2016. Clearly she had contemplated with her significant other/person BEFORE moving to Cornelia Street—before Toe. She re-prioritized her life that was going down hill like a f*cking landslide. Rent a place. Renovate Tribeca residence for her and her true love. Toe has ZERO to do with New York. He was offered a long-term contract because Taylor wanted to protect what she was trying to rebuild with Karlie so they could become more open together like before, but then election 2016, which fully forced them to go dark.
Think about this:
Kaylor's Their first single public outing was MARCH 2016! It had been an entire year since that happened without chaperones and she captions a picture, "my FAVORITE person to DANCE with (DWOHT)." Beach Stunt trip with CH. Names written in sand 😏 CH get (+) not (❤).
APRIL: Taylor changed her hair to platinum, started wearing chokers—and stars. Went to Coachella. Vegas for Twins bday. Karlie is there. Britney's wedding, gives a wonderful speech about love enduring and being a new page, and mention being in a magical "relationship." Sure not Calvin. 🤣
MAY: Met Gala Technology/Music themed. Taylor was a host with Idris Elba(oh... yes, London Boy Idris). It was also a set of for her "prison break" from CH (Getaway Car) and she 💃 to September by Earth, Wind, Fire with **cough** KK & TH.
JUNE: Breaks up with Calvin, moves into Cornelia Street and BOOM in comes TOM. HiddleSwift✈ 🛩 🛬 🛫
JULY: 4th of July!! Celebrity party. "Karlie's Made in America caption." 🎆 "I ❤ T.S" was born Kimye tapes/receipts. HiddleSwift ✈ 🛩 🛬 🛫. The TIWYCF drama. (LWYMMD).
AUGUST: Taylor practically MIA this month, but shows her face in the Hamptons for a Karlie-Mikey joint bday party. Wishes Karlie a happy birthday with a big "I LOVE YOU KARLIE...!" Sends her Sunflowers 🌻 and a sweet moment is captured via Skype with the sunset. ❤(KOMH). Mystery ranch trip. They both show back up in the city at the same time. Media trys pitting Karlie against Taylor with the Kimye drama. VMA snub by CH. (Apocalypse!)
SEPTEMBER: HiddleSwift breaks up! Taylor looks overjoyed to be free—but clearly has tricks up her sleeve. The Kanye concert "f*ck Taylor Swift"on his tilted stage. (LWYMMD)
OCTOBER: Dinners w/friends, private Kings of Leon Concert, Halloween party, "It's all part of the fucking story—K ALONE" is born. In comes Toe(he is snapped by paps) and saves in the drafts for later. Karlie shows up the next night (also pap'd). The Bowery and Lovers Bar. ALL PAP'D! (Delicate) is crafted literally the day after based on the 🌟 ⭐ tattoo she had worn around her neck. 😏 Drakes Birthday party. Angel wings tats, 🌟 on Kaylor wrist. 3rd poloroid?? (L.A.)
NOVEMBER: Baby Lorde's 20th birthday. Two Angels kissing her cheek. Trump Wins. Kaylor fades to black in public. (NYC). Taylor was being called all kinds of derogatory names for not speaking out during the election. A mess. Jerk and Austin Pap'd walked before election results.
DECEMBER: Karlie post Taylor birthday post about her being blessed to call Taylor friend, sister and partner in crime. (REPUTATION is almost done). Taylor releases her collab with Zayn. Karlie also post a 🐨 from Australia on Taylor's birthday ironically "I'm never leaving". (NYD anyone). Taylor surprised a 90 year old fan who lives in Missouri after Christmas. Yes, Missouri..not LONDON. She was also wearing the same jacket she wore for the Delicate Virticle Spotify video.
JANUARY: Taylor practically goes ghost mostly until her concert in TX in February 2017. By this time. Reputation is practically done. At least 6 months ahead planner she is and album has to be done before she starts planning video. It was also supposed to come out earlier than it did.
You know how the story goes... she pulls her PR out right in time. MAY!!! Pap'd in Nashville on a Balcony. Yeah... in Nashville. Never happens. 👀
So, tell me again what Toe is for? And how NYC is relevant to him?? It is all planned literally to the T!
I may have missed some details. This was from the top of my head. You get the gist though.
Why she dissappeard? She has told us.
TOE was the escape from the 4+ years she knew what the state of our country would be in and the horrible situation Karlie was stuck. She knew it was going to be a long road.
She will come back from Neverland soon. I have faith.
Thank you for this! The detail!
Also she recorded KOMH in August 2016 how can you write a song like that after meeting someone once in passing and then dating someone else???
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pairing; non-idol!eric x non-idol!kevin x reader (this is totally platonic)
genre; horror, zombie apocalypse AU, tiny bit of comedy
warnings; swearing, mentions of blood, the use of weapons
a/n: I liked this a lot & I am writing a part 2 :)
You’d only read about this in books, seen it in movies but never in your whole life did you think this would become a reality. Nobody knows how this started or where the disease had originated from. It’s almost as if it happened out of complete nowhere. People began to disappear, cars were left on the road, doors wide open. Bits of flesh scattered on the pavements, blood everywhere. It was like something out of a horror film.
Your first sighting of an actual zombie was when you were coming home from the store, with a pint of milk and a loaf of bread in your bag. The streets were quiet, the streetlights were dim. The city had never been so silent, it was eerie. Your eyes caught a glimpse of something ahead of you. It was a lanky figure, its arms and legs spread out, uttering low, guttural moans. At first, you chalked it up to be a drunk person and you continued walking. Though it didn’t take long until they began to run toward you that you realized, this wasn’t a drunk person. You had zero weapons with you, so you made a quick decision to sock the zombie in the head with your carton of milk.
The news every night was the same; same shit, different day, Always giving the same advice to everyone in the city; stay at home. Don’t go outside. And if you do happen to encounter a zombie, with a thirst for brains or a chew of your finger, the message was simple; kill it. Videos were shown on how to successfully kill a zombie. Unfortunately, not everyone in the world was killing them. There were a small, handful of people who found it entertaining to intentionally feed their enemies to the undead. They enjoyed filming the ordeal, watching them being ripped apart, suffering at the hands of the undead and posting the footage onto any and every social media platform for the entire world to view their crimes. It was horrific.
It’s been almost a year since the apocalypse was first mentioned online and in the newspapers. Back then, there were no sightings reported but there were stories circulating online about the undead. Many people thought it was a hoax, that it was just someone online looking for attention until the disease hit the city. Many fled, some stayed behind. Fans of zombie movies lived for this. You believe people always loved the idea of a zombie apocalypse because they have convinced themselves that they can survive it. Movies about the undead had been presented to us in such a way that anyone can survive if they use their brains, and have a willingness to start smacking zombies in the head with any object.
But things aren’t always as they seem because from where you’re standing, the world’s population has gone from billions, to millions. The only two other people that you know of that are not a part of the undead, is your next door neighbour and best friend, Eric and his friend, Kevin, who lived a few doors down. You were pretty much fully equipped to deal with the current situation, having the tools you needed to survive. Your stepfather loved adventure, he was a very outdoorsy person. He took you clay shooting when you were in your teens, which is how you had the knowledge and skill on how to properly use and shoot a gun. Your grandad left you a samurai sword in his will before he died, a sword you loved when you were a kid. You thought a sword was the coolest thing in the world, and you promised him that you would proudly hang it above your fireplace when you had your own place. And that’s what you did until you ripped it off the wall in an attempt to protect yourself from a man who followed you home, who thought that trying to take a bite out of you was a smart move until he was headless and bleeding on your floor. Your second zombie kill.
Your bow completed your set but you didn’t use it often, as you were running out of arrows. You see, a gun during the apocalypse is a godsend, it’s a quick and easy kill but the noise attracts more zombies because they think humans are around and they will come and eat you, as you are food to them. Your sword was a nice touch, but it means you have to be within the length of the sword to attack and it’s a risk. Whereas with your bow and arrow, you can attack from a far distance and when they’re down and weakened, you can use your sword for a silent killing.
“So, how many zombies do you think you’ve killed so far?” Eric asks you, as you’re making a cup of tea for the both of you in the kitchen. Honestly, you’ve killed a lot but you don’t care for a kill count. Not like some of these other people online bragging about their 100th kill. It’s real life, not a video game.
“That’s not really something I want to keep a note of, Eric. I just… want things to go back to normal,” You wonder if there will ever be such a thing as a normal life again. You feel like maybe normal isn’t the best choice of words, “or just a life where this isn’t happening anymore, you know?”
You hear him sigh, “Yeah. I understand. Reality sucks,”
Reality does suck, at least this one. Excluding the slaying of zombies, you didn’t do much in life. You read, you wrote, you often played Monopoly with Eric and Kevin and made them both bankrupt within the first hour by filling your properties with hotels. Every time one of them landed on your Mayfair or Park Lane, you were rolling in their money and waving it in their faces.
As you smile at the memory, a pounding on the front front door causes your heart to almost jump out of your chest, and you spill some tea on your shirt.
“Where’s my- oh, there it is!” You see Eric grab his crowbar as he peers out the window to see if he can see anyone and marches to the front door, still holding his weapon. You place the tea down on the table in front of you and just as you stand up, Kevin appears in the doorway.
“Oh, it’s you,”
“Don’t sound so disappointed, y/n, I bring gifts,” Kevin declares, as he opens the long coat he is wearing to reveal grenades strapped to the inside of it. Your eyes widened. You’d only used one grenade in your life. Obviously louder than guns mind you, but extremely effective, “My dad gave me them, told me to come get you two and take you guys into city centre,”
“City centre?” You raise your eyebrow at him.
“Mhm,” he nods, “Wait, have you seen the news update?”
Eric turns on the TV and switches to the local news channel, where the newsreader is giving a warning to stay away from the centre of the city. A video shows hundreds of zombies flooding the streets, “…the video you are seeing now was taken by an anonymous poster on the social media platform, Reddit, via his drone. The original poster of the video has called for a gathering at this building complex pictured here on the streets of Seoul for a massacre of the zombies. We have reached out to the poster for further clarification on this gathering but they have not responded. More to follow after this short break,”
“Kevin, we are not doing this, we could be killed! Are you crazy?!” Eric screams at him.
“Are YOU crazy? We can’t just sit here and watch the world fall apart. This has been ongoing for far too long and I… I can’t sit back and watch that happen!”
“Eric, maybe… maybe Kevin has a point. I mean, we can’t save the world but we can save the city, and our country. It’s a start,” You can acknowledge both arguments in this situation but on this occasion, you’re siding with Kevin. The three of you, with your heads put together, can absolutely win the fight.
Eric sighs, heavily, “Okay… So, what do we do now?”
The three of you stood a few metres away from the building that the anonymous poster had spoken about on Reddit, when he was talking about organising a gathering. You weren’t the only three people, there were a few others. All holding different weapons, slightly shaky but gripping them tightly. You stood out like a sore thumb; sword in its scabbard hanging from your belt, a pistol in each hand and your bow sitting neatly on your shoulder.
Eric looked you up and down, “y/n, you look like Lara Croft,”
You smile, “I’ll take that as a compliment,”
“Guys… what if we die?” Eric asks, you look down at his hands and they’re trembling. You can tell he was scared, and you were too. But in this world, in this life, there’s no use being scared and hiding away. It’s why you decided to try and fight to save people, you didn’t want to lose anyone else you knew to this disease. It was hard enough the first time.
“i won’t let any of you die, I promise. WE stick together, we don’t leave anyone behind, okay?” You hugged them both and Eric gave you a small smile.
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DYSTOPIAN FIC REC:
red hands by @dystopianharry I 132K
“I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them.
“But you’ve told someone,” Louis says firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.”
a dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.
With A Whimper by kitundercover I 132K
Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.
The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.
Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.
“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”
Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”
The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”
Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark I 95K
“People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”
Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”
Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six's victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven's victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.
All Things Hidden by @anewyorklovely I 68K
“Do you think they’ll survive out there?” he nodded to the vast desert surrounding the garden. There was nothing out there, but now it was the angels’ and demons’ job to create the world. The original blank canvas laid before him in all its terrifying glory.
“Well, they might need some help,” he finally turned back in, but in events like the literal demolition of paradise, he assumed that he can take some time to himself. Louis looked the angel up and down from the curly brown hair blowing in the sweltering breeze to the tips of his white wings that grazed the ground.
“you mean help them on Earth?”
"Those humans will definitely need help,” they watched Adam and Eve begin their trek to nowhere.
“That would be amazing,” a smile crossed his face slowly. Louis continued to watch him as he stared off at the humans.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met before,” Louis waited until the angel turned to look at him, “I’m Louis,”
“Harry,” the angel bowed his head slightly in recognition.
“Well, Harry, we have a lot of work to do,” Louis looked back to the humans.
or the Good Omens AU where Louis is a fallen angel who falls for an angel and has to save the world in the meantime.
His and Mine by @kissyboystyles I 66K
Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anyway…
OR Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does.
Please Remember Me Once More by peachyzain I 58K
Everything has gone to shit, as in most of the UK has been destroyed by the corrupt government and nobody can be trusted. Louis and Zayn are partners in crime armed with devilish good looks, quick wit, and actual weapons. Liam is a guarded badass with a soft spot for one particular boy. Niall is a box of giggles and dick drawings, and a surprising amount of knowledge. Harry is a particularly affectionate boy with no memory of a life before Louis found him in the woods.
Last Day Alive by @2ofusmp4 I 42K
Harry Styles was born to the leader of the Following - the organization that keeps their world peaceful and just. Without the Following, the world would only return to the ways of the Old Times and all of them would come to an untimely end. Or, so he thought, until he meets Louis, the leader of the Rebellion.
at last, at last by @suspendrs I 41K
“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”
Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?
Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.
Nobody Marks You @graceling-in-a-suit I 33k
“The plan is: we’re gonna put on a play. Now, I see some doubtful faces–” Louis looked around and found zero doubtful faces. Liam looked intrigued, Zayn looked bored, and Harry looked scarily blank. “But this is what’s happening. We’re gonna do some fucking acting, we’re gonna perform our hearts out, and we’re not going to think about anything else. The past, the future; none of it. All we’re going to think about is... “ Niall trailed off, eyeing the bookshelf to his left. He closed his eyes and reached a hand out towards it, running his fingers over the covers before pulling a book out at random. “William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.”
AU: Five assholes stuck in a bunker put on a play.
Solid as a stone (when everything is gone) by @onlyforthebravee I 20K
“Why’d you take me with you?”
Louis startles at the question, the car almost swerving off the road in the process. He holds his breath as he waits for the twins to wake up and start wailing, but they don’t. They keep sleeping on peacefully, covered in the family blanket.
Harry’s looking at him with an unreadable expression.
Louis takes a minute, mulling it over. He answers quietly. “I hate to say it, but as much as we hate each other, I can’t bear to leave you alone to deal with this whole thing all by yourself.” and I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you died, he adds in his mind.
or, it's the zombie apocalypse and Louis is stuck with Harry, whom he shares a complicated relationship with.
so much I could live for I could die by @onlyforthebravee I 14K
“Sometimes I wonder what’s out there,” Louis confesses, tucking into his second biscuit. “I wonder if what they’re saying is true, about the Thieves, about the other compounds. Why are we not allowed to leave? Go to other compounds?”
Lottie gets up, letting out a sigh as she squeezes his shoulder. “You shouldn’t think like that, Lou, it will get you killed.”
“They can’t take away my thoughts,” Louis answers defiantly. Lottie pats his shoulder before she disappears to her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
or: Louis is a transgender man who escapes his compound after extenuating circumstances, and meets the Thieves, who show him what freedom really is.
Amor Deliria Nervosa by @chelsea-frew I 13K
In a world in which love has been outlawed, two boys meet and fall in love at first sight. Despite the danger and against all the odds, they are determined to stay together, no matter what the cost.
it’s time to find your wings again by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed I 12K
The first reports are dismissed, as tall tales or folklore. As mental illness, poor Bathilda, she’d gone loopy. As people simply getting scared in the dark woods and seeing things, making things up. Magic isn’t real. Mythological creatures aren't real.
But then the first one is caught. A faun, that little Meg from around the corner swears has attacked her in the woods, and everyone comes to the marketplace to see the faun be hanged for its crimes. Louis doesn’t want to go, but at the same time, he finds himself unable to stay away. Not when this proves what he’s wanted to believe all along, that magic is real.
Louis is twenty when he starts working at the prison. His fascination for supernatural creatures had turned into something most closely resembling loathing over the years, due to the many stories of their evildoing, and although he still doesn’t believe in hanging them for their crimes, he does believe in keeping the town safe. In making sure that his siblings get to grow up without fear of being kidnapped or hurt. As the oldest son, it feels like his duty to make sure that no creature in the wide area will ever pose a threat to anyone.
and remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you read!
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pairing: Jeonghan x reader
genre: zombie apocalypse au
warnings: mentions of firearms
prompt: jeonghan’s hands get cold from the downpour outside, but stopping in the midst of danger is something you aren’t so keen about
word count: 1121
a/n: if youre still here after me being dead for such a long time haha thanks... anyway, i hope you like this one :) also, i’ll probably edit this since i posted this in a rush because my net is so slow TT
Jeonghan had his arms crossed, hands tightly tucked in between. His feet were on the car seat with knees leaned against the door. On edge due to the surge of adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your grip on the wheel was tense, knuckles turned white as you fixed your gaze on the road. The rainfall outside made it impossible to see despite the windshield wipers; if weather forecasts were still in service, they would most likely broadcast about zero visibility. However, not even bad weather was going to stop you from running away.
"(Y/n)," Jeonghan called softly. You only hummed in reponse, sounding quite annoyed, eyes still looking ahead. "Stop the car."
Your foot doesn't leave the pedal as you ignored his words and charged into the rain. The car was going so fast that you could hear the engine revving like a Maserati racer, sounding even louder than the pounding rain.
"(Y/n), I said stop the car. You're putting our lives in danger with how fast you're going." Jeonghan says firmly, raising his voice above the volume of all the noise.
"We can keep going. If we stop, they'll catch up and we'd be in more danger." You argue stubbornly, shifting the gear to decrease speed. "Don't be scared. I got this."
"Look, there's a gas station." Jeonghan points forward and you slow down even more, looking carefully through the rain and at the blur of a figure he was referring to. Despite the water running down the windshield, you could tell there was a gas station nearby.
"Let's refill the tank and wait for the rain to subside." Jeonghan insisted.
"Fine." You gave in, steering to the side of the road and rolling into the gas station. "Let's just hope the gas pumps work."
As soon as you parked by the nearest gas pump, you shut the engine and grabbed your gun from the compartment.
"I'll be right back," you said before hopping out of the driver's seat and shutting the door. Jeonghan leaned over to watch you grab a pump handle and insert it into the tank, then his eyes went to follow each button your fingers lightly pushed.
Once the pump started filling in the tank, you climbed back up into the car and stared out of the window to watch the numbers on the screen counting down. Jeonghan sat still in his seat, shivering from the cold. The rain was still strong and didn't seem like it was going to stop any time soon. It was also loud, but thanks to the station's roof over you car, the noise was reduced by a few notches.
"The weather isn't going to let up for some while, I guess," Jeonghan remarked, rubbing his hands together and curling up like a ball. "We should stay here and wait it out."
"We can't." Your reply was bland, but the tone in your voice stern. "We should keep going--"
"We've gone far enough." He hissed, giving you the side-eye. Crossing his arms, he looked away and huffed. "I doubt they're still following us. We should rest. Aren't you tired?" He turned to face you again, looking you up and down.
"Not really." You couldn't tell if you were lying or not. Indeed, you felt the exhaustion weighing down on your bones, but the adrenaline was definitely still pulsing within you.
It was difficult to tell time nowadays, but you knew it had been hours ago since you fled. You and Jeonghan were navigating a ghost town when a group of survivors happened to cross paths with you. It was then you were caught in an ambush as they wanted to loot your things and have you dead. Fortunately, you were able to make your escape, but not without attracting a horde of the infected after your tail.
"Put that down," Jeonghan said, causing you to twitch and snap you out of your thoughts. "I said put that down."
You had been unknowingly spinning the gun in your hand as you recalled the events that unfolded previously. Grabbing the handle of the compartment, you opened it and stashed the gun inside.
"Sorry," you muttered. "I was thinking."
Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh, breath still shaky from the cold. "Please tell me we're not going back on the road again. Tell me we're staying the night."
You hesitated, puffing your chest as you inhaled deeply, pondering about it. "I really don't think we should... I--"
"Please," he pleaded, the look on his face desperate. "I'm cold."
You looked him over and could evidently see he was quivering, hiding his fingers beneath his arms that had gone pale. The storm outside roared on relentlessly. Looking at the circumstances, it did seem like you had to wait it out before resuming the drive. Perhaps listening to Jeonghan would be the best decision at the moment.
Tugging at his arms, you get him to uncross them. His skin feels icy when you clasp his hands in yours. He's silent as he watches you blowing warm air at his palms while rubbing your thumbs over them. The action helps Jeonghan calm down a bit, but his hands were still frigid.
"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to do this." You tell him as a word of caution while tugging the sleeves of his sweater down to his elbows.
Without making any second thoughts, you shoved his hands underneath your shirt. The moment his skin made contact with yours, you winced from the sudden chill introduced to your body. Jeonghan was baffled at your boldness, his eyes wide and unblinking. Eventually, he gets used to the sensation at the same time as you do and softens up.
"I think this is enough. I'm good." He withdraws his hands from you and you notice color returning to it. There's gratefulness in his tone, you sense, but he's too abashed to express it in words.
"We're staying the night." You say as an alternative for "you're welcome" and Jeonghan sighs in relief.
He grabs the lever underneath his seat and reclines it. Tossing over to his side facing you, he pats your thigh and tells you to recline your seat as well; you gladly comply. Once lied down, your eyes are level with each other as you bore your gaze into his. Ever so meekly, he lifted his hand and placed it beside your hand which went over to rest on top of his. Shy smiles are exchanged between the both of you before he fluttered his eyes to a close and dozed off. It takes a while, but soon enough, the rhythm of your heart becomes peaceful and you're fast asleep.
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Oil Stained Chapter 2: Penpals
This took me quite some time to write out for no other reason except concentration. While I have been busy, there were spaces where I just didn’t have motivation to write. It’s weird cause I want to write, but find myself getting stuck. Hopefully the interlude between this chapter and the next isn’t too long. (Hit me up with ideas if ya’ got ‘em, I’d love to read and perhaps add them to this story which is still pretty broad to me)
Summary: Working as a mechanic, Daryl Dixon comes across obstacles that require him to hire an extra hand to help around his shop. However, he wasn’t expecting Connie King, a high school teacher/writer, to come into his life alongside a troubled teenager. (AU, no apocalypse)
Previously: Help Wanted
Character Pairing: Daryl x Connie
Warnings: cursing, adult themes, eventual smut, past abuse, mentions of violence.
Chapter Word Count: 2,725
Earnest displayed itself in Lydia's tone of voice, an elation propelling itself despite the content of her rather professional words. Her acceptance of the job exceeded expectations, and Daryl had half a mind to pinpoint it as endearing… almost that is. If the high pitched scream that left his right ear ringing did not initially greet him after he delivered the news, Lydia's response tackled full marks of winsome character. Despite this, Daryl's decision had yet to be met with regret. Like her teachers praised her, Lydia's positive attitude towards the work ahead inspired him with hope. The shriek in particular possibly had to do with her youth. The shop's productivity levels remained stagnant without an extra hand, so the future dazzled brilliantly.
The next day, she came into work ten minutes earlier than their agreed time of four in the afternoon, but the last thing Daryl wanted to do was reprimand her for her enthusiasm. His eyes scanned the outside, a crimson rag now stained with grease tucked into the left pocket of his navy blue coveralls. A bike of silver and stripped away pink came into view haphazardly locked up onto a bike rack falling apart from the lack of usage. Then again, it belonged to a nearby historical building. Ironically, it fit right into its background. Its position with a decaying piece of metal didn't sit right with him. But it's not like his shop resided in the most glamorous part of Georgia, either.
"Uh-uh. Bring that into the garage." He said as she entered through the glass door and its ringing bell. He pointed out towards her bike and she quickly got the idea. Without a second thought, she went back out and he made his way through the hall to access the rusted garage.
Daryl opened the place early and closed it off late, so the metal door remained high towards the ceiling already. Sunlight peeked in through the opening, a glint of it shining off the hood of the car he worked on since the AM. He diverted his attention from the car to Lydia who approached with her bike. One hand rested on the left handlebar while the other utilized the seat for leverage. Instead of riding it in, she rolled it across the road and into the open area. Her head shifted back and forth, the wonder from viewing his turned-upside-down office plastered on her features all over again. This reaction seemed more logical anyhow, being fascinated by the cars and the car workspace instead of a room filled with papers thrown every which way.
"There's not a lot of traffic out there. How's this place supposed to be seen?" She grinned at him. He was glad she didn't bother to kiss his ass, but man did he roll his eyes to the fucking clouds and then some.
"I deal with broken cars, not fully functionin'." And the lot became his when he saved enough money from his previous game of fixing vehicles without a place of his own. By Georgia's standards, the place came at a steal. If he made enough, maybe switching elsewhere for extra room and higher promotion would keep his business progressing.
But that sounded like a lot of fucking work.
"I'm just saying: location, location, location." She rolled the bike all the way to a wall he pointed at. Considering that he'd be in there most of the time and he locked up when he wasn't, he didn't expect the bike to be stolen.
He used to have a bike in worse condition when he rode around as a teenager and the sole person who wanted that piece of shit was Daryl. Sometimes his brother borrowed it, Daryl taking that as a chance to take his brother's motorcycle out. The beat up metal hog sat in his garage at home and stood as a symbol for distant memories he seldom allowed himself to delve into. Sure, as anyone did, his issues never were dealt with vocally, but that didn't mean he wanted any kind of closure. Daryl's complacency with ignoring the rearing of countless demons came as easy as the flick of a wrist. They attempted to claw their way out in the past through high temperaments, but his wisdom and patience quickly took a hold of them and tamed them back into their mental caves.
"Came straight from school?" He asked.
"Yeah. I didn't really have anywhere else to go first." She shrugged her shoulders, the culprit that prompted the question in the form of a backpack sitting on her torso.
Not bothering to ask anything else, Daryl nodded his head and outstretched his arms towards the open space they stood in.
"This is the garage. I do all my work here. It fits about three cars at a time, so if anyone's real hardheaded about leavin' their car, there's extra space in the lot outside." He pointed to the parking spaces, taking the lead inside of the small building.
"Here's the front desk and waitin' area, in here's the office, and there's the restroom." He kept moving his limbs, looking over to her to see if there was any confusion on the impromptu tour. When he saw nothing but amusement on her features, he went over to the office and cleared his throat.
"You're gonna' be up front, you know, talkin' to people and keepin' records on the computer, but I need ya' to organize this office first." The disarray of papers and folders sat on the desk, on the floor, and askew on the bookshelf that stood behind everything.
The thing about Daryl was that he was always unabashedly himself, zero shame in the way he operated things or if it caused others visible discomfort. And yet, thinking back to the people he let passed the threshold into the tiny office, some splurge of embarrassment went up his spine. He never felt like he had to prove his work ethic to anyone, but the questions and explanations turned different when his shop came to mind.
"You don't have to get it done in one day. It's fine if you finish by the end of the week."
Why did he suddenly feel apologetic when it was her job? Well, the task was tedious and overwhelming upon first view… especially when you sat within the mess for too long.
Lydia stepped forward and took in the space of the room, head moving as she gazed upon the stacks of paper and cabinets. He wasn't sure if she was wondering what the hell she got into or if she was currently calculating how she was going to organize the chaos he mindlessly built up over the time span of a year. As she turned her head, Daryl watched and waited for some kind of reaction. She held it together if she was intimidated in any way, but then she turned towards him with a bright smile and brought her hands together in front of her.
"Okay, I'll get to it!" She exclaimed.
That's all he needed to puff out his cheeks and give a thin lipped expression before he made his way out and all the way back to the garage.
A cricket relentlessly chirped for perhaps a thousandth time, a good reason for Daryl to believe it got stuck in the interior of one of the cars. He tried to ignore it and he managed to tune it out successfully several times, but then his mind roamed to random places and the sound penetrated his eardrums and reverberated off the walls when he least expected it to. Something in him wound up tight, finally snapping when he failed at forcing himself in concentrating further. He released a tool from his hand, the hood of the vehicle shut with an unintentional slam as he found determination to kill the damn bug scattering his brain across the board.
Headlights shining through the open garage door stopped him in his tracks, the blue truck attached heading off behind the building to park. At least, that's what he guessed. He checked his phone for the time, the signal he needed to send Lydia home (it was a school night) in less than half an hour dawning on him. He didn't take customers after a certain time, either, so he wondered who came by to try and get something done. Usually if there were more concerns, people called first. Those who arrived out of nowhere wanted service fast whether it was an emergency or because they waited until the very last second.
He prepared himself for an argument or an arrangement to take up his time and jump ahead of other clients to appease an angry individual as he headed to the front desk. The door's bell went off midwalk into the hallway, a woman standing next to the desk turned in a complete other direction. She kept moving her head, her body turning slightly, so then her gaze landed on his physiognomy. Doe, brown eyes followed his gait all the way to where he reached behind the desk, a large hand coming down to the top of its surface.
"We're closing up, you can come by in the mornin'," he said without trying to sound annoyed that he was interrupted from ending the hidden cricket's life. Also for the fact that the shop could not help anyone else until he ushered one car out of the establishment primed and fixed.
He tilted his chin downwards slightly, the woman in front of him having a significant height difference, but that didn't seem to matter with how lax her shoulders were. If she was intimidated, he detected no signs of it as she stared up at him through some rather long lashes. Ringlets of curls were pulled back by a grey hair tie, the style showing off the glint of small golden hoops in her earlobes. She had prominent features, and yet such a soft smile that broke across her lips as she raised a hand to hold her index finger up. Then, she reached down to retrieve something from her pocket, Daryl looking at her jeans in curiosity.
A notepad came from its contents, a pen coming from the pocket adjacent so she could write out a message. His eyebrows creased together as his confusion multiplied further by the passing seconds. He almost repeated himself for her to get the idea, but then the pad was in the air and close to his face without invading his personal space behind the desk.
I'm here to see Lydia.
"You're Connie, right?"
Connie nodded her head, smile unwavering as her teeth came into full view. Bad at picturing figures, her presence came as a surprise even though he talked to her a couple of days ago by email.
Daryl scratched the back of his head, ready to go fetch Lydia from the office, but then she emerged herself and brightened up when she laid eyes upon Connie. She rounded the desk, hugging Connie in an instant in what Daryl could only describe as genuine delight. It's not that it bothered him or created any envy, but he could not recall a time anyone ever saw him and had the same kind of joy in their reaction. People usually avoided him like they did a car wreck, his grunge exterior having others stare until they caught him looking back.
"Did you find the place fine?" Lydia asked, Daryl figuring out that Connie most likely read lips incredibly well.
In response, Connie lifted her hands, some movements he failed to recognize besides the thumbs up at the end of it.
"Yeah, I told him he has to work on his location," Lydia said with mischief in her eyes as she glanced over at him. He snorted, leaning back to try and ignore the rest of the interaction.
He succeeded, mostly. He caught his name once or twice while wiping down the counters. Their connection besides student and teacher still stood as unknown to him, but closeness established itself beyond that. He slid the rag into his pocket when Lydia came up to him and Connie watched from a distance near the front door.
"I'm gonna' get my stuff, she's giving me a ride," Lydia explained, heading off to the garage after the fact. He guessed the truck Connie brought would hold Lydia's bike.
His hands found purchase on top of the desk as he and Connie were left alone all over again. In one moment, they made eye contact for a split second, a grin on her end that he returned awkwardly in a deadpanned expression.
"Make sure she gets home safe," he said, sure to keep his head up for her to see. The point came across easily, another nod from Connie that he felt enough to trust.
Lydia returned through the front door, a wave in Daryl's direction. He waved his goodbye back, the duo leaving out of his line of sight. He made a mental note to ask how it went, perhaps pry just a bit to ease his raising curiosity. Unconsciously, he walked from the desk to office, entering to see the work Lydia completed after hours of being left alone… he wasn't disappointed.
The floor unveiled itself, the tile staring up at him without an assortment of papers covering its surface area. The shelves no longer displayed disorganization, manila files sitting neatly near handbooks he hadn't opened in years. He stepped forward, the clean desk's drawers opened by his hands to see things neatly tucked away. He appreciated it, younger generations stuffing things down instead of actually working to make things look as nice as they currently did. The room happened to appear better than it first did before he turned it upside down, something aesthetically pleasing about how the chaos muted. Daryl sat into the rolling chair, examining the room from a new perspective and it all felt like a breath of fresh air.
"Maybe 'cause it's got better ventilation now," he muttered to himself.
The shock of the cleaned office prompted him to close up a bit earlier than he usually did, coming into his house in an exhausted heap. He sat onto the couch, laptop conjuring a sound as soon as he became comfortable because of course it did. Daryl huffed out a breath, grabbing it into his lap to inspect what occurred for it to behave that way.
He got his answer in the form of an email, Connie's name highlighted in bold letters in the notification he received. He clicked onto it, the message opening up being:
Got Lydia home safe and sound in case you were wondering. I would've texted you, but I don't have your number. Though, I'm pretty sure you have mine since Lydia listed me as a reference. Drop me a line sometime, it's a little more convenient than email unless you want to be penpals.
When he told her to ensure Lydia's security by the end of the night, Daryl didn't expect Connie to write him a confirmation. It did help nerves, however, knowing he didn't have to worry about anything else other than work and whether or not he fed himself at appropriate times. Speaking of food, he went into the kitchen and picked up an apple sitting in a bowl. He didn't stock up very often, roasting meat every now and then if he was hungry. As he bit into it, he pulled up his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find Connie who he put in ahead of time if she didn't answer her email.
He typed out a quick text, unsure of why he felt inclined to do so. He barely met her, barely knew anything about her other than the fact that she had a friendship with Lydia. It was just that something about her… it pulled him closer, magnetically attracted him. Perhaps it was the mystery part of things, how they left him in the dark and how smart she seemed. He didn't think too much on it, hitting send when he was satisfied.
Got your email. Thanks for letting me know
And not even two seconds later, his phone dinged and he read it with a snort.
Guess this means you didn't want to be penpals.
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The Sanctuary in Twos
Chapter 2: Like Riding a Bike
Series: Tales from the Halls of Hypnotorin
Female Reader x Male Robot Alien
Rating: Eventual 🍋 Lemon 🍋
Will Contain: size difference, post apocalypse, survivor reader, emotional turmoil, war, death, loss, loneliness, eventual fluff, wholesome relationship, consensual, eventual smut, slow burn, suicidal reader, traumatized reader, scary robo with heart of gold, anxiety, depression, angst, fluff, reader is a badass, reader swears like a mother-effer, Reader has OCD (it’s somewhat under control), pain, blood, friends to lovers, reader and robo help each other, reader gets dope powers
You could practically reach out and touch the tattered fence now to your great relief. As you began to scout out the area, sneaking close to cars, you ruminated on the bizarre road your life had taken. You actually were not supposed to be here. Your camp’s leader, Hideo Yoshino, a firm but fair Canadian man in his fifties, had absolutely forbade anyone from coming to this car lot due to how isolated and far away it was. You hadn’t mentioned stealing their ore and you weren’t looking forward to the disapproving parental look he’d give you if you returned alive. He was very much a mother hen to you all which contrasted hilariously with how scarred up he was and military-like his demeanor was.
But his objections were not unfounded here. Open spaces were to be avoided at all cost because of how little protection they offered. Much like in a thunderstorm, you don’t want to be the tallest thing out in the open. Not used to being at the mercy of a predator, a large number of the population diminished simply for not knowing better having lost a lot of base instincts. Why would they? Your self-doubt constantly reminded you that it was sheer dumb luck that separated you from the dead but, deep down, you did let yourself hold a small bit of pride in your ability to adapt well to situations.
You were well aware that luck and circumstance very much played a part. The houses and families that were instantly crushed by their Colonizers had zero chance of survival no matter how savvy or clever they were. Those who relied on other people or were otherwise vulnerable were especially at risk, with meds being hard to find and make, and stood much less of a chance. But it didn’t hurt your survival chances nor your growing reputation among the survivors that you quickly learned how to handle yourself and care for those who couldn’t do it themselves. Your wide stubborn streak definitely helped that matter as well.
You stayed low while trailing through the cars, lightly ghosting your hand over them as you moved. From the outside it didn’t look like you were giving them much consideration but there was a lot going on behind the surface. You were quickly calculating several things in a mental checklist. For one, you had to pick a car that blended in. Preferably a light sandy brown to blend in with the dead grass and dry dirt that encompassed the area. You also needed a car that was functional. Another thought you were keeping in mind was trying to find a newish car with, preferably, a solar/fission-based fusion engine. There were always exceptions but, with great advancements in technology, many of the new cars were whisper silent with a quiet hum being the only indication that it was turned on. Not to mention how much safer and long lasting these models had become due to pressure imposed on the car manufacturers after enough people were being killed due to cars designed to break, and a lack of implementing any of the improved safety measures found in racing vehicles in the name of corporate greed. You couldn’t go for any that were fully, or even partially, powered with gasoline. The noise was too risky and oil was too hard to scavenge compared to stored power cells and solar plating. Not to mention how inefficient it was for what you put in. Call you an idealist but you came all this way anyways so you’d very much like to take it back to your small sanctuary for future use. You waffled making a second trip later to get another car as well assuming this suicide mission was successful.
Turning a corner, you frowned when no cars matched your needs. You wanted sorely to pick the perfect ride for your crew. You pretended you didn’t care what others thought, and others did regard you as a rebel type, but you cared, took on their burdens as if they were your own, and worried about their impression of you way more than was healthy… so a decision that was usually easy was quickly getting clouded by overthinking. ‘Maybe I’m being too picky?’ you hummed in thought. Your rushing thoughts were trying to be some sort of oracle and predict all the awful futures ahead of your supposed failure until you forced yourself to breathe. You huffed to yourself and lightly tapped your fingers on both arms, two on each side. ‘It won’t be a robot that kills me it’ll be my damn nerves.’
Just when your head was heating up like a computer with too many tabs open your eyes caught something in the lot behind the building which made your whole being freeze. You surged toward it, faster than you should have but you needed to know if this was really it to give your clenched chest a break. You let out a quiet whoop of joy when you pulled a sun-bleached tarp off a thin long object to find just what you’d hoped for and more. A motorcycle. One of the earlier models when the more efficient engines were just starting to take off but new enough for its engine to be a mere purr.
You couldn’t help running your hand over the smooth curves of the two wheeled beauty. The paint job wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but you could make it work. You were maybe a little biased into making excuses to keep it since the sleek motorcycle seemed to almost be made for you, and you have been too nervous in your old life to get a motorbike of your own. Bulky and weighed down was not your style. You only felt at your best when you could have a full range of movement without too many little things to worry about or get in the way of your movements. The motorcycle was obsidian black with bright cyan accents and trails outlining the planes of the vehicle. It definitely wasn’t new as made clear by the chipped paint, many dents, and the seamless integration of the handlebars, seat, even the wheel was so stunning without overtaking the unencumbered minimalism needed for maneuvering and speed. There was definite pride put into designing this vehicle.
Slipping off your black jacket just in case you needed to do repairs, you walked around it, idly wondering why such a beautiful piece of machinery was in such a dump till you got your answer from a thorough searching of the rickety building. You had located the keys and a sleek, albeit dusty, black and cyan helmet in an office you could only assume belonged to the owner of the lot.
“Damn this person had good taste,” you muttered with a grin to yourself as you straddled the motorcycle. You settled in comfortably, the shape matching your body near perfectly. You held your breath as you inserted the key and turned. Relief, and a spike of excitement rushed through you as you heard a mild stutter but then a deep rumble, reminding you of a cougar’s purr. You slid the helmet on and shrugged your jacket back over your shoulders.
You went to lift your foot until something truly shocking happened. Once your body locked into the riding position, and your helmet was on your head a blinding white-hot flash of pain overtook all of your senses. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t stop the absolute throat shredding guttural scream that was ripped painfully from your throat. You had no idea how much time passed or if you were even alive until the blinding white of your vision and ringing in your ears started to subside. You blinked and shook your head, shaking horribly and sweat pouring down your body. You panted hard and waited till your questioning thoughts died down before you took in the world around you. You quirked an eyebrow to see you were still upright on the motorbike despite both of your legs clutching the motorbike. If it was one of the heavier models you wouldn’t be as curious but it was clear this particular model was meant to be very moveable with your body. Before you could even seriously ponder removing your helmet and jumping off from this ‘fucking nightmare bike’ the sound of heavy footsteps gave you more than enough motivation to pull out from the lot.
Normally you’d be cocky as all hell at how successful this mission was. This trip had been a success. The wheels glowed a soft blue as you sped up to test its capacity. You couldn’t stop thinking of all the ways this vehicle could help your crew out. You couldn’t fight back yet but damn you might actually stand a chance of meeting one and surviving purely from outmaneuvering and outrunning the bastards. But this wasn’t normal. What sort of vehicle fills you with pain, and not the type of pain from the object itself but a pain that seemed to run through your very veins from a source completely foreign in origin? You shuddered. You looked behind you to try and take stock of the situation you were in. Judging by the giant, alien robot that had come out from a nearby warehouse and currently had their four amber eyes trained on you, you’d say not feckin’ great.
You’d heard stories and even seen them in passing as you’d hide behind trees or shelters. You’ve never seen one so in the open before though. You recognized the build from the sketches and rare photos you’d seen. Your chance of survival were steadily getting lower and lower. You felt like vomiting. Their coloration was a mix of purples, silver, and black with bright yellow energy crackling between joints and seems with the greatest concentration residing in the middle of it’s chest behind, what you guessed, was a diamond shaped glass covering. The long sharp legs that thickened at the top of the heel and thinned on the toe, on which all pressure was applied, brought to mind the image of a tall satyr. It’s torso and shoulders broadened as it went up. Two sets of long arms with clawed fingers were almost beautiful in their devastating potential. The lower set, which was tucked a bit behind themself, was longer than the main pair of arms. Like all Gratics, its body was a complex arrangement of metallic plates resembling armour or an exoskeleton. This extended to the face making up a mouth from various metallic plates that ended in a triangular point on each side. From the cheekbones two pairs of metallic extensions extended behind the head resembling cropped Doberman ears.
Hideo always told stories of his encounters with these particular models to keep your crew afraid so as not to underestimate the enemy. He had watched a Puma Prowler, super creatively nicknamed Prowlma, for short, take out his old army buddy without so much as a chase. His friend had beaten speed and agility records across the board but stood absolutely zero chance against this thing. These were their top hunters. Fast, agile, stealthy, and strong. If you hadn’t feared its prowess enough already, the alien surging forward, its main arms tucking into its chest while the longer pair moved forward to sprint after you on all fours, sure cemented it.
You had only looked away for a second, but it was enough time for you to turn back just in time to witness how screwed you were. You felt a stab of fear go through your heart, your knuckles clutching tightly on the steering as the front wheel smacked onto a collection of rocks jutting up from the ground. You knew that keeping loose increased your survival chances but in the moment the tension was hard to overpower. To your surprise however, instead of flying off the bike to a painful, likely deadly, landing at this speed, something miraculous happened.
It felt like the bike itself was an extension of you. It had the moment you took off but you hadn’t the time or presence of mind to wonder why you could so easily ride this vehicle having never ridden one before. Your instincts and training kicked in and a sense of confidence ran through you. In response to the sudden ground and speed change the bike responded. The only way you could describe it is shifting. Cyan light shone through the seams as plates moved apart to adjust for whatever this bike was doing. For a millisecond your wondered if there was some sort of sealant released when it closed to make it look uniform or if the seams were simply microscopic to have not noticed them before.
The bike then cartwheeled completely over thanks to the adjusted weight distribution adding to the momentum. You grinned, mentally calculating your landing, before the tires hit the ground with only a slight skittering wobble. Interestingly, the landing wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, as the bike in its infinite adjustments had become more flexible to make it gentler on you. It felt as natural as a crouching landing. Then as suddenly as it happened the bike compressed again into its old shape and you continued forward. The fast and heavy thudding was closing in on you fast. It was time to see how truly fast this baby could go.
OOC: I may have gotten carried away in description town but I wanted to establish a lot in this one and to get a lot of imagery right away! Feel free to let me know if you want to see any perspectives or interactions specifically! I’m not against doing micro interactions between characters detailing friendships and fleshing out the world more.
Also would any of you like chapters from the Robo’s perspective? Also a heads up this first boi ain’t the boyfriend. He’s just a mega asshole here to ruin your day.
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Warnings: noncon sex (somnophilia and a hint of cockwarming). I’m beggin you, please mind the warnings. If you read anyway, feel free to hit up my inbox to be mad at yourself.
This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.
Summary: The reader is a former Hydra employee put under surveillance of America’s greatest defender.
Please let me know what you think! and reblog :)
You stood beside the staunch man in his long leather coat. He only deigned to look at you now and then with poorly hidden spite in his singular eye. Fury, his name was. At last that’s what he had introduced himself as. In your files, it had been Colonel Nicholas Joseph Fury; clearance level: Level 10, Alpha, Omega; Target type: kill on sight. You could identify every person you had met in this foreign facility without a second glance. Each name you had read on your screen and categorized in this manner. Hydra had been rather organized in its crimes and you had been one of its many curators.
“They’ve already got a price on your head, you know that?” Fury growled, “Enough zeroes to intrigue me.” You kept silent and folded your hands in front of you. “For now though, I’m more concerned about keeping that tongue in tact. The intel in itself must be the bulk of your worth.”
You were surrounded by enemies. You watched the red-headed woman, Pepper Potts you recalled, as she passed you by. Her eyes never even strayed from her path as if you were to repugnant to look at. Former enemies. Never really true enemies. Merely those Hydra had told you were foes. Paid you to believe to be so. Still, it did not excuse your crimes; those you had come to confess in hopes of preventing future ones. You may not have drawn the knives or pulled the triggers, but you had been complacent nonetheless.
Fury checked his watched and sighed. “Not like my agents to be late.” He grumbled.
Just as he spoke the door whished open and a blonde man stepped through. You recognized him too but any with a brain and a sense of history would know him. Steve Rogers was every inch the American patriot he had been molded to be. His crystal blue eyes, sharp jawline, and golden hair as pristine as the posters. He greeted Fury with a handshake.
“Sorry about that, I got caught up with Sam. You know, he never shuts up,” He smiled, subtly peeking over at you. You looked to your feet, a small bag just beside them. A single change of clothes and basic toiletries. All provided by your new keepers. “So, you said something about an escort mission.”
“A defector from the ambush in Egypt. She’s apparently got a lot to say but Hydra doesn’t seem too happy about that,” Fury replied, “Harmless really. I trust you should be able to handle her but I’m not so much worried about her as her former comrades.”
“Her?” You sensed Steve’s eyes on you but kept yours to the floor. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“Just a clerk. Couldn’t hold a knife to cut her own steak at dinner,” You bit your lip at the insult and let out a long breath. “Coordinates are being sent to you as we speak. Take her and keep her there until we send for you.”
“Well, I’m almost relieved for a mission that doesn’t involve the apocalypse,” Steve chuckled. “Think I can handle that.”
“Keep an eye on her regardless,” Fury warned, “Once Hydra, always Hydra.” Fury dismissed you as he stepped past Steve and left you alone with him.
You swallowed and bent to lift you bag. “I’m Steve--”
“Rogers, I know,” You finished for him. You finally found the nerve to look him in the face. “I know who everyone is. It was my job.”
“A desk jockey. Barely a murderer,” He scoffed.
“Just as bad. If not worse for my cowardice.” You returned, “I knew what Hydra did and I helped them do it.”
“I had a friend taken by Hydra,” He began and again you interrupted.
“Sergeant Bucky Barnes, better known as The Winter Soldier, former assassin for Hydra. I know of him. Know his file well.” You stared up at him with all the courage you could muster. “He was brainwashed. What’s my excuse? I certainly knew what I was doing. What the information I gathered led to.”
“So, if you hate yourself so much, why didn’t you let them kill you in the ambush?” He asked.
“Because, I thought if I could help any from being hurt by Hydra again, just one, my whole life wouldn’t have been for nothing,” You lowered your lashes as you voice quavered, “Not that it would absolve me. Nothing could do that.”
You spent two days in the car with the super soldier before you reached your destination. It was a quaint little cabin set into the side of a cavern as if growing out of the earth itself. Before your departure, a black band had been clasped around your ankle. A tracker which looked no more than an anklet. It was much sturdier than it looked.
You stepped out in the early evening air, the smell of evergreens and soil filled your nostrils. Steve closed his door and locked the car with a chirp. You hadn’t said much on your journey. He had tried to talk but you hadn’t much to say. Nothing more than self-pity and regret. You didn’t know why you had stayed for so long. There was no excuse you could find to explain what you had done. To yourself or any other. Nothing more than selfishness and willful ignorance.
“Gonna be a long stay if you don’t talk,” Steve said as he waved you ahead of him. Even if he was being friendly, you were still in his custody. “You know, I’ve met a lot of people who’ve done worse than you and didn’t show an ounce of remorse. At least you’re still human.”
You closed your eyes as you stepped aside and waited for him to unlock the door. He ushered you inside before him and the door closed behind him with an audible whir of gears. The interior looked fresh out of the seventies though all the technology was current. You glanced around the front hall, a walnut staircase stretched up to the second floor in a zigzag. Steve dropped his bag and took yours from you with a gentle tug to place it beside his own.
“You hungry?” He asked and you only nodded. “Come on then, I’m sure they’ve got some of that shrink-wrapped cardboard they call food in here.” You followed him to the kitchen. He opened the yellow fridge and chuckled. He pulled out two trays and shoved one in the microwave as he turned back to you. “Not much better than the road rations but I’ll tell Fury to send some real food when I check in.”
He crossed to the long island as you swayed back and forth on your feet. You looked around at the kitchen warily. This didn’t feel right. You should be in a cell. Or dead. “He told me what they did. What he did. But I stayed because I thought I loved him.” You said quietly. You turned to him with arms crossed. “Do you think that makes it right? What happened to all those innocents? To your friend, even? Can one’s love cancel out another’s life?”
Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. “Emotions makes people do stupid things. Terrible things.” The microwave beeped and he took out the tray and replaced it with the other. He grabbed a fork and knife from the third drawer he opened and set the manufactured meal before you on the island. “Can’t take it back now, can you? So, pull up a seat and dig in. I almost think that pile of slop is enough punishment.”
You shook your head at yourself and stiffly climbed up on a stool. You lifted the fork and stared at its shiny tines. Why had you said that? Did you think confessing to him would cleanse you? He didn’t care. He was doing his job. You were a prisoner. An enemy. A criminal.
A week went by in which you tried to settle in with your keeper. You couldn’t help but look at him for what he was; your guard. Despite the charm of the cabin, you couldn’t pretend it was anything but a prison. You were growing anxious. You had so much to say. What use were you here? You could help them. Give them information which could save the lives of dozens; hundreds even.
You sat in the armchair, your legs bent so that your feet were on the edge of the seat. You were too restless to read any of the books along the wall of shelves. You picked at the ankle of the plain grey paints. You had been provided a wardrobe of drab cottons. It was just like a prison uniform really. Steve was always there with you too. As vigilant as ever, if not subtly so. Always in the same room; his blue eyes would linger on you when he thought you unaware. He only excused himself for his evening reports to Fury. And to sleep/
He would walk you to your room and lock the door behind you as he retreated to his own. It was just next to yours. Wise. You were surprised you were even allowed your own space as whenever you were awake, it felt as if he was attached at the hip. He was stretched out on the sofa, his feet propped up on one arm as he read. You gazed over his long body through the large windows. The trees rustled in the wind and chipmunks hopped along the branches; the occasional bird landing just outside the glass.
He snapped the book shut suddenly and sat up, tossing it beside him on the couch. “You wanna go for a walk?” He asked. “Getting kinda stir crazy in here, isn’t it?”
You looked at him in surprise. You had been so lost in the silence that he had almost scared you. “Uh, sure,” You answered. The very idea of being outside was a dream. You’d not be truly free but you could pretend. You hung your feet to the floor and stood as you stretched out your arms.
Steve rose in kind and gestured you ahead of him to the door. You stepped into the front hall and he kicked your plain sneakers over to you before he slipped on his own shoes. “Stay close.” He said, “You try anything and we won’t go out again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” You muttered grimly. “I’ve nowhere to go.”
He merely nodded and unlocked the door. You stayed at his side. He’d glance over but you weren’t sure it was really out of concern. Maybe curiosity. You had caught him before, staring at you. Was he thinking of what you had done? Of his friend and your hand in the machine that had abused him? You couldn’t really tell if it was hate or pity.
You walked along a winding path through the trees; the leaves overgrown and thick as they caught on your pants. He pointed out some poison ivy before you could brush against it and guided you onward. The stirring of water filled the air as it grew damp. You could smell the lake before you saw it. Just outside the curtains of pine and elm. After days of tension, it was a rare moment of serenity.
You stepped ahead of Steve without thinking and neared the large flat rocks just at the shore. You sat, your eyes on the ripples as you watched them spread across the river. On the other side, the tree line stood in almost a perfect reflection of those behind you and the sun beat down in pleasant streaks across the surface. You leaned your elbows on your knees and exhaled. For a moment, you forgot.
“Why don’t you go for a swim?” Steve shook you from your trance. He was right beside you, his blue eyes glistened like the water before you.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?” You challenged.
“Nah, I’ll catch you if you do,” He smirked, “And I know you won’t.”
You shrugged and looked back out to the lake. “I can’t swim,” You admitted, “I just like the smell.”
“I’ll save you if you start to flounder,” He offered lightly.
“I’m okay here,” You replied, hypnotized by the soft roll of water. “Just nice to get out. In Egypt, we never… I shouldn’t complain. I’m alive. Safe.”
“Could’ve had it a lot worse,” He remarked, “Not just here but with Hydra. They could’ve done more than paid you to do their bookkeeping.”
“I know,” You mumbled guiltily. You sensed an edge to his voice. You knew what he was referring to but you didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember the photos of the one-armed man in his cage. “We should go back, I guess.”
You went to stand and he held a hand up. “No, enjoy the view while you can.” He turned and pulled his crew neck over his head, “I’m gonna go for a swim if you don’t mind.”
“Sure you wouldn’t care if I did,” You kept your eyes to the water as you heard his belt buckle.
You listened to the rustle of clothing, shoes dropped on top, and glanced over only as he entered the water. He still wore his dark boxer briefs, his thick;y muscled back tensing as he met the cool lake. Your eyes flicked back to the opposite shore line. A family of loons floated across the water as other avian inhabitants sang their peace.
It was twenty minutes before Steve emerged. You couldn’t help but feel suffocated in the strained silence. The whole time you tried not to peek over at him though you felt him watching you. The water splashed around him as he made his way to the shore and he neared, sitting on the stone next to you as he dried off in the sun.
“Fury says it could be a month. Maybe two. He wants you to start writing stuff down. Everything you can remember.” He was close, his hand right next to your leg. “I have some notes to help you. What’s most important. It will give you something to do.” His hand slipped back and just behind you as he leaned back. “Maybe something useful is in that head of yours.”
“Okay,” You mumbled, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You could feel his warmth even as the chill of the lake slaked off of him. “I hope there is.”
You had started keeping a journal. You filled the pages during the day as Steve lingered in your purview. Another week elapsed the same as the one before. Wake up, eat, go for a walk, clean up, write...there wasn’t much to do but you were always exhausted when he locked you up for the night. You didn’t really sleep behind that door. You just laid there; thinking.
That night was no different. You had even kept your lamp on and filled another five pages before closing up the notebook and flipping the switch. You tucked yourself under the covers but your eyelids lost their weight. You were turning from side to side. It had to have been an hour when you finally flopped onto your back and huffed. Goddammit. Just sleep. It was just so hard to relax here. Or at all.
You kept your eyes closed and willed yourself to sleep. Still nothing. You just needed to calm down. Stop thinking. Your eyes snapped open as the thought crossed your mind. It was inappropriate. Wrong. Not here...but he wouldn’t know. Your hand was at your stomach. It stopped just above your thin pajamas. You hesitated. It would help you let go but you didn’t deserve pleasure. You earned all the pain you got.
You fingers slid below your pajamas and inside your panties. You pressed between your folds and softly rubbed along your clit. A breath wisped from your lips. You repeated the motion and your shoulders relaxed. Next your legs. Your entire being sunk into the mattress as you twirled your fingers. All thoughts slipped away from; all but the task before you.
Steve was restless that night. He was the type that once he laid down, he was out within a couple minutes. The last two weeks had been no different. He knew the girl wasn’t going to run. She didn’t have the strength or the will. He couldn’t really guess how one such as her even managed to get tangled up in Hydra. There was something much darker behind her eyes than any could imagine.
His head was half under the pillow when he heard it. Quiet at first. He was certain it hadn’t been more than the night breeze against the window. Then it came again. He realized what it was; the low moans growing louder. He lifted his head and turned over. He sat up as the mewls came closer together. He felt the twitch in his pants; the one he had been resisting for days. That which had first risen in the lake.
It was her. Was she really doing it? Touching herself? Had she heard him the nights before doing the same? No, he had made sure to hold his breath and bite his lip as he thought of her in his bed next to him. Imagined her ass against his cock as he spooned her. Her breasts warm and soft as he fondled them. It never failed to coax his release. But tonight wasn’t the same. Her voice had riled him completely.
He began to stroke himself as he listened to her. He could imagine the sound of her rubbing herself. The slickness against her fingers; maybe even delving inside as her legs bent in delight. Her back would arch and she would shake until finally...A sharp squeak signaled her orgasm and Steve wasn’t far behind. He burst all over the inside of his pajamas, his breath heavy as he slowed his hand.
A few minutes later, he was still rock hard. It hurt how hard he was. Even after his climax, he was left wanting. He was so tired of pretending. Cooped up in this safe house, resisting the urge to touch. An hour later and he was still throbbing. Worse even than before. He listened for any sound from the other side of the wall; nothing.
He sat up, still alert for any creak of her bed. Nothing. He stood, the front of his pants still damp with his cum. His heart was in his throat as he neared the door. He just wanted to see her. To look at her. That’s all. If she were awake, he would claim to just be checking in. He had heard something and was just being cautious. He stepped out into the hall and gripped the handle of her door, he unlocked it and listened once more.
He pushed inside slowly. Her steady breath was the only noise in the silent room. So deep and measured that she must be asleep. The moonlight shone in between the curtains and limned her curves beneath the quilt. She looked peaceful. He neared, his eyes exploring every inch of her through the dark. Her arms were bent in front of her as she lay on her side, her leg slightly zagged. A small snore escaped her and startled him. She didn’t wake.
He went around the other side of the bed, away from the silver light peeking in. He carefully pressed down on the bed, waiting for her to react to the change in pressure. She didn’t. She was fast asleep. He stood straight and raised the hem of his tee, pulling it over his head as he kept his eyes on her. Not a single twitch. Next he rolled down the waist of his pants, freeing himself from their mess. He stood stark naked as he watched her doze, his cock hard and pulsing.
He place his knee on the edge of the mattress. Still no reaction. His other came up and he was entirely on the bed. He pulled the quilt over himself as he shimmied in next to her. As the bed jostled, she still didn’t wake. She must have tired herself out. He nestled close and kissed the back of her head. He inhaled her scent and shuddered. He’d just lay there for a little then leave.
But he didn’t. His arm was around her and she rested soundly against him. His cock hurt so bad. It felt horribly swollen. He slid his hand down and waited for her to flinch. She didn’t. He tugged down her pants, a light yank to free them from below her. She merely grumbled but still did not stir. Her panties were still wet from her own activities. They were easier to push down. The tangle of fabric unhooked from her feet with a whispered curse. He shouldn’t...
Her pussy was wet too. His fingers were buried in her folds before he could stop himself. His arm held her flush to him as he circled her clit. Her breath hitched and he lifted his head to see if she had awoken. She still hadn’t. She was dreaming. He ran his fingers to her entrance and back. He kept up the motion, focusing on her bud until she was sopping. God, it hurt.
He pulled his hand back and pushed on her pelvis. Her back arched and his hand glided down to her thigh. Her took her leg and eased it over his own. He could feel her pussy against his cock. It was warm; welcoming. He reached around her leg and nudged his tip to her entrance with two fingers. He rocked his hips up and impaled her slowly.
When he bottomed out he couldn’t help the gasp. She was fucking tight. Her walls clenched around him and he thrust smoothly in and out of her. He shivered and did it again. Oh, she was delicious. He felt her move but was too lost as the tendrils coiled around him. She was murmuring but still asleep. The thought of her being so unaware drove him closer to the edge. He couldn’t restrain himself as her pussy clung to his cock.
Her murmurs became mutters and he felt the change. Her whole body tensed and her arm bent, her hand on her face. “W-wha--” She tried to pull away and turned to look behind her.
Steve stopped her, his hand over her mouth as he held her head straight. He shushed in her ear as he continued to plunge into her. She spoke into his hand; her voice smothered but panicked against his rough palm. “You sounded lonely,” He rasped in her ear. Her hand was on his but he was much stronger. She felt so good around his cock; as if it fit her perfectly. As if this was meant to be.
You hadn’t slept so soundly in months. You were dragged down into unconsciousness swiftly after release. You barely recalled drifting off. Your mind filled with visions of the lake. You were sitting on the same rock as before. But then the tide rose and you submerged, struggling to find the surface. The intense ripples rose around you in a cyclone. You gasped for air as you were swept up in the black waters.
Your eyes shot open as the peculiar sensation finally awoke you. It had been only a dream at first. A storm in your loins washing over your body. But then you bobbed to the surface and a last you broke through to reality. You gasped as you felt the hot body behind you, the unfamiliar fullness inside of you; thrusting in and out.
“W-whaa--” A hand clapped over your mouth, silencing you.
A shush filled your ear and warm breath tickled your neck. You tried to speak, your eyes widened at the realization of what was happening.
“Steve,” You tried to call to him but his hand muted your words.
“You sounded lonely,” He hissed in your ear as you grabbed at his hand. Despite his intrusion, you felt your walls tightening around him. The tingling gathered along your thighs and back. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He nibbled on your ear and you whimpered. “To be punished.”
You continued to pull on his hand but he easily ignored your pathetic struggle. His hand slipped away for only a moment as he rolled you onto your stomach. He kept his cock inside of you as he followed. He was on top of you as his hand found the back of your head and pushed it into the pillows.
You reached out but couldn’t escape from beneath him. His other arm was across your shoulder, his breath ragged in your ear as he pounded you. He lifted his pelvis only to slam it back down into you. You were gasping as you felt the spring wind inside of you. The tension mounted and your nerves erupted in a rapturous flow. You bit down on the pillow as you came, squeezing shut your eyes as your body deceived you.
He continued to fuck you with sharp, decisive thrusts. Your entire body was jolted below him. The bed groaning with his every move. His grunts filled your head as his cock hammered your walls and he buried himself to his limit. He snarled as the warmth seeped from him. His cum spilled inside of you and you felt even more full. He collapsed on top of you entirely, his weight almost suffocating. He sighed as he let go of your tangled hair.
His arms snaked under you and he held you to him as he fell back onto his side. He was careful to stay inside of you as he did. He pushed himself back to his hilt as he slipped slightly. His breath began to slow as he kept you against him; an arm beneath you. His other hand wandered beneath your shirt. He kneaded your tits and purred along the back of your head. You tried again to pull away but he clung to you.
“Sleep,” He commanded.
“I said sleep,” He rocked his hips forward and jabbed your cervix painfully. Already you could feel him getting hard again, not that he was ever really soft. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”
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Or, My Complex Feelings About Christmas as a Non-Christian Anticapitalist in Overlapping Atypical Neurotypes.
Wednesday 25th December 2019
Various things interact in my brain at Christmas.
I’m extremely not Christian. I was raised in a Christian society, had to sing hymns in assemblies in school, had Easter services in a church with my classmates, was given a Bible at a particular academic milestone... and always felt very uncomfortable with all of that Christian stuff. I wasn’t asked if I wanted to join in or if I believed, it was just assumed that I would come around to it. The idea that it might be unethical to raise children in a religion, or just that the child might not benefit from it, never crossed anyone’s mind. The various teachings were sometimes nice but mostly felt to me like inconsistent and untrue stories and attempts to manipulate me, though clearly it was unintentional. I bet Jesus was awesome and I’d probably have liked him if I met him at a bus stop, but I don’t want this whole... religion thing about him.
Anti-capitalist. My first memory of buying clothes as a small child and being given a choice about what was bought for me, I remember rejecting all the choices available and asking for something without brand names or logos on it! I’m just anti-capitalist to my core, I think. And I would estimate that I attribute about 90% of the feeling of Christmas being imposed on me to capitalism, which has a selfish interest in sustaining a social structure of Christmas as a time for consumption, and then embedding that structure in as many people as possible until it feels like a tradition that emotionally sustains itself. So in addition to Christmas not really happening to me internally, I have to deal with Christmas happening to me a lot externally, whether I like it or not, and I usually do not.
My brain is bad with music. I like a lot of music, but I’ve learned slowly over time that if I listen to it I’m just giving my brain things to loop. I am very prone to earworms and find them very uncomfortable. I worked in WH Smith over Christmas one time and could happily never listen to another Christmas song ever again in my life. Sometimes Christmas music comes on and I start to feel inexplicably trapped with a sensation of dread. I recognise that it’s mostly good, pleasant, catchy, upbeat music with good message! I just can’t deal with it on a visceral level sometimes.
My situation growing up was not ideal. Christmas day meant my mum’s partner was home all day and probably drinking. I would have to buy him presents, even. We were told that Christmas is a time for giving to and spending time with people you love, so I didn’t understand why I had to do that with him.
I struggle a lot with things. Folks following me for a long time know that I go through phases of minimalism and decluttering, and because of environmental whatnot I can’t just throw out a perfectly good thing so I frequently sell stuff I don’t want. Christmas presents, especially from my family (we’re not that close), tend to be things I neither need nor want, but I feel guilty about getting rid of them immediately. It doesn’t matter how much I ask for zero presents and fail to buy presents back! I get gifts and I just don’t know what to do with them. Unless I trust that someone knows how to give me gifts, and to be fair that’s quite a lot of people, I generally find it stressful opening gifts in front of people.
I struggle with waste. I love that people bring living green trees into their homes during a time when the earth is sleeping, but then those trees die. I like that people have found artificial alternatives, but they’re plastic and planned to be obsolete and they are frequently thrown away. Christmas decorations are flimsy and disposable and bad for the environment to manufacture and discard. Many (not all) people buy gifts because they feel like they ought to, and then folks are stuck with stuff that they won’t use or want to keep. I’ll bet a lot of people end up throwing out food because they made too much. If all of these things make people feel happy and good then I’m definitely never going to argue that they’re bad or try to stop people from doing them, but I just... wish that these things could be more sustainable for the same amount of effort and cost.
I don’t deal well with time, and the social consequences of that are painful. I’m learning that this is probably an ADHD thing. In particular, the experience of events that fall on specific dates and times. That includes dentist appointments, anniversaries, weddings... and birthdays, and Christmas. The latter two are particularly difficult for me, because I know that a lot of other people don’t just like them and find them important, they specifically want to involve the people they love, and it comes with a sense of obligatory participation. If I forget someone’s birthday it is often hurtful to them, and the more we love each other the more it will hurt them. If someone can support me to participate then it’s easier, but it is still very difficult.
I am disabled and poor. I have enough money to get by with the occasional high luxury purchase (e.g. use savings to buy new laptop because old one is broken), but buying gifts for people is hella expensive and making gifts for people requires less fatigue and more executive function than I have.
What this means is, when people ask me how I feel about Christmas or what I’m doing at Christmas I generally feel quite uncomfortable. I just tell people that I like to spend Christmas on my own and I won’t be with my family and I like having the day to myself, but if it feels comfortable I will go into more detail and say some of the above, and then I feel like I am being a big grouch who hates Christmas, and I don’t hate Christmas, I just hate that it’s compulsory and I feel uncomfortable when my going against the grain is so visible and can be interpreted to mean that I am a grumpy bastard.
Having said that, there are things that I like about Christmas.
Apocalypse vibe. There are no cars on the road, there are no shops open, everyone is in a warm cosy house with their loved ones opening presents... You can go for a little walk and meet hardly anyone and just walk right down the middle of a road for several minutes without being hit by a car! It’s the only day of the year when I feel peaceful when the sun is up.
No one is going to ask me to do anything. No emails from social workers, no bills, no reminders to make appointments, no PAs coming to help me do life things, no letters to send... and it’s understood that everyone has plans and everyone has a right to do whatever they want because it’s a special day, like everyone having a state-mandated birthday on the same day. Although, if someone needed their cat feeding over Christmas I would totally do it! I like the idea of enabling someone else to have a nicer special time.
Sharing light. It’s the dark time of year, and I like that a lot of faiths have a tradition of bringing light. That makes sense to me. On the solstice I often light a candle in the window at sundown and leave it lit until I go to bed, and that feels good. I usually do it on Christmas eve and Christmas day too, and any other days I’m in the mood.
Feasting. Winter is generally a less productive time of year in terms of food production, so a lot of faiths also include some tasty food, and that makes sense to me too!
So, since Christmas here in the UK is compulsory, my reclaiming of it for myself looks something like this, in approximately this order...
A minimal morning routine. Only the essentials and things that make me feel comfortable.
A little bit of tidying and admin. I always feel better when I do that, but I rarely remember, unless I’m having a day that’s 100% alone and about me. Getting some admin and clutter out of the way feels like an investment and a gift to my future self.
Opening presents. I have a little rainbow tinsel tree, and I put any presents I get around it, and sometime usually a bit before lunch I get a feeling that is a bit like, “oh, yes, I’m ready for presents now.”
Feast. I often manage to prep ingredients the day before, and it usually involves these essential components that I mostly ignore the rest of the year: nut roast, roast potatoes, roast Brussels sprouts, vegetarian pigs in blankets, peas, gravy.
Plants. I guess this is my equivalent to the tree phenomenon. I tend to all my houseplants and outdoor plants, repot anything that needs it, prune anything that needs it. Winter is less green, so I might also get the urge to invest some energy in adding to the overall future green in the world by sowing something. This autumn I successfully rooted and potted up some willow stems, so I feel quite satisfied with my planty achievements.
A candle in the evening at sundown. It’s important to share light in dark times. This often goes with a cosy winding down routine.
Some kind of gentle movie/TV. For a while the Doctor Who Christmas special was perfect, and now I don’t have a TV licence and Doctor Who doesn’t do Christmas specials any more, so maybe something like that but on Netflix?
A lot of my difficulties with Christmas come down to being autistic, with a smattering of ADHD and a troublesome upbringing. If I were with others I would feel drawn to help out with food, open gifts in front of people... and I’d either have to do those things, or explain why I’m not doing those things. Whichever I choose is differently exhausting.
I think in the right (for want of a better word) environment I could probably become a person who would rather be surrounded by loving family than be alone, and I'm open to it, but there are some complex and somewhat painful feelings tangled up in Christmas for me so it's going to take time.
To me, spending Christmas day alone feels very indulgent and luxurious. I can ignore everyone else in the world and initiate only if I completely want to, without judgement.
The Maori word for autism is 'takiwatanga', which translates as '[their] own time and space', and Christmas day is the one day of the year that I can fully and joyfully embody that.
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Made to Suffer [one-shot]
Summary: In a world where you’re surrounded by death, you just want to feel something.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: Angst, graphic violence, death, SMUT EXPLICIT 18+, please don’t read if under 18!, major character death
Notes: Probably one of my favorite crossovers to ever write. The Walking Dead is my favorite show besides Game of Thrones and when Fatima (@revengingbarnes ) came up with a Marvel/TV crossover challenge, I had to enter! Congrats on the milestone and thanks for hosting such an awesome challenge!
Forewarning you all, this will be graphically violent. I’m a sick bitch who loves writing gorey scenes and, come on, it’s the zombie apocalypse. There’s nothing tame about it. It’s also long as hell. Enjoy and let me know what you think! x
P.S. - For those who don’t watch TWD, “walkers” are the zombies; they don’t use the term zombies in the show.
When Bucky, Steve, and Nat were sent into a Hydra base with the intent of extracting biological weapons, they hadn’t been counting on that weapon being rigged to the entire facility, set to be released into the air upon the decimation of the building itself.
The changes weren’t immediately known. When the bomb Bucky rigged had gone off, there were no strange colored clouds dissipating into the air, no inclinations that something sinister had occurred. So how could they have known?
Patient zero was a thirty-three-year old woman from Queens, who displayed symptoms of the flu, intensified by chronic vomiting and a fever that never dropped below a hundred and five degrees. Her temperature had continued to rise until her body merely burned out and succumbed. No one, least of all the doctors assigned to her case, expected her to reanimate and escape the morgue.
Even less expected was her attacking the morgue attendant and sinking her teeth into his jugular. It only snowballed from there; hospitals and care centers rapidly filled with the sick. The military was dispatched to contain them. Sanctuaries and refugee centers were erected in all major cities.
The Avengers were outnumbered. Bruce and Helen Cho worked tirelessly on a potential cure, experimenting and testing and recalibrating until both of them were overtaken by the sick—the dead—and Steve and Natasha were forced to put them down.
It had been discovered by accident, the way to kill them for good. Destroy the brain, destroy the monster.
Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe what he was seeing on the news as images and videos of burning houses and buildings flooded the screen. The news anchors couldn’t keep the terror out of their voices as they narrated what was happening behind them. He sat in the common room, eyes red-rimmed, glassy, and focused as his leg bounced anxiously. Bruce and Helen’s deaths hit everyone hard, especially Nat and Tony, and the two of them fell into a deep depression while at the same time working furiously to recreate some kind of serum that would reverse the effects of the illness.
It was a dead end.
Eventually, Steve, Nat, Bucky, Tony, and the others were forced to leave Avengers Tower. Not even Tony had enough resources to keep them fed through this. With everything they could carry on their backs—changes of clothes in Nat and Clint’s packs, the entire Avengers pantry in Bucky and Steve’s, and the notes on a serum in Tony’s—they left the city.
It was tough, those first months out on the road. Tony insisted heading south towards Georgia, where the CDC may have held answers. They never made it. The freeways and main roads were so congested with cars and the dead that they were forced to head west instead. They ran into trouble: other, less friendly groups, hordes of the dead, packs of dogs who’d forgotten how to be the family pet.
Tony was the first of their group to die. Tetanus, if you could believe it, after scaling a building in an attempt to get their bearings. His footing slipped as he climbed, and a sharp edge of the rusted ladder sliced the inside of his forearm wide open. Sam had stopped the bleeding, but none could have predicted the symptoms that followed.
They buried him in the trees somewhere in Illinois. Nat and Steve weren’t the same. The two of them became harder, colder, more ruthless. A dangerous duo that began taking unnecessary risks in order to keep them all safe.
It cost Sam his life. It gravely injured Clint, which only caused Nat to spiral further. With the loss of Sam, Steve was inconsolable and hard as steel, so far gone that Bucky saw no trace of his best friend anymore. He and Steve butted heads; Bucky questioned every choice Steve made as the unofficially appointed leader of their group. Nat took Steve’s side every time, often resorting to physical blows when Bucky stepped out of line. He’d forgotten how lethal she could be.
It’s what inevitably led him to leaving the group. He waited until nightfall, knowing neither Steve nor Nat would willingly let him leave. Steve wouldn’t be able to handle losing his oldest friend, but Bucky could hardly be pressed to care. Steve was no longer the boy he grew up with or the patriotic, self-righteous hero who fought for Bucky’s innocence all those years ago.
He had a feeling Nat’s super spy instincts knew when he snuck out of camp, one pack slung over his shoulder full of pilfered goods from their stores, but she either saw it coming or didn’t rightly care. He’d bet on the latter.
Survival took a toll on his body. He did his best to keep himself in peak physical form, using fallen trees as weights to bench press and jogging here and there, but he knew he was far smaller than he was. Still well-muscled and still gazelle-graceful, but thinner, paler, face sunken in with the lack of nutrition. He had trouble sleeping, nightmares flashing in his head. Only this time, they were images of his dead friends—Tony, succumbing to tetanus, unable to move a muscle; Sam, overcome and taken apart by the dead when one of Steve’s suicide runs went awry; Bruce and Helen, pale, milky-eyed, with snapping jaws and dead fingers reaching out.
He didn’t sleep much after those started, took to moving from place to place at night. He stayed in abandoned houses, raided cabinets and closets and garages for any food or weapons, slept in a storage unit once after picking the lock. His super-soldier senses aided him in avoided the dead; he could hear, smell, and see them before they saw him, giving him ample time to hide either in a building or up in a tree if he was in the wilderness.
It became routine, hide, eat, move. The loneliness didn’t bother him so much as the silence did. He didn’t have Sam’s stupid jokes or nicknames to annoy him, didn’t have Steve’s chastising voice in his ear, did have Nat giving him advice on how to combat the nightmares. Hell, he’d take Tony’s cold indifference to him over the silence. It gave him too much room to dwell, to think about anything other than survival.
Somewhere near the border of Missouri, he stopped in a gated neighborhood. His body was running on empty despite the racing of his mind. His stores were depleting, and he desperately needed to sleep. He’d risk the nightmares, just this once.
He chose a house with its door wide open. A knife in each hand, he crept through the doorway, icy eyes searching each room thoroughly for danger. Furniture, covered in layers of dust, lay tipped over in the living room. The kitchen was in a similar state of disarray, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the disturbance of dust on the counter. The marble was stark white where something had brushed the dust away. Immediately Bucky was on high alert, ears straining for any noise.
There it was. The creak of a floorboard upstairs. Fingers tightening on his knives, he crept up the stairs on silent feet. He steadied his breathing, jaw clenched as he ascended. He rounded the corner of the stairs, gaze flitting between the three doors of the second floor. The first door bore a bedroom, a kid’s if the posters and toys was any indication (Bucky had to swallow down his unease). The second was a bathroom, revealing further evidence that someone was staying here.
He stalked to the final bedroom, poised like a predator hunting his prey. Bucky allowed just a sliver of the Soldier in, just enough to keep his focus. His body went rigid as the Soldier crept to the forefront of his mind, attention firmly on the task at hand. Shoulders straight, Bucky inched forwards, gently pushing open the door and hovering just inside the frame. His eyes swept the room, settling first on the unmade bed that looked recently slept in and continuing on to the closed closet door.
Eyes narrowing to slits, Bucky stepped forward until his nose nearly touched the door. He could pick up a heartbeat behind it, surprised to find it steady and strong. Not a dead one, then. Bucky inhaled, ready to throw the doors open, but he startled backwards as they flew open of their seemingly own accord. Before he could blink he took a boot to the chest, sending him backwards into the bed, where he collapsed and bounced upon the soft mattress.
As he sat up, he grunted as a body landed atop his chest, knees pinning his arms and a gun held to his forehead. Eyes wide with surprise, he took in the figure straddling him.
Your breathing was steady as you glared down at the man trapped beneath you. Your grip on the gun was firm, index finger hovering just over the trigger. The man’s icy eyes were wide but without any trace of fear. Instead, he looked mildly annoyed at having been bested.
“What do you want?” you growled, voice hoarse from disuse.
The man’s eyes flickered yours before they took in your gun. Jaw muscle twitching, he moved like lightning, knocking you off balance enough to wedge his hand between his head and the gun. His gloved palm pressed, disengaging the slide and rendering the gun useless. With a growl the man twisted his body, pinning you to the bed and knocking the gun out of your hands. It clattered to the floor, forgotten as you lay helpless beneath him.
Bucky held your wrists in his hands, barely having broken a sweat, and as he looked down at you, he caught a brief flash of fear behind your eyes. Coming back to himself, he loosened his grip on you just a little.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’ll let you up, but please promise me you won’t go for that gun and shoot me.”
You stayed silent, watching him closely as he released your wrists and straightened up off the bed. A small part of your brain felt saddened by the sudden loss of his weight on top of you, but you shut that down quickly. Now’s not the time.
You sat up as the man backed away, hands raised in front of him. Now that there was some distance between you, you took time to appraise him. Tall, muscular form, long-sleeved shirt that only just hid his physique. Glove on one hand, the left, long legs supported by thick thighs. Your eyes traveled up. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones that were slightly sunken in, a sharp, straight nose, deep circles under wintry blue eyes. Long, greasy dark hair hung limply in his face.
Well, he was certainly the most attractive visitor you’d entertained recently. Another glance at his face revealed his smirk, as if he could hear your thoughts, see where your mind had gone. It hadn’t helped that you’d subconsciously tugged your bottom lip invitingly between your teeth.
Bucky was no stranger to desire, though he had to admit it hadn’t been the first thing on his mind as of late. But now, as he stood before you under your scrutinizing gaze, he couldn’t deny the rush of heat as his blood warmed beneath his skin and his heartrate increased just slightly. His own eyes roved over your form, took in the shape of your body, the curves of your waist, hips, and legs clad in tight dark pants. You wore unlaced boots.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” Your voice pulled him from the recesses of his mind, where images of you underneath him had him shifting his position as his pants grew tighter.
“Name’s Bucky. I was looking for somewhere to lay low for a bit, recharge.”
His voice was smooth like honey with a smokiness that made you shiver. The sound curled over you, warming and filling your body with want. His mouth quivered with a smile, detecting the rise in your heartbeat.
“I can find somewhere else, if you’re uncomfortable,” he offered, eyebrow raising a little. With the way your eyes were devouring him, the hitch in your breathing, he knew it wasn’t what you wanted, but he put it out there.
“N-No,” you stammered, clearing your throat as your voice was a raspy croak. “You can stay. I have some spare supplies.”
“What’s your name?” His voice made you pause in turning around to head downstairs. You told him quietly and he nodded, stepping forward to follow you.
You shared a few canned goods with him after warming them in the fireplace, the two of you dining on opposite sides of the room. Bucky’s eyes found you in the fire light, dancing across your form as you scraped the last of your Spaghettios out of the bottom of the can and set it aside.
“How long have you been alone?” he asked, almost hesitantly. Your eyes lifted to the flames, glossing over just a bit as you thought.
“Not long,” you eventually replied. Your sister was the last to die, only about three weeks ago now. He didn’t press further. “You?”
“Few months, I think. Gets hard to keep track of time.”
You hummed in agreement but froze as footsteps on your porch pulled your attention. Bucky was on high alert, back straight and shoulders rigid, eyes flying to the door. A muffled gurgle made you relax.
“Just a walker. It’ll go away,” you muttered, shoulders sagging against the chair. Bucky took a little longer to relax, wanting to make sure one wouldn’t turn into fifty.
When the walker wandered off, its interest pulled somewhere else, Bucky sat back with a sigh. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. It allowed you a moment to look him over again. He was a specimen, that’s for sure, even with his slightly-sunken face. Your body warmed again, flushing deliciously. You shifted on the floor, attempting to quell the sudden ache between your legs.
When he shifted and straightened again, you averted your eyes to the fire, trying and failing to hold back a yawn.
“Get some sleep,” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence. “I’ll keep watch.”
You thought about arguing, took in the darkness under his eyes, but his strong, insistent gaze tied up your tongue. You nodded, sighing as you stood and stretched. You bid him a quiet goodnight before heading upstairs to your bedroom.
You hadn’t been asleep long when the nightmares began. They were always the same: your family, falling victim to the dead one by one. Your father, taken by surprise on a supply run; your brother, shot by accident when your sister tried to save the two of you; your niece and nephew, far too young to experience something as agonizing as starvation; your mother, so overcome with grief that she walked herself into a group of walkers; and finally, your sister, killed by another group, hostile and barbaric.
Downstairs, Bucky dozed lightly, brain still very much awake. A quiet whimper jostled him awake before a louder shriek spurred him into action. He took the stairs two at a time, just as you let out another scream. He slammed into the bedroom door, nearly taking it off its hinges, and his eyes found your body on the bed, sheets twisted around your bared legs, sweating shining in the moonlight streaming through the window.
He said your name, winced when all he received was another painful whimper.
“Mom,” your voice cried out. “Please, no!”
No stranger to nightmares, Bucky walked to the bed and grasped your shoulders in his large hands, shaking you gently. He repeated your name.
“Hey, wake up, doll, wake up! It’s a dream!” he implored, jumping back when you awoke with a gasp. Your hands came up to grasp his wrists, your brow furrowing when the gloved one didn’t give under your grip.
“Bucky?” you asked breathlessly, and, damn it, if that wasn’t the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. His body reacted, stomach clenching, cock twitching in his pants. He swallowed down the desire welling up within him and licked his dry lips.
“I’m here. Are you all right?” he whispered, gloved hand reaching up towards your face before he rethought it and pulled it back.
Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, damp with sweat and tears. Wordlessly, you reached out for him, fingers curling around his forearms to pull him down closer. Noses brushing, he could feel your breaths on his lips, his muscles straining with restraint.
“I need you,” you pleaded, the words hovering between you before you could rethink it. You could see the slight hesitation in his eyes even as his pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the icy blueness of his irises. “Please, just let me feel something.”
Your lips swallowed his gasp as you surged upwards off the bed and you gave him no time to pull away. Your mouth opened under his, tongue gliding along the seam of his mouth. His brows furrowed in momentary confusion until your tongue licked into his mouth, tasting him. His moan was muffled by you and he let himself fall forward onto the bed, propped on his elbows.
His mouth was pliant against yours, filling you with a warmth you haven’t felt in....years. Curling your fingers into his shirt, you tugged him down, causing him to nearly lose his balance as his feet slipped along the floor. He adjusted, lifting a knee onto the plush mattress, and settled above you.
His hands lit a fire under your skin wherever he touched, your waist, your hips, your breasts. When he gently squeezed the soft mounds, you mewled into his mouth, back bowing to arch into his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut when your hands splayed against his chest before diving low to the hem of his shirt. Stomach clenching as your nails tickled him, his mouth dropped open and he sighed.
His head felt fuzzy yet awakened as you pressed yourself against him, lifted the shirt from his torso and bodily rolled him over. Your lips carved a path down his scruffy jaw, to his neck, where your teeth nipped at his pulse point and his cock twitched inside his jeans. He felt your smirk against his skin as you continued to map out his body, hands and lips and tongue combining to nearly make him combust.
It had been so long since he’d been touched, and with the way your hands and mouth were working him over, he was momentarily worried this would be over far sooner than he wanted it to be. Your deft fingers tugged his belt buckle free, slid the zipper on his jeans down. He lifted his hips, blushed crimson at your smirk to find him bare beneath the denim.
You nipped at his inner thighs, sending pleasant shivers right up his spine. He was harder than marble, his cockhead purple and leaking and begging for your touch. Yet you continued to dance around it, pressing kisses to his hip bones, dipping your tongue along his Adonis belt, driving him mad with want. He gasped, head thrown back against your pillow when you suckled at one of his balls, the wet warmth of your mouth nearly his undoing.
“D-Doll,” he whimpered, his flesh hand drifting down to tangle in your hair. “Please. Please touch me.”
Your eyes flickered up to him, pupils wide and wanting and full of mischief. Minx. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Bucky would swear he died and went to heaven when you finally, finally put your mouth on him. Eased down his length inch by slow, agonizing inch, and it took all of his super-soldier strength not to thrust upwards and bury himself down your throat. His mouth dropped open, a deep groan wrenching from his throat when he hit the back of your throat and you swallowed around him.
Sweat beaded across his forehead, bottom lip pinched painfully in his teeth as he rocked his hips to the rhythm of your mouth. Fire gathered in his belly, electricity zipping up his spine, and he strangled out a protest, fingers tightening in your hair.
You pulled off him with a wet pop that had the muscles in his thighs clenching. Climbed up his body to settle yourself on his lap. Fire radiated from your core, and he could feel your wetness, itched to bury himself to the hilt. But he took his time stripping you of the sleeping clothes you wore, admired each reveal of bare skin.
Finally, naked on top of him, your wetness allowing him to glide along your folds. Nails carving crescents into his chest as he arched his hips and slid seamlessly inside you. Head thrown back as your body found a rhythm. Bucky danced his hands along your sides, watching as goose flesh rose in the wake of his metal one. When a silver fingertip circled a nipple, you whimpered and pressed your breasts closer.
With your velvet warmth engulfing him, he released embarrassingly fast. But you continued to rock even as his warmth gushed inside you and reached for his metal hand. Brought it to the apex of your thighs where he wound tight little circles to send you careening over the edge with a sharp cry.
Jesus fuck, he nearly came again with the sensation of you tightening around him, fluttering around him as your body went lax above him. You leaned forward over his chest, eyes glassy and completely blissed out. Brushed a wayward lock of his hair behind his ear and kissed him once. Head tucked under his chin, him softening inside you, it was peaceful, quiet, the sounds of your breaths the only sound in the room.
He swept a hand over your back. The metal one, and you shivered, nudging closer with a hum. You fell asleep like that, and after a few moments of your soft breaths, Bucky followed.
The next morning, he was woken by a buzzing. A steady, but rising hum that had his eyelids fluttering. He was on his side, curled around you as you slumbered away. He lifted his head from the pillow, blearily looking around the room. Nothing.
Rising from the bed, padding to the window, a moment of silent shock before he was thrown into action.
He shook you awake at the same time he tugged on his pants, a sense of urgency pulling you out of your deep sleep. Took in his panicked eyes, mouth moving, telling you you need to move. A herd outside, bigger than any he’s ever seen.
Must’ve been walking for days, gathered numbers beyond countable, made its way here.
You insisted you could wait it out, stay silent and let it pass. But Bucky wasn’t hearing it, countering that the herd would take down the whole house and end up inside anyways. He tossed you your belongings, nearly knocked you out with a boot, and you hurried to dress and gather your weapons.
You led him out the back, quick and silent and through the trees surrounding the yard. There were stragglers out here, not enough to be cumbersome but enough to keep your alertness on high. Bucky’s assassin training went into overdrive, ears and eyes straining for any sign of the massive herd. A deafening crack as it no doubt nearly leveled a house with its strength. He wouldn’t say it, but he was scared, especially since you weren’t as silent as he was, and more and more walkers appeared out from behind trees like some kind of Halloween walk.
Sweat poured into his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead, he went cold when he heard your shriek. Three of the dead around you, dead fingers had your arms in a vice. Bucky saw red. Disposed of them with a brutality he hadn’t seen since his Winter Soldier days while you looked on in a weird combination of pride and horror. Arm gripped tightly in his metal fist, he pulled you along. It wasn’t a mission this time driving him, it was fear. For you.
In a day he’d found you wormed inside him, inside his heart, and instead of a mission to kill, he was on a mission to save. The thought would have been amusing had he not turned into a tightly-clustered copse of trees and barreled straight into five of them.
He went down, two of the dead following him while the others went right for you. With the strength of ten men he bashed their dead heads together, grimacing at the explosion of decayed, viscous, black brain matter that probably would stain his clothes. He pressed his mouth in a tight line as it dripped onto his face, and your shout of agony filled him with both ice and fire.
He turned, body stilling completely as he took in the jagged shape of teeth in the junction of your shoulder and neck. Blood seeped into your clothing, leaked from the wound in angry red torrents, and you pressed a hand uselessly to it. It oozed between your fingers, dripped down your arm like something out of a horror movie. Your complexion was paling quickly. The snarling of more walkers made you turn, resigned. You turned glassy, shining eyes to him when he approached, hands hovering over the wound.
He didn’t think he’d ever felt so helpless. Not when he was strapped to that machine in Siberia. But this was a new sense of helplessness, watching you bleed out in front of him. The new walkers stumbled closer, driven by the scent of blood, and you pulled a gun from the waistband of your jeans, usually a last resort, and he knew.
“You need to go,” you said, voice quiet and hoarse and barely restrained with the fear that was so obvious in your eyes. Your fingers racked the slide, thumb flicking the safety. Rolled up on your toes to press a deep, salty kiss to his mouth before you wrenched away and began yelling, leading the walkers in the opposite direction of Bucky.
Bucky, who still hadn’t moved an inch. Only watched as the small group stumbled after you. One at the back strayed off, was put down by Bucky’s metal fist, and then he ran.
He could hear you yelling, urging the dead after you. Then the shots started, your yelling punctuated by a gunshot then.
No more shouting, no more gunshots, and Bucky wanted to go back for you, though he knew it would be for nothing. He let himself cry as he ran, weaving in and out of trees until a lone hunting cabin loomed in the distance.
It was free of the dead. Cleared of anything living, dead, or otherwise, and he laid low. Mourned for you, threw a few of the cabin’s belongings in a sorrowful rage.
He spent a few days there, gathered a couple of squirrels and a fish from a nearby creek, and then he moved on. It was all he could do.
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Recent (newish) dystopian or post apocalyptic fics, please? thanks for everything u do :)
Hi! Here for you:
Nobody Marks You by @graceling-in-a-suit (33k)
“The plan is: we’re gonna put on a play. Now, I see some doubtful faces–” Louis looked around and found zero doubtful faces. Liam looked intrigued, Zayn looked bored, and Harry looked scarily blank. “But this is what’s happening. We’re gonna do some fucking acting, we’re gonna perform our hearts out, and we’re not going to think about anything else. The past, the future; none of it. All we’re going to think about is... “ Niall trailed off, eyeing the bookshelf to his left. He closed his eyes and reached a hand out towards it, running his fingers over the covers before pulling a book out at random. “William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.”
AU: Five assholes stuck in a bunker put on a play.
Still Deep In Us by @graceling-in-a-suit (41k)
“Did you take the harpoon out?” Harry asked urgently. He ripped off his shirt, not bothering to listen to Perrie’s stumbled apology. “Nevermind, it’s too late now. We have to get it back in the water.”
He held his shirt to the wound, pressing and pressing and hoping. Its skin looked sickly pale, and the blood beneath his hands was thin and blue.
It was a fucking mermaid, and it was dying, and they were just standing there and arguing and letting it happen.
AU. The village Harry has called home his entire life sits on six shaky legs, held aloft from the ocean which claimed the entire world twenty years ago. Harry's just a grieving tinkerer trying to do his best, and Louis is a mermaid that ruins The Village's delicate balance of power (and perhaps, just maybe, wins the heart of a boy).
at last, at last by @suspendrs (41k)
“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”
Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?
Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.
red hands: wasteland, baby by reveries_passions (7k)
“You’re not a burden,” Louis says whenever Harry brings it up. “Never think that for a second. I love you; it doesn’t matter how you feel, or how you act. It doesn’t matter how broken you think you are. I love you, and I’ll always be here to put you back together.”Harry always says I love you back, even though the phrase confuses him. Love is more than this; love is touch, and intimacy. Love is things that Harry can’t give Louis. Sometimes Harry’s not even sure he knows what love is.
harry and love, through the ages. (and set in the red hands universe.)
Walk in The Day with You. by Joydilouis86 (15k)
Harry is a hawk by day and human by night, Louis is a large black dog by night and human by day. They can never see each other's human form at the same time. They try at daybreak or nightfall but it never works.
solid as a stone (when everything is gone) by louisnights (20k)
“Why’d you take me with you?”
Louis startles at the question, the car almost swerving off the road in the process. He holds his breath as he waits for the twins to wake up and start wailing, but they don’t. They keep sleeping on peacefully, covered in the family blanket.
Harry’s looking at him with an unreadable expression.
Louis takes a minute, mulling it over. He answers quietly. “I hate to say it, but as much as we hate each other, I can’t bear to leave you alone to deal with this whole thing all by yourself.” and I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you died, he adds in his mind.
or, it's the zombie apocalypse and Louis is stuck with Harry, with whom he shares a complicated relationship with.
His and Mine by glitteredcurls (66k)
Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anyway…
OR Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does.
･:*:･ Please if you give a read to these fics, leave a nice comment and/or a kudo, I’m sure it’ll be appreciated! Thank you! ･:*:･
Don’t hesitate to ask me fic recs!
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10 Questions Tag Game
Rules: Answer 10 15 questions, ask 10, and tag 10 people however many people your heart desires to answer them.
Tagged by the amazing @burninghoneyatdusk, @nakey-cats-take-bathsss, and @bookwormforalways, so you guys are getting 15 answers from me. 🥰
I apologize in advance for getting deep on main. lol
1. Do you believe in soulmates/true love?
I don’t believe in soulmates, but I do believe in true love.
Is there one person we’re fated to be with forever and ever? No, I don’t think so. As much as I love soulmate AUs and the idea of there being one person you know you’ll click with no matter what... I just don’t think it’s realistic.
Instead, I think that there are lots of people you’re compatible with. And some people get lucky and meet a person they are compatible with at a time when both of them are ready to commit and build a life together. When that happens, you’re building a relationship and partnership that I believe turns into true love over time.
2. What’s your happy place?
This is hard because I have a lot of happy places, but I think my number one happy place is my high school’s softball field. I’ve spent hundreds of hours on that field over my lifetime, and I miss it a lot now that I’m grown and moved away from home. Playing softball, being on the pitcher’s mound, was always where I just felt the most myself. I was 100% in my element, surrounded by some of my closest friends I’d known since I was 8 years old when we all played on the same tournament team. Worries about my body, all the bullshit with my dad, friend drama, boy drama, anxieties about the future... none of it could touch me when I was inside the fence of that field practicing or playing. 🥎
3. If you could befriend one fictional character (book/show/movie) who would it be and why?
Part of me wants to say Bellamy Blake because I would marry that man (sorry, Clarke). lol But I think realistically, I’m going to go with Olivia Pope because powerful friends are helpful and she’s a badass I’d like to have in my corner.
4. Song lyrics that apply to your current mental state/state of your life rn:
The song Lady Like by Ingrid Andress is my anthem rn. I relate to the entire song so much, but here’s the pre-chorus/chorus:
“Controversial, so outspoken
I've been told I'm not ladylike
But I'm a lady, like whoa
I could bring you to your knees and
Get you kicked out the Garden of Eden
Untamable, unframeable, Mona Lisa, oh
Kiss you like a whiskey fire
Turn around, leave your heart in a riot
Lipstick in a cigarette pack on the dash
I'm a lady like that
I'm a lady like that”
5. What’s something that helps you stay positive even when things get hard?
Writing. It’s my passion, and I love crafting stories. It’s a way to escape — create a new world for me to live in or insert myself into a world I wish I could visit. But it’s also a good way to give myself perspective. My stress about work is smaller when I’m writing about characters trying to prevent the apocalypse. The current shit show that is... well, the whole world, is something I feel I can make a positive impact in when I’m writing about characters fighting a government conspiracy.
6. What’s a memory you wish that you could go back in time to and relive?
This is so random, but one time in high school my group of friends did a big scavenger hunt. Each team made their own list of riddles for the other team to solve and then photograph within the city limits of our small town. After we got done, we went to our high school football field and broke into the press box to screw around with the PA system. Afterward, we just walked around for a while, laid down under the traffic light in the middle of the road (it was like 3 AM at this point on a backroad, so no cars).
It was such a wholesome night. lol Just 7 teenagers screwing around and having fun — not a single care in the world. I was in that weird, flirty stage with one of my guy friends. I had a softball game against our school rival coming up that I was excited for. Life was simple. I’d go back and relive that night in a heartbeat.
7. If you could talk to your 13 year old self, what would you tell her/advice would you give her?
Being vulnerable isn’t the end of the world, and your worth is not conditional on your strength or usefulness.
My dad was verbally and emotionally abusive my entire childhood (still is, I just am better equipped to handle it as an adult that doesn’t live in the same state). I grew up thinking that love was conditional and all vulnerabilities would be exploited for someone else’s gain. That any weakness shown would be used to hurt me. That makes it really hard for me to open up to people (for example, I would not be telling you guys this story if we were sitting in the same room rather than me typing it out on screen — and it’s still giving me anxiety to share), and it makes it really hard for me to form deep attachments and friendships since those typically hinge on sharing parts of yourself and being vulnerable with someone else.
Maybe it wouldn’t have helped, but maybe if I could go back and tell myself during those formidable years that none of that is true... who knows how things could be different, how I could be different.
Anyway, sorry about that sob story. Moving on.
8. What’s your favorite quote of all time? Why?
“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.” ― Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Because this logic can be applied to almost everything: Confidence isn’t the absence of insecurity, but rather the understanding that you have worth despite them. Goodness isn’t the absence of badness or darkness, but rather the conscious decision to reject those impulses to be better. Love isn’t to see an absence of flaws or irritation, but to respect and appreciate someone in part because of them.
Plus, Princess Diaries I and II remain two of my favorite movies, which is where I first heard this quote. 👑
9. What is the quality you value most in a friend?
Being genuine. As mentioned above, the trust and emotional intimacy issues are real with me. lol But if I know you are a genuine person who’s going to shoot me straight and be upfront about what you’re thinking, feeling, etc. then it’s easier for me to let you in. It may take time, but it’ll happen eventually.
10. If the pandemic magically ended today, how would you spend tomorrow?
On a plane. To somewhere with new people, crowded spaces, restaurants galore. Hong Kong, maybe. Or Tokyo. 🏙️
11. If you could go back in time and live in any era & location, and face no danger, where would you choose?
Vikings. God, I would have thrived in a Nordic society. Women’s rights were paramount, being strong and tough as a woman was celebrated, sword fighting and archery and rowing were important skills, they lived in cold places (I like winter), there’s a possibility I could have trained a dragon. Like, I’d miss some modern technology, but I’d live. lol
12. What heroine of a movie, book, tv show, story, or history do you relate to most?
Honestly? Clarke Griffin. Bossy + has zero chill + occasionally says somethign v sassy + afraid of being vulnerable + refusal to show any weakness + doesn’t talk about her feelings + in love with Bellamy Blake + rocks the black leather aesthetic + wants to save the world but makes questionable decisions to do so? ✅✅✅
13. Without saying who the person is, what is a question you wish you could ask someone but can’t?
What the actual fuck do you think are you doing?
(I’d actually like to ask this to two people, and I bet all of you can guess the two people right away lololol)
14. In one sentence, what are you personally struggling with right now?
Figuring out where I fit into the world.
15. What’s a book/article/story that brought you joy/comfort/healing that you wish others would read?
How to Walk Away by Katherine Center.
It’s a beautiful book that taught me a lot about self-worth, throwing out your life playbook (because it never goes according to plan), and thriving where you’re planted rather than lamenting the fact that you aren’t in a different garden.
12/10 recommend! (Her other books are also amazing.)
So I know this has made the rounds, and that everyone I’m about to tag has probably already been tagged, but here goes:
@historyofbellarke | @bellamyfknblake | @angstybleuskies | @fightformidnightx | @talistheintrovert | @junebugninja | @mobi-on-a-mission | @queenemori | @sassybooks | @edgelessness | + Anyone else who wants to join!
My questions for you...
(Stealing some from others because they were good!)
1. What album/playlist do you listen to when you’re in need of some inspiration/motivation?
2. If money wasn’t an object, what would you want to do with your life?
3. What’s your happiest memory?
4. What’s something that helps you stay positive even when things get hard?
5. What’s a book/movie/tv show that you turn to when you’re feeling down and need comfort?
6. Do you believe in soulmates?
7. If you could be anywhere in the world tomorrow (pretending COVID-19 doesn’t exist), where would you be and why?
8. How do you define success?
9. What’s your favorite quote of all time, and why?
10. If there’s anyone in the world you could spend the day with (fictional, historical, someone you know, anyone at all), who would it be and why?
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Warm In Winter
Hi. So yeah, before his birthday is over, I would like to post a birthday one-shot of Double B because i miss them a lot.
English is not my first language so there might be grammatical errors. hope you enjoy it!
- - -
On one of the meaningful days for Hanbin, he scoffed as he found himself working on some paperworks. He should’ve spent the day like any other weekend he always been, cuddling up with Jiwon while watching movies together, but the funny thing is both of them need to work on something.
Not fair, he thought to himself. But he finishes his work a little earlier than he had expected and he’s watching the gray sky with flashes of lightning dancing vigorously through his office window while holding a paper bag that contains the newest so-called-zombie-apocalypse-game-that-only-Jiwon knows what inside the bag. He’s been whining for the past few weeks about how much he wanted the video game.
“He’s going to like it,” he mumbles.
He steps out of the building with drizzles pouring down from the sky, making small droplets on his light blue shirt then turns into a heavy rain within seconds making him rushing to the nearest bus stop while hugging the paper bag to make sure it is safe without any watermarks on it.
Rain. Hanbin never really like the rain. He doesn’t hate it but he doesn’t like it either. Like if there was a parameter to measure his liking for rain then he would have placed in the middle. He’s not good at resisting cold—thanks to the rhinitis—Winter December’s breeze is sure is cold, with -4 Celsius degree and 8 km/hr wind velocity, it’s cold enough for Hanbin staying outside.
He pulls his phone and finds there are no new notifications and an alert of low battery on his screen. He sighs while looking at the 7% on the upper right side of his phone. Hanbin grows in anxiety as there is no sign of Jiwon to pick him up leaving him restless with his battery slowly decreasing to zero.
On the other side of Seoul, a man is rushing to start an engine of his loud-monster, a Ford Mustang GT in the basement. Worriedness etched evidently on his face as he hears a voicemail answering his call instead of the owner.
The road is wet, with loud thumps of rain droplets falling on his car windshield like a clockwise ticking. He sees Hanbin standing alone at the bus stop as his cars slowly getting closer and stops right in front to call him.
“Hanbin!” He shouted and a smile appears on Hanbin’s face as he hurries into his car.
The smell of rain welcomes him when Hanbin opens the door and there he is, sitting awkwardly hugging a paper bag on his arms.
“Hi.” He said shyly.
Jiwon looks at him for a moment before turning away, trying to reach a hoodie with his long hand in the back seat. “Open your shirt.”
“Huh? My shirt? All of sudden?”
Hanbin is flustered, but then realizes what he meant by opening his shirt when Jiwon throws him a hoodie on his lap.
“Your shirt. It’s wet.”
“Okay. But please look somewhere else.”
Jiwon turns his head into another direction but Hanbin knows he’s smiling smugly on the other side, “what? I’ve seen all the parts of your body. Just open.”
His cheeks feel hot at the moment Jiwon said his first sentence. Even though it’s true, Hanbin himself still finds it amusing and embarrassing at the same time. But he still pulls his shirt up when he knows Jiwon sneakily peeking on him.
“I said don’t look!”
“Okay! Okay! I won't look!”
Jiwon’s apartment is…. messy like the usual. Nothing new. A pair of dirty socks in the doorsteps, clothes hanging on the sofa. They’re necessarily “Jiwon” thing.
They straightly go into Jiwon’s room and he pulls a t-shirt and a boxer from his drawer and put it on the bed.
“You can take the shower first.”
Hanbin nods and Jiwon walked out, closing the door behind him and just like that, Hanbin is left alone in his room. No matter how much he’s been into his room, a strange feeling still lingers on him since it is Jiwon’s private area. He doesn’t want to invade much so he goes to take shower right away.
Scrolling through his phone while looking up to some weird yet funny memes, Jiwon finds Hanbin standing on the door edge.
“Hey. You’re done? And by the way, are you hungry?”
“Yeah. I’ll make the dinner, you can just go shower.”
The dinner is served by the time Jiwon steps out of his room, rubbing his hair roughly with a dry towel. It’s just two over-cooked instant Ramen and two cups of hot water to warm themselves on this rainy night.
Small talks hovering while they eat their dinners, like how was their day and stuff. It went so quickly. The next thing Hanbin knows, they’re sitting on the sofa, watching La La Land on Netflix.
“You’re not going to your Mom’s. That’s new.”
Jiwon looks at him, “Yeah. I just wanted to spend the day with you tonight.”
“Do you really think it would be okay?”
“Why it wouldn’t be okay?”
“I feel like I ruined your family traditions.”
Hanbin swallowed his saliva. Hard. He knows this will start an argument but before he even back to the reality the words already slip out of his mouth and he feels regret after seeing a flash tense on Jiwon’s face.
“Hanbin. Why you always think like this? Even though I don’t get to celebrate it with my family, it’s just for this year only. And it’s my day. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. I get to choose whoever I want to spend my day with and I choose you. Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
“It means everything to me. It’s just, I don’t want to get in the way… I… you know.”
“Okay. You need to stop to think everything is your fault. You’re not ruin anything. This is purely my choice. I choose you to be my partner on my birthday. So what? I spend my time with my family every Sunday. I gotta have time to spend with you too like we always do every Saturday. And for some reason, God puts December 21 on Saturday. So it’s our day. I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. Can we just focus on the movie?”
Hanbin goes silent. His mind is processing every word coming out from Jiwon’s mouth. Slowly building his thought that he’s the one Jiwon chooses to spend his time with on this day.
“For the sake of this argument, let’s just say that I’m Ash Ketchum and wants to spend his day with his lifetime partner Pikachu. Alright?”
A smile cracks on Hanbin’s face. “Now you’re saying that I’m Pikachu? Can’t believe you’re using Pokémon to get on this.”
“There’s no other way. Besides Pokemon is the only thing I remember since there was Pokémon on TV this morning.”
“That’s one way to say it, Hanbin.”
Jiwon leans his face close and the next thing he knows, he’s kissing Hanbin’s soft lips gently. Like a Japanese cotton sponge cake, his lips taste sweet and soft. The kiss grows intense as he slips his hand underneath Hanbin’s t-shirt tracing his skin softly, giving a sensual tension for Hanbin to let out small gasps between the kiss.
His hand slowly going lower and lower towards the V area outside his pants, stroking it slowly and bitting Hanbin’s lips at the same time. One at the time, clothes are scattering on the floor leaving Jiwon and Hanbin only on their pants, both panting while resting their foreheads on each other.
“Do you want me to go down?” Jiwon asks cautiously, biting his lip.
Hanbin nods, “yeah. Please.”
Jiwon kisses him on the neck, slowly leaving kiss marks all over his neck as he goes down to the torso reaching down to his ‘Nihilism’ tattoo. And his hand opening the zipper while pulling it down and stroking Hanbin’s cock through his underwear.
A loud moan is echoing the room followed by heavy breathes and long gasp, and Hanbin’s begging for him to go inside. Touching it for real, skin to skin.
He slips his finger inside Hanbin’s panty and finds his boner on its position, tense as ever. He rubbed it slowly, occasionally messaging it. Shivers strikes down to Hanbin’s spine as he feels he’s about hit his limit.
“Ah! Shit! Jiwon I’m about time to-“
“Shh. Hold it for a second.”
Pulling down his underwear, Jiwon goes closer to his boner to suck it up and twist it with his tongue. And a moment later he hit his limit as cum flushes out.
Hanbin tries to catch his breath before fixing his position and looks at Jiwon in some-kind of expression Jiwon unable to apprehend.
“Do you… want me to do it too?”
He’s slightly taken aback at his blatant question, but nods. They’re switching places with Hanbin’s on top and he’s on the bottom.
Jiwon lets a small moan out of his mouth as Hanbin pulls his pants down, looking at his tensed boner. He plants light kisses on his cock, before kissing it more gently and rubbing his balls with his hand.
Never once he thought Hanbin will be this good at sucking. He’s almost blackout when his tongue twists his cock and thrusting it in and out of his mouth. He becomes speechless as the minute goes by, but every minute feels like a year.
This feels like a heavenly punishment yet the best gift he’s ever received this year.
Hanbin stops, looking up at Jiwon with his big doe eyes and it makes Jiwon desperate as he wants it more and more. Why the hell did he stop when he knows he enjoys it?
He smiles before continuing sucking his cock while giving hand-job by rubbing and messaging his balls gently. Jiwon finally comes to his limits with his cum flushes out on Hanbin’s mouth along with Jiwon’s long moan echoing across the room.
Hanbin pecks his lips while lifted strands of hair from Jiwon’s face.
“Fuck. That was- amazing.”
“Amazingly bad or?”
“It was amazingly good.”
Hanbin gets up and pulling up his pants, then goes to the pantry. He gives Jiwon the paper bag he was carrying with him since he’s still in the office.
“I’ve been wondering what is this.”
“Open it. It’s a present. I know you like it so just open and tell me what do you think about it.”
He opens the gift box and his face lits up when he sees his most-wanted video game placed inside the box. “God! I can’t believe you got me this. Are you serious about this? Don’t you hate it when I play video games and started ignoring you? Whoa… you’re really amazing. Still can’t believe you give me this for my birthday.”
The way his talk started to turn into rapping makes Hanbin chuckles softly. Child-like smile, with his voice pitched-up, he is really excited about getting that video game. He knows the consequences by giving it as a present, but there’s nothing more that makes him happy than seeing him happy.
“I’m going to take it away from you if you’re going to ignore me.”
He pouts, “No way. I’m going to hide this really well so you won’t find it.”
Such a big baby, he laughs at his own thoughts.
“What? What?! Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing. Just.. you know, you’re such a baby.”
“Well. I am your baby.”
“Yeah. A big one.”
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First Impressions/Review - Generation Zero
Generation Zero flew under most people’s radar after it’s incredibly rocky launch back in March 2019. It was plagued with bugs, crashed, and corrupted saves but has ultimately redeemed itself with some very choice updates and a fairly active dev team that patches and updates the game at least once a month, it seems. I believe it showed up in my steam queue but ultimately chose to ignore it because most of my judgement goes by screenshots and the store page’s screenshots do nothing to communicate what kind of game it actually is. However, it popped up on my radar when someone got it on my activity feed and I decided to give it another look during the Summer Sale. Turns out, this was a great choice.
Generation Zero takes place is an alternate history where Sweden gets paranoid about entering a world war and dumps a lot of their funding into military spending. This turns out to be a lot of combat robots, which have apparently went on the fritz and has thus chased away an entire population of an island while you, the player, come back from some kind of vacation and notice that everyone is gone. There was a lot of mandatory military training in Sweden during this time, which serves as a justification as to why your teen (presumably in the 17-19 range) can handle weaponry. And also why virtually every container has ammunition in it.
The main gameplay loop reminds me of a cross between Dying Light and Fallout, at least in the early game of both. You’re never really a powerhouse, as you level incredibly slowly and the robots hit like trucks even on the easiest “Adventure” difficulty setting. Some of the perks serve to alleviate this but I discovered that even with 30% more health and some bullet resistance, a single hunter unit can take out half my health in a single volley. Make no mistake, the AI here is stupidly accurate.
The enemies never stop being proper threats, turning most of the game into a full on stealth mission. There is a run-and-gun tree which helps the gameplay massively, but the game encourages you to evade and sneak as not every engagement will go your way when you consider a large portion of the region is farmland and you’re not always in the position to duck and hide.
The gunplay can be fairly satisfying. The guns have some heft to them. On hip firing you can flick-shoot but in iron sight, your movement becomes more sluggish. The explosions are often loud, sudden, and satisfying. It takes some getting used to, and a lot of the enemy behavior can be trial and error. The basic dog-like types designated as runners have a very easy to hit fuel tank that can allow you to one-shot them... But other classes of the same type might have an armor plating on the front of it, forcing you to either flank to take a couple of quick potshots in hopes to get that 2-hit kill before it alerts all its nearby buddies. The rest of the enemy types are not so simple, their tanks sometimes on their back and don’t always promise a single-hit kill.
Eventually you’ll run into Tank class enemies which take some clever tactics and accurate shooting to take down. You can take out their guns which alleviates their main threat but then they’ll start going into full sprints and use shock-waving stomp attacks to take you down. I can confirm that this is a terrifying experience.
A quick aside to the negative. The AI can be incredibly scary at certain times, but they also have a problem with doors. If you’re in a township or a farm, I’ve found that diving into a house or barn is enough to block against most attacks. There’s a fair amount of splash damage types so you still might take some blows but Runners and Hunters have a hard time entering buildings. You might occasionally get a tick (spider-like robots that sound and act like headcrabs from Half-Life) but I have an entire youtube video showing how I used a barn to fight two tanks and a harvester in relative safety, though several health kits were used. If the devs ever manage to allow runners or hunters to open barn doors, the game will become a lot more dangerous (and exciting).
The game also seems to be designed with Co-op in play, with up to four players. You can use adrenaline shots to pick yourself up if solo and thankfully dying is a mere slap on the wrist, as it will just sling you into your nearest unlocked safehouse. An extra player by your side may help some flanking maneuvers, but my brother seems to prove that running and gunning can be a viable strategy with the right setup.
The game advertises itself as atmospheric in the little Steam blurb, and it’s not wrong. It’s a mixed blessing. I actually love traversing the landscape and there’s even a Photo Mode (one of the less complex I’ve ever seen, but still always a good thing to have in games in recent years) to stop and take a picture of a particularly breathtaking moment. The storms and rains are common and the sound design can really bring a calm after an intense shootout. It's a very lovingly crafted game... but Fallout this is not. It's not a very dense world. You can travel by road to run into some abandoned cars (most of which have at least one box of loot within), which will also yield a high chance of patrolling enemies. Stealthing away from them in the wilderness offers no real results beyond appreciating the built world. I have at times decided that my resources weren’t enough to get into a shootout and I've spent a lot of time cutting through landscape to avoid the roads but it gave me nothing but a padded hour count. There are no caves or encampments to run into, it's all just foliage.
It’s interesting. I am personally a huge care bear player and I’m not usually fond of difficult or challenging games to any degree. However with the right mod in the right place, like an experience booster and no inventory weight (which is typically more of a hassle than ‘fun’), the game is just one massive stealth sandbox. There is a basic framework of a story but it mostly just serves to get you to dig deeper into the world. Excluding the DLC which do add some NPC’s and some actual story elements and lore, most of the main game’s quests are “go here, find people, nobody here but some audio logs, quest complete”. A bit dull, but the game still scratches an interesting itch.
It’s not a rogue-like. You lose nothing from death but the game is very difficult under many scenarios. But if you have the need for a sort of scavenging robot apocalypse, this game is a worthy buy. I got it on sale but honestly, in its current state I do think it’s worth the full price.
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OTP Tag Game!
Lovely @gallavictorious tagged me in this <3 I kind of struggled with finding 10 OTPs, but I think I have it. And I had fun! ^^
I FORGOT TO POST THE RULES 🤣
So, choose 10 OTPs before reading the questions, and then get to answering ^^
1. Ian/Mickey (Shameless US)
2. Doctor/Rose (Doctor Who)
3. Buffy/Spike (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
4. Harry/Draco (Harry Potter)
5. Capable/Nux (Mad Max Fury Road)
6. Split/Toast the Knowing (Mad Max Fury Road)
7. Erwin/Levi (Attack on Titan)
8. Eddie/Venom (Venom)
9. Phoebe/Cole (Charmed)
10. Arya/Gendry (Game of Thrones)
1. Do you remember the episode/scene/chapter that you first started shipping 6?
Oh, it was actually the fandom that made me ship them, cause I’m not even sure they interact in canon? But it’s the fourth most popular ship of the fandom, and I liked the idea, so I read some fics and daaamn. It works so good <3
2. Have you ever read a fanfic about 2?
Yes, I have, but nothing that I read was particularly memorable. DW universe is large and there’s enough official content (besides the series itself) that gives me enough feelings for this OTP when I need them. Plus, I have my own vision of them that I kinda don’t wanna spoil with fics, if that makes sense?
3. Has a picture of 4 ever been your screen saver/profile picture/tumblr screen saver?
No. I don’t put any fandoms there.
4. If 7 were to suddenly break up today, what would your reaction be?
This is a very interesting question for this OTP, cause (spoilers) one of them died, but they literally made this decision together, that Erwin will sacrifice himself for the greater good, and Levi gave him a “permission”, so to say, and also made sure that it stayed that way, although he had a choice to let Erwin live and let another person die. So... it was shocking, but it was handled really well in canon. It was heart-breaking, but I accepted it with no problems.
(They’re not really canon, but hey. No one can deny that they had a very special relationship).
5. Why is 1 so important?
Oh. Do I write an essay? I won’t. They are very real and raw, two humans with flaws and imperfections, but they see each other, no matter what. And they love each other endlessly and unconditionally, no doubts or questions asked. And to me - that’s what love is. They are the definition of soulmates from my perspective, and I’m the biggest sucker for that. I love them with all my heart, they put a smile on my face when nothing else can, and I never expected for any fictional characters to be that important to me. Honestly, never. Wow, I love them that much, huh...
6. Is 9 a funny ship or a serious ship?
Oh. Both? I’d say it’s on the funny side, just cause the whole show aimed for funny. They have a lot of funny moments, but also some serious and very tragic ones.
7. Out of all the ships listed, which ship has the most chemistry?
Ian and Mickey, not even a question. Gendrya and Spuffy are the runner ups.
8. Out of all your ships listed, which ship has the strongest bond?
Ian and Mickey. I mean.... Eddie and Venom literally share a body, lol, so it’s a tie, probably. But yeah, Ian and Mickey proved it.
9. How many times have you read/watched the 10’s fandom?
Hmm... I liked them in books, but it wasn’t really developed there, cause Arya was just a child. But I rewatched all their scenes from the last disaster-season maaaany times. A lot. They were great, so fuck canon, you know?
10. Which ship has lasted the longest?
Hmm... I’m not that familiar with Venom comics, so I’m not sure how long do they spend together canonically, but I assume they can be together kind of forever, as long as Venom supports Eddie’s body?
11. How many times, if ever, has 6 broken up?
Well, they’re not together in canon, so technically none. But since this pairing can only be enemies to lovers with two strong characters, I guess there’d be a lot of fights :D
12. If the world was suddenly thrust into a zombie apocalypse, which ship would make it out alive, 2 or 8?
Oh wow, that’s a great question for these OTPs, cause I think both ships would be absolutely okay? Eddie/Venom would just eat or kill anything that comes close. And Doctor with Rose with stay in the TARDIS until Doctor works out the solution (after Rose gives him the tiny but important clue, of course) how to bring everything back to normal and save everyone.
13. Did 7 ever have to hide their relationship for any reason?
I’m pretty sure. Again, it’s not exactly canon, but if we assume that it is, there’d have plenty of reasons to do it. They’d be too vulnerable for the inner political scene if anyone found out about them. Erwin would be judged for favoritism and probably lose his high position in the military, and Levi would never have a chance to achieve what he had achieved if someone suspected that Erwin’s protectorate has personal reasons.
14. Is 4 still together?
I imagine they are hahah, but it’s not canon, so... but there’s a good fanon chance of them being together post-canon x)
15. Is 10 canon?
Oh yes! Thanks to the last godawful season of GoT.
16. If all 10 ships were put into a couple’s Hunger Games, which couple would win?
I have a very bad idea of what Hunger Games actually mean, but I’d guess that Eddie/Venom would win anything that requires survival? Cole and Pheobe would be pretty good too, I think.
17. Has anybody ever tried to sabotage 5’s ship?
Well, if we’re counting the Immortal Joe trying to get Capable back to being one of his wife-slaves or his son Rictus trying to kill Nux and Nux crashing his car to take Rictus with him and dying in process - then yeah. They were pretty much sabotaged.
18. Which ship would you defend to the death and beyond?
I have strong feeling about many of the ships I named, but none of them is a competition for Ian and Mickey.
19. Do you spend hours a day going through 3’s tumblr page?
Eh, no. I read some fics? Not hours a day, absolutely not. But I definitely spend some days on the bigger fics.
20. If an evil witch descended from the sky and told you that you had to pick one of the ten ships to break up forever or else she’d break them all forever, which ship would you sink?
I think it’d be Erwin/Levi, cause of their mature decision-making in canon. They decided it all by themselves that Erwin is going to sacrifice himself. They had a good talk in the middle of the battle and they let each other go. So...yeah. Them.
It was very interesting, wow! Cool stuff, thanks for tagging me <3
Soo.... I tag @vole-mon-amour (girl, you’ll easily find 10+ ships hahah), @milkymickeyway, @whaticameherefor, @loftec, @ayalove7 and anyone who wants to do that. Zero obligations! ^^
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Mishaps - Chapter 04: Closer
Author's notes: I fought like hell with this chapter. It was supposed to shorten the story, but well, who said I am the writer here? hahaha My stories are temperamental and have their own lives and well... Mishaps decided it will be longer. Period.
Warnings: SMUT. And ANGST.
The hunting cabin of his family, at first sight, looked like a whole new world brought straight from a zombie apocalypse movie: the place was built in the middle of the woods, hidden from civilization and away from the road. To reach the cabin, you guys had to leave the road down through a dirt road for almost half of an hour until Ubbe had to go out of the car to open a small gate. Then, another half of an hour in a private trail that ended in a medium cottage entirely built of treated trunks - which made the house almost invisible in the middle of the trees where it was located.
However, the rustic impression was nothing but a design: inside, the whole place was lustful and well-furnished with furs and a decoration utterly turned to the hunting and fishing contests they must have done there in between the family members. "Pretty much a place for men to reunite, drink beer, laugh, and dispute whose cock is bigger while too drunken to measure it properly," you thought, and this thought brought a small smile to your face.
Maybe Ragnar wasn't a father like yours, after all...
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Hvitserk said, attracted by the smile on your lips. "My father made it for us. A place for us to rest during some holidays or free time. We used to come together in the hunting season and dispute who would bring the bigger hare or deer," he said, nostalgic.
Causing Ubbe to giggle from the door while coming in with the bags he took from the car.
"Yeah. Those contests were incredible, but in the end, Faðir always would bring the bigger one," he commented.
"Or Björn," Hvitserk remembered.
"They were the older ones and more experienced. I wish we could do a contest like that now that the dispute would be fair enough... I would kick Björn's ass with my new shooting skills!" Ubbe affirmed.
Their light conversation making you forget for a moment the situation you were into. They weren't your boyfriend and brother in law chatting about a family event or missing their father...
They were your hijacker and his brother who hours ago had a gun pointed to your head, ready to kill you with a single shot... And you knew that.
But you just wanted to forget. Just as you wanted to forget who you were. Where you came from.
"He's getting old. I doubt he could face a bear as he did that season do you remember, Ubbe??"
You wanted to sit there in that soft couch, your bare feet rubbing the fur of a bear rug - probably the bear they were talking so lightly about how their older brother had killed with nothing but a knife - and listen to that conversation with a smile in your face, getting impressed about your elder brother in law's skills just to get your boyfriend jealous of you...
You wanted to be there just for a moment with Hvitserk and not because the two of you had to hide so no one would discover you were a prisoner and he was a drug dealer trying to flee from the law.
But you couldn't.
Just as you couldn't tell your best friend your true name the true story of your life even knowing she was trusting you with her bigger secrets.
Just as you couldn't really sound nostalgic when telling any stupid story from the past Christmas with your friends.
You couldn't just erase your true life, get rid of your true memories and wake up someday really being Marie Ann Watson, to live without that sensation your whole life was a lie.
Hvitserk's voice sounded calling your attention and you noticed the room was silent.
You were so absorbed in your own thoughts and doubts that you didn't even notice when Ubbe left the two of you alone in the cabin or when the conversation between the brothers had finished.
"Sorry... I was...”
"Lost," Hvitserk smiled caressing your face softly. "You must be tired, love. It was a long day and it has been being a long time for you, I know this. You should take a bath and then we could sleep a little. Ya know, like my father used to say when we were here: if you want some pizza here, you'll have to hunt the pepperoni. So, a little bit of sleep will be good for me to hunt something for us tomorrow."
You giggled at his little joke and it seemed to make him happy. Hvitserk liked to see your smiles more than anything. He was becoming really good at getting them. His fingers slid through your cheek, softly caressing your chin.
"This way is better," Hvitserk said, smiling softly at you. "I like when I can make you smile."
"I like when you make me smile," you answered, curving your lips a little more at him.
He came closer, nuzzling his nose against yours before softly pecking your lips.
"We'll find a way to solve this shit. And I... I'll find a way out. Ubbe and I want to stop. To live a normal life, away from this shit. We'll find a way out of this and then... Then it will be just you and me."
Promises you really wanted to see happening in your lives. Your arms softly embraced Hvitserk's neck and he covered your mouth with his lips, enjoying a long and loving kiss.
More and more you were fallen for that man and, at the same time, the more you were in love, the more guilty you felt.
The truth in your throat, like a knot...
The fear of losing what you were becoming to each other was eating you inside, not only by the feelings you had for Hvitserk but also by the fear of becoming something disposable to men like him and his brothers...
The problem with the time was also bothering you: there was already more than a month you were with him. The longer you were missing, the harder would be explaining your little disappearance to the police officers and it could really get Hvitserk some troubles.
It could cause them to change you once again. To move your location and change your identity one more time, forcing you to leave everything behind and start from zero once again.
"What's bothering you, babe?" Hvitserk asked against your lips, feeling something wasn't right with you today.
"How long will we stay like this?" you asked, looking at him "Hidden, I mean..."
"Officer Aethelwulf has been a pain in our asses for a while. He wants desperately to show some service and he has been trying to fuck up with us since my father was alive. For some reason, your missing person report went to his hands and now he's probably trying to make the right connections to relate us to your disappearance so he can bust one of us or the whole family."
You knew why...
Officer Aethelwulf was the one responsible for your file. Of course, your missing person report would end up in his hands.
"He's kinda finding ways to press us for information so we just have to keep you here until he decides to visit my apartment. Then Ubbe will call me and I'll go there to let the jerk come in and see my apartment. Ubbe will come to pick you up while this and I'll bring the officer here, so he can see we have nothing to hide. He won't find the relation and I believe it will be problem solved for now."
Then they just had to find a way to release you, for you wouldn't be locked forever, right?
"You... Don't intend to release me?" you asked, kinda innocently.
But he pulled away from you this time, sighing deeply, frustratedly.
"We gonna think about this later, ok?" he said, trying to look at you but not to be so serious or heavy, "My brothers still don't trust you and the more I like you, Annie, I can't risk my whole family releasing you this way... I will. But not now. Not yet."
Despite you were anguished, you could understand him. There was something in you that could instigate their mistrust. Your stories never sounded real and you were always a terrible liar. It was comprehensible people like his brothers wouldn't trust you at all.
You nodded, starting to walk towards the bathroom when he held you by your wrist, sighing again.
"Look... I'm sorry about this, Annie. I really want to solve these things for you and I'll find a way. I promise you." he said, caressing your hand with his thumb.
You nodded at him, resigned.
"I know. I trust you, Hvitserk," you said, unintentionally hitting his heart with your words and your smile.
You left to the bathroom but Hvitserk sat on the couch, rubbing his face, maybe as anguished as you could be.
He wanted to trust you. He wanted to release you and to let you go back to your life, to live it right the way he was planning before.
But if you were pretending...
If you were lying to him...
His whole family would be lost and he would be the only one to blame.
Hvitserk knew he couldn't risk his whole family that way, even knowing he was really in love with you already.
There was still something about you... Something deep that he knew was hidden. Something that justified that shadow in the bottom of your eyes. Something that was making him afraid of trusting completely on you.
However, it wasn't enough to prevent his heart from falling deeply in love with you and it was also killing him slowly.
Hvitserk got up, hearing the sound of the bathtub coming from the hallway. You were bathing, as he said. He walked at the small bar at the corner of the room and poured some drink to warm himself up.
A cup or two and he sat, trying to clear his mind from the flood of thoughts about that situation, pouring some more of the old mead his father used to like in his cup.
After the fourth or fifth dose, he was feeling lighter and the sound of the bathtub wasn't coming from the hallway anymore.
He walked towards the room and stopped at the door. The sight of your body catching his eyes while you were slowly sliding the soft towel through your skin, taking out the remaining drops of water from your bath. Fresh and clean, and shivered with the cold breeze of the night that was already falling on the woods.
Hvitserk swallowed dry. He knew he shouldn't be watching you in such an intimate moment, but yet, he kept himself silent, observing while you seemed to be caressing your skin with the towel, unaware of his presence at the door.
He could feel the warmth of the drinks spreading all over his body, mixing with the heat your sight was causing in his core, making his throat dry once again, but not for another drink.
While turning yourself to dry your hair, your eyes caught his figure at the door, but somehow you didn't feel scared.
Instead, the way he was looking at you caused shivers to go down your spine.
He wanted you.
You could see it in his eyes, staring you like a wolf would stare a hare.
And god... He was a tease for you since the beginning. It wasn't the first time you would lay down with a man, but there was a long time since your first experience.
And you wanted it...
You wanted it so bad...
You couldn't really explain why you turned yourself to him, looking into his eyes. You couldn't say if it was the heat in your body, the way his eyes were arousing you, or if it was only the immense need you had into you to have him without a single thought in your mind about your past, your present or the future of the two of you.
For some reason you chose to ignore, you opened the towel in your body, slowly letting it fall through your skin, showing your entire nakedness to his hungry eyes almost as an invitation mutely accepted by the glow of desire that filled his blues.
He came forward and you felt his warm hands touching your waist, shivering your skin with the contrast of temperatures in between his fingers and your fresh skin. You softly opened your mouth, sighing, and Hvitserk twitched his lips, clearly aroused by your sound, reflecting it in the way his hands became firmer on your hips, pulling you closer to his body.
You went without resistance, accepting his touches, sliding your hands through his collar, taking out the jacket he was wearing and throwing it to the ground, already searching the edge of his shirt to pull it up, invading his clothes with your fresh hands, retributing the shivers by touching his warm skin with your cold fingers.
He lost control.
Hvitserk's mouth covered yours in a lustful kiss and you felt his body starting to push you back towards the bed, stopping the kiss only to let the shirt pass through his head just to find the same destiny of his jacket and his shoes after it.
His clothes being left like a trail on the ground.
You fell sitting at the bed when your body reached the edge, breaking the kiss, but not the heat in between the two of you. Your hands went straight to his trousers, unbuttoning it and opening the zipper, causing the first moans and sighs of pleasure in his voice to start echoing through the room when your lips reached his lower belly in kisses as your hands were pulling down his pants and underwear.
You weren't really allowing your brain to think about how big he was or how barefaced you should be looking like, touching him shamelessly the way you were doing. All you wanted was exactly the sounds you got from his mouth in a hoarse voice when your fingers wrapped around his hot hardness, stroking his length while feeling his hand softly caressing your head, mutely asking for what was to come.
Hvitserk couldn't hold his moan of satisfaction when you slid your moistened lips around him, sucking his whole length into your mouth, causing him to bend, tamed by the pleasure.
"Shit... Oh, fucking shit! So soft!" he mumbled, barely being able to control his panting breath while you were sucking his cock so lustfully.
You never thought you could be so lascivious, but he was teasing your desire in a way no one has ever done before. You wanted him with all of you and his taste was making you even hotter than this pulsating desire making you wet.
"Fuck!" he cursed again, causing a strange feeling of satisfaction in your core when you felt his hips bucking, thrusting into your mouth erratically as if he was fighting to not to fuck your lips the way his body was begging him to.
You didn't know how to explain, but the taste of his precum and his efforts to hold himself back were making you want even more to feel him exploding and so, you fought alongside his body, causing him to moan louder when you embraced his hips, bouncing your head against his crotch, giving him the exact sensation he was trying to fight against, bringing him too close to the edge.
Hvitserk's fingers gripped your hair and he growled when you felt his shaft twitching against your tongue.
You felt his try to pull his hips away from you, but you just embraced him tighter, causing him to lose completely the control of his body and his pleasure to erupt into your lips, filling your mouth with his seed while his sounds of satisfaction were filling the room.
You were proud. Something in you was proud of the taste you just had. A man like him, a handsome one, would surely have lots of women. But how many of them had ever taken his self-control the way you did?
In his eyes, surprised on yours, you could see the answer was clear: none. No other has ever had Hvitserk so aroused, so ready. He could barely feel his erection retreating. Instead, the sight of your tongue rolling through your lips to take every single drop of his pleasure got him almost completely hard once again.
He couldn't explain what kind of goddess he found on you, but if he was sure he was in love with you before, now, Hvitserk was sure he was completely lost.
You were his damnation. his doom. And he couldn't help himself from wanting more.
Hvitserk towered his body upon yours, and you crawled back in bed, allowing him to come over the mattress, covering your body with his. His hungry mouth caught yours again and you embraced his body, kissing him back, noticing how he completely ignored the taste of his pleasure in your tongue, kissing you hungrily while one of his hands unashamedly landed in the middle of your legs, sinking his fingers into your entrance and starting to tease your clit with his thumb.
You moaned against the kiss and he hissed, aroused, cursing in a low voice against your lips that just caused you to feel even hotter.
"Shit, girl, you're so fucking wet... So damn tight!"
His words making you wetter under his fingers and his caresses causing your moans to substitute his, filling the room with your voice. Hvitserk smiled almost devilishly, increasing the pace of his thumb and curling his fingers to hit your sweet spots into your pussy, clearly playing with your pleasure as you had played with his before.
"You have a soft and silky mouth but I can't wait to taste these sweet juices of yours..." he said, licking his lips and smiling bigger as you turned your eyes darkened over his. "Open these pretty legs of yours, babe. Let me be a good boy and retribute your sweet surprise".
You didn't argue. Instead, Hvitserk felt your legs opening under him, more, like a new invitation that caused him to smile bigger.
"Such a good girl!" he praised, lowering himself in the middle of your legs, never breaking the contact of your eyes until his lips embraced your pulsating core in an intimate kiss that filled the whole room with your voice.
"Shit!" It was your time to curse and he smiled, licking his lips wet from your juices to mumble against your inner labia, causing the vibration to send shivers up your spine while he was speaking.
You felt his arms wrapping your hips from under your thighs and he laid his mouth on you, leaving you no choice but enjoy the feeling of his tongue exploring your intimacy entirely. You couldn't flee, for his embrace wasn't allowing you more than moving your hips to slide your clit in his tongue from time to time.
Not that it was really necessary: Hvitserk's skills were really way better than your imagination allowed you to estimate and you couldn't feel a single inch of your pussy he wasn't licking or sucking someway.
It didn't take too long for him to have you arching your body against the bed, gripping his hair strongly, ruining his man bun and making a mess of him when you came into his mouth, felling the pleasure spreading all over your body while he was thirstily licking you clean.
However, instead of calming his desire, your orgasm just set him on fire and, without giving you time to recover, Hvitserk crawled his way upon your body, easing his hardness into your still throbbing walls, moaning with pure bliss by feeling himself involved in your heat.
"Oh, god! Hvitserk!" you moaned, embracing his torso, lost in the pleasure, sinking your nails down his back when he suddenly started thrusting into your oversensitive channel, almost punishing you by the amount of pleasure you put him through. "Hvitserk! Babe!"
You tried to call him, but Hvitserk just kept thrusting, wildly, sliding your body up in the bed and hitting the wooden headboard full strength against the wall. The repetitive sound of his rhythm was mixing with your moans and his gasps of effort.
You could feel how tense his arms were when you relaxed under him, embracing his neck, kissing his skin as if your kisses and soft caresses were a reward for all the pleasure he was making you feel.
Slowly, your caresses reduced his pace. And he started going deeper into your body, getting longer moans and a tighter embrace from your hands around his body. One of them you slid into his hair, loosen it from the bun, watching as it opened like a curtain beside your face. You slid your fingers through the strands, caressing his nape, feeling as he rolled his hips in a different movement just to make you moan a little louder for his pleasure.
Hvitserk was filling you so well! His size seemed to be perfect for yours, your walls tightening embracing his shaft causing his efforts to become harder and harder as the pleasure was mining his strength.
In a few minutes, your skins were glued on sweat. His mouth against yours, panting, mixing your breath with his when you lovingly bit his lower lip before kissing him passionately.
Hvitserk couldn't deny anymore. He couldn't say it wasn't to be. The two of you were perfect together and when he felt your body clenching around him one more time, he wrapped his arms around your torso, embracing you tight into his arms and against his chest, thrusting a little bit faster just to release his seed into your walls, making you feel even warmer than your own juices made you.
With his panting breath, Hvitserk mumbled in your ear something that would be the perfect sentence to be heard after such deep and intimate intercourse.
"I love you," he confessed, nuzzling his face on yours, slowly recovering his breath control, and lightly kissing your skin and the crook of your neck "I love you, Annie. I love you..."
You felt your eyes fill with a thin line of tears you didn't let pour. And you embraced Hvitserk tighter, feeling his body nestling into your embrace.
"I love you too..." you mumbled, swallowing dry as he softly rested his head against your chest.
Your heart heavy into your chest.
You loved him.
He loved Annie.
But Marie Ann Watson wasn't who you really were...
And sooner or later it would be the end of you.
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Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
The Wizard of Oz
It's a Wonderful Life
Lady and the Tramp
The Ten Commandments
North by Northwest
2001 A Space Odyssey
A Clockwork Orange
The Man with the Golden Gun
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Star Wars A New Hope
Star Trek The Motion Picture
The Black Hole
An American Werewolf in London
Chariots of Fire
Raiders of the Lost Ark
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
The Dark Crystal
Star Wars Return of the Jedi
Twilight Zone the Movie
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
The Karate Kid
The Last Starfighter
The NeverEnding Story
A View to a Kill
Back to the Future
Rambo First Blood Part 2
The Black Cauldron
Young Sherlock Holmes
Big Trouble in Little China
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Flight of the Navigator
Little Shop of Horrors
The Color of Money
The Money Pit
Batteries Not Included
Empire of the Sun
Evil Dead 2
Full Metal Jacket
The Living Daylights
The Lost Boys
The Princess Bride
The Wizard of Eastwick
Cocoon The Return
The Land Before Time
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
Back to the Future Part 2
Born on the Fourth of July
Dead Poets Society
Field of Dreams
Honey, I Shrunk the Kids
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
The Little Mermaid
Back to the Future Part 3
Dances with Wolves
Days of Thunder
The Godfather Part III
The Hunt for Red October
Beauty and the Beast
Boyz n da Hood
Robin Hood Prince of Thieves
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country
Terminator 2 Judgement Day
The Addams Family
The Silence of the Lambs
Thelma and Louise
A Few Good Men
Army of Darkness
Death Becomes Her
The Last of the Mohicans
The Lawnmower Man
The Addams Family Values
The Nightmare Before Christmas
Clear and Present Danger
Interview with the Vampire
Leon the Professional
Natural Born Killers
The Lion King
The Shawshank Redemption
The Indian in the Cupboard
A Time to Kill
Courage Under Fire
From Dusk Till Dawn
Set It Off
Star Trek First Contact
The English Patient
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
The Trigger Effect
Air Force One
Good Will Hunting
Men in Black
The Fifth Element
The Lost World Jurassic World
A Bug's Life
Enemy of the State
Lost in Space
Mighty Joe Young
Saving Private Ryan
The Big Lebowski
The Prince of Egypt
The Replacement Killers
The Thin Red Line
What Dreams May Come
Anna and the King
Snow Falling on Cedars
Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
The Blair Witch Project
The Green Mile
The Iron Giant
The Sixth Sense
Toy Story 2
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
Mission Impossible 2
Requiem of the Dream
The Perfect Storm
A Beautiful Mind
Atlantis The Lost Empire
Bridget Jones's Diary
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
Jimmy Neutron Boy Genius
The Fast and the Furious
The Lord of the Rings The Fellowship of the Ring
Gangs of New York
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
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4 notes · View notes
SPN REWRITE: S03E01 “THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN”
WINCHESTER!SISTER SUPERNATURAL REWRITE
SEASON THREE EPISODE ONE “THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN”
WORD COUNT: 6.7K
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN DELANEY WINCHESTER AND ANY CHARACTER I MAY TWEAK OR ADD IN TO GO ALONG WITH THE PLOT! THANKS.
Delaney Winchester sat in the front seat of the Impala with her older brother, Sam Winchester, that sat parked in front of the window to their motel room. She was sat with her back leant against Sam's left arm as the duo flipped through multiple lore books.
It had been a week since the opened the Devil's Gate, since Yellow Eyes was killed by Dean (finally), and since Dean had sold his soul to save Delaney's life. It had also been a week since both Delaney and Sam both started to dive into research on how to get Dean out of his deal before the year was up. Sam, though he was optimistic in the beginning, started to lose faith the more the week went on and it only seemed like Delaney still had limitless fuel. Not that Sam had showed any doubt, but Delaney could tell that he had dwindled a bit since they first started.
Delaney didn't necessarily blame Sam because what they were doing was impossible. She didn't think the Crossroads Demon would give up the deal. However, it didn't hurt to try because what Delaney used to think wasn't possible was in fact possible. So maybe, just maybe, Delaney could find a loop hole and save Dean's soul like he had saved hers.
The eldest Winchester, Dean, showed up in the window in just a white tank-top and his jeans and Delaney glanced up to see him give both her and Sam a double-thumbs up. Her and Sam had been kicked out of the motel room so Dean could have some... fun... and so the research had been moved to the Impala. She smiled fondly at her brother, glad to see him so happy and her eyes quickly moved back to her book when a woman stepped over to Dean in just a black lace bra and panties.
Delaney's phone buzzing in her back pocket startled her and she dug in her leather jacket pocket for her phone, pressing it to her ear. "Hey, Uncle Bobby."
"What you guys doing?"
"Same old, same old," Delaney replied, placing the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could read the book easier while also talking to Bobby.
"You buried in that book again?" Bobby sighed sadly. "Sweetheart, you want to break Dean free of that demon deal, you ain't gonna find the answer in no book."
Delaney frowned and slouched more against Sam who shifted slightly so she could more comfortable against him. "Then where, Bobby?"
"Sweetheart, I wish I knew. So, where's your brother?"
"Oh, Sam? He's right next to me," Delaney mused and laughed softly, glancing to the window to see Dean running around the motel room with his bed buddy. "Uh, polling the electorate."
Delaney cleared her throat, shaking her head. "Never mind."
"Well, you and the boys better pack it up. I think I finally found something."
Delaney sat in the back seat of the Impala as Dean sped down the empty, dark streets that lead to Nebraska. She wasn't sure if the nausea was from Dean's reckless speeding and the constant bouncing of the Impala or if it was from seeing her brother butt-naked when she had to go grab Dean for the possible case Bobby found for them.
"Dee, let me see your knife."
"What for?" Dean questioned, the smile falling from his face as he glanced into the rearview mirror in concern for his baby sister.
"So I can gouge my eyes out," Delaney mumbled, rubbing at her eyes as if that would rid her of the mental image of Dean's bare ass.
Dean chuckled softly and focused his attention back on the road ahead. "It was a beautiful, natural act, Della."
Delaney shuddered at the memory and gagged dramatically, earning her an eye roll from Dean. "That was a part of you I never wanted to see, Dean. Next time we have to get you, I'm sending in Sam."
Dean smiled at his baby sister in the rearview mirror. "Well, I appreciate you both giving me a little quality time with the Doublemint Twins."
"No problem," Delaney dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"Really?" Dean asked and he sounded shocked by Delaney's response. "Well, I got to say, I was expecting a weary sigh or an eye roll, something."
Delaney leant forward and poked her head into the front seat between Dean and Sam. "Not at all. You deserve to have a little fun, big bro."
Dean smiled fondly when Delaney kissed his cheek and sat back in her seat. "I can't disagree with you there, baby girl. What did Bobby have?"
Sam shrugged and glanced down at the notes he quickly scribbled down while Bobby explained to him what happened and Delaney ran inside to get Dean. "Not much. Crop failure and a cicada swarm outside of Lincoln, Nebraska."
"Could be demonic omens," Delaney noted.
"Or could just be a bad crop and a bug problem," Dean countered.
"Yeah, but it's our only lead," Sam informed, tossing the notes onto the seat between him and Dean. "No freaky deaths that Bobby could find - not yet, anyway."
"It's weird, guys. The night the Devil's Gate opened, all these weirdo storm clouds were sighted over how many cities?"
Delaney paused to think for a second, a lot of the demonic omens that had happened within the past week merging together in her mind. "Uh, seventeen."
"Seventeen. You think it would be Apocalypse Now, but it's been five days and bubkis. What are the demons waiting for?"
Delaney had wondered the same thing as Dean. Sure, she was supposed to lead all these demons in whatever war that had been planned, but now that Yellow Eyes was dead... did that title still even hold? Were they waiting for her? Or was there a bigger part to the puzzle that Yellow Eyes never told Delaney before he died?
"It's driving me crazy. I tell, if it's gonna be war, I wish it would just start already," Dean ranted.
Delaney grimaced and fiddled with her thumbs in her lap, feeling horrible that she still hadn't told the boys about the demon blood or the fact she was supposed to lead the war that Dean wanted to happen. "I don't know, Dee. Be careful what you wish for."
The three siblings stopped outside of a farmhouse that sat just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. As they stepped out, the sound of dozens of cicadas could be heard around them and it made Delaney flinch slightly. Something about the sound just sent shivers down her spine.
"Well, that can't be a good sign," Delaney said, shutting her door and walking over to Bobby that was leant against the trunk of his car a few feet away.
Bobby leant off the trunk and shot Dean an odd look when he saw the bacon cheeseburger in his hand. "So, we eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast now?"
Dean wiped his mouth to rid the grease that sat around his lips. "Well, sold my soul for Della. Got a year to live. Not exactly sweating the cholesterol."
"So, Bobby, what do you think? We got a biblical plague going on here?" Sam asked, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.
"Well, let's find out. Looks like the swarm's Ground Zero," Bobby replied and climbed the porch steps that lead to the farmhouse's front door.
Dean banged on the door three times, but had received no response. He took out his lockpick tools and opened the door, gagging when the stench of death wafted out the door.
Delaney held her breath and stepped into the house after Dean. "Oh that's awful."
Sam kept his fist up by his mouth and nose to limit the amount of stench he actually smelled. "That so can't be a good sign."
The group slowly crept through the house with their guns drawn and stopped in the second room when they heard panicked screams. Dean had kicked open the next door and they found the screams came from the TV that displayed an episode of Dallas. A family of three - a mother, father and son - sat on the couch in front of the TV and looked as if they had been dead for several days.
Delaney recoiled back into Sam when the stench of death and decay multiplied ten fold and she nearly gagged at the smell. She seriously would never get used to the smell of death no matter how long she stayed in the business. It was the type of smell that you just couldn't ever get over. "Bobby, what the hell happened here?"
Bobby breathed through his mouth, dropping his hand from his nose. "I don't really know."
"Check for sulfur," Dean instructed.
The three slowly walk around the room and inspect it for any black substances on the windowsills or furniture, but froze when Dean whistled to gain the other three's attention. He signaled to the trio he was going to go check it out and Bobby motioned for the two younger Winchesters to follow him around the other side so they could get the intruder from the other side.
When they rounded the corner to go back to the front of the porch, they saw that Dean was on his back and a dark skinned man held his rifle up to Dean's chest while his wife stood next to him.
"Isaac? Tamara?" Bobby questioned, walking over to the couple with Sam and Delaney following. "What are you doing here?"
Dean groaned and held his hand up, waving it in the air. "Hello. Bleeding here!"
A few hours later, the Winchesters and Bobby found themselves inside Isaac and Tamara's house. The couple actually turned out to be quite nice and Delaney inspected the multiple artifacts and hunting gear that hung around the room she stood in with everyone.
"Honey... where's the Palo Santo?"
"Well, where'd you leave it?" Tamara asked.
Isaac rolled his eyes fondly at his wife. "I don't know, dear. That's why I'm asking."
"Palo Santo?" Sam asked, never hearing of the thing before now.
"It's holy wood from Peru. It's toxic to demons like Holy Water," Tamara explained, digging through a large duffle bag that sat next to Isaac's arm. "Keeps the bastards nailed down while you're exorcising them."
Isaac took the large stake from Tamara when she held it out to him. "Thank you, dear."
"You'd lose your head if it wasn't for me."
Delaney sat on top of a table that was across from the one that Tamara and Isaac stood at, smiling softly at their loving argument. It reminded her of the ones she and Will used to have with each other and how Will would always say he'd be dead if it weren't for Delaney. If only she had known back then how ironic that statement truly was.
"How long you two been married?" Sam asked, leaning against the table next to Delaney.
"Eight years this past June."
Isaac kissed Tamara's head and she smiled affectionately up at him. "The family that slays together..."
"Right. I'm with you there," Delaney said, swinging her legs back and forth. "How did you guys get started?" Her face fell when she noticed the solemn expressions that took over Isaac and Tamara's face. "Oh, you know... I'm sorry. It's not - that's not any of my business."
Tamara waved Delaney off and rocked back on her heels. "No, no. It- it's alright."
"Well, Jenny if you look as you pretty as you sound, then I'd love to make an appletini," Dean said into the phone, walking into the room and making a face at the drink he mentioned. Yeah. Call you."
Delaney crossed her arms and gave Dean a look. "So did you get anything besides a date, Dean?"
Dean cleared his throat and stuffed his phone back into his jacket pocket. "Shut up. That was the coroner's tech. Get this - that whole family, cause of death - dehydration and starvation. There's no signs of restraint, no violence, no struggle. They just sat down and never got back up."
Bobby furrowed his eyebrows as none of what Dean said made any sense. "But there was a fully stocked kitchen just yards away."
"What is this, a demon attack?" Delaney inquired, never having heard of anything like this before.
"If it is, it's not like anything I ever saw, and I've seen plenty," Bobby replied.
"Well, what do we do now?" Dean asked.
Isaac shook his head and leant his hands on the table. "Uh, we aren't going to do anything. You guys seem nice enough, but this ain't Scooby-Doo, and we don't play well with others."
Delaney scoffed softly and turned her attention to Isaac across from her. "We'd cover a lot more ground if we all worked together."
"No offense, but we're not teaming with the damn fools who the let the Devil's Gate get open in the first place."
Delaney went to move off the table, but Sam was quick to hold his arm out before Delaney could do anything stupid. He gave her a silent look to cool it and she shot Isaac a heated glare and wished that looks could kill.
"No offense?" Dean repeated, sounding just as irritated as Delaney felt. At least she wasn't alone.
"Isaac," Tamara chastised and shot Isaac a stern look. "Like you never made a mistake before."
"Yeah, locked my keys in the car, turning my laundry pink. Never brought on the end of the world, though."
Dean chuckled humorlessly and clenched his fists at his side. "Alright. That's enough."
Sam sighed and made sure to keep his arm out in case Delaney decided to get smart and leap at Isaac when he moved. "Guys, this isn't help. Dean, Delaney - "
Delaney mocked Sam and ignored the unimpressed look he had given her, silently calling her a child.
"Look, there are a couple hundred more demons out there now. We don't know where they are, when they'll strike. There ain't enough hunters in the world to handle something like this. You brought war down on us - on all of us," Isaac snapped.
"I can bring war down on you right now, if you like," Delaney threatened and was held back by Sam.
Tamara grabbed her husband's hand and began to tug him out of the room. "Alright, that's quite enough testosterone for now.
"Real nice friend you got there, Uncle Bobby."
The next morning, the group showed up at a local store where a woman had her head smashed against her own windshield and then had her shoes stolen afterwards. Sam and Delaney scoped out the outside while Dean ran in to talk to the manager that had been there when the attack happened. When they entered the store, they could hear Dean flirting with the manager and he excused himself when his siblings approached.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Delaney questioned.
"I'm comforting the bereaved. What are you doing?"
"Working. Dead body, possible demon attack - that kind of stuff," Delaney retorted.
Dean brought his fist up to his mouth and faked a cough. "I'm sorry, Della. It's just I don't have much time left, and..." He paused to dramatically cough some more into his fist. "Got to make every second count."
Delaney stared at Dean incredulously as she shook her head at his antics. "I - you're so freakin' dramatic, Dean Winchester."
"Aw, apology accepted, baby girl," Dean reached out and pinched Delaney's cheek, who quickly swatted his hand away from her face.
Bobby stopped next to the small circle the siblings made and fixed his tie in the mirror next to Dean.
Dean whistled as he took in Bobby's appearance of slicked back hair and a suit. "Whoa, looking spiffy, Bobby. What were you, a G-Man?"
"Attorney from the D.A.'s office," Bobby corrected and turned to face the siblings. "I just spoke to the suspect. I don't think she was possessed. There's none of the usual signs - no blackouts, no loss of control. Totally lucid. Just, she really wanted those shoes. Spilled a glass of Holy Water on her just to be sure. Nothing."
"Maybe she's just some random wack job," Dean suggested.
"If it had been an isolated incident, maybe, but first the family and now this? I believe in a lot of things. Coincidence ain't one of them. Did you guys find anything around here?"
Delaney shook her head and crossed her arms with a heavy sigh. "No. No sulfur, nothing."
"Well, maybe something..." Dean trailed off and nodded his head towards a security camera that sat above them in the corner of the ceiling. "See, Delaney? I'm working."
After they watched the camera feed, the hunters found out that it was a redheaded guy that turned out to be their guy. Delaney broke off from the boys to go find out anything she could on the redheaded guy they saw in the camera feed, a printed out photo of his face in her pocket. She walked around the bustling sidewalk and slowed down a bit when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, as if someone had been either following her or staring at her. She slowly turned around saw that was no one was close enough behind her to elicit that kind of reaction.
Delaney spent the better part of the day running around the town to try and research any place that could give her any information on the guy that they believed to be their demon. She finally got information on him after spending hours at the library and hospitals and rushed off to the bar that Dean had told her him, Sam and Bobby scoped out because that's where the guy usually drank at.
In the dark parking lot, there were only a few cars and she could point out Bobby's rusted old van from a mile away. She could see Dean in the passenger side and not paying attention but to the bar across from the van.
"Oh, this is just too easy," Delaney laughed to herself and banged obnoxiously loud on the window, causing Dean to jump in his seat and her laughter to erupt even more.
Dean glared at Delaney when she opened the passenger door. "That is so not funny, Delaney Elizabeth."
Delaney rolled her eyes and pushed the back of Dean's seat forward so she could climb into the back with Sam, effectively squishing Dean uncomfortably until she pulled the seat back to its original position. "Yeah, yeah, you big baby. Alright, so - John Doe's name is Walter Rosen. He's from Oak Park, just west of Chicago. Went missing about a week ago."
"The night the Devil's Gate opened? So you think he's possessed?" Dean asked.
"It's a good bet," Delaney responded, shrugging lamely as she had no other options for them at this point. "So, what, he just walks up to someone, touches them, and they go stark raving psycho or something?"
"Those demons that got out at the gate - they are gonna do all kinds of things we haven't seen," Bobby warned the siblings.
"You mean the demons we let out?"
Bobby gave Delaney a look and turned when Dean rapidly hit Bobby's shoulder and pointed out the windshield to show the trio that Walter Rosen had just stepped out of his car and made his way towards the bar.
Bobby pushed Dean back in his seat when he tried to get out of the van. "Wait a minute, Dean. What did I just say? We don't know what to expect out of this guy. We should tail him till we know for sure."
"Oh, so he kills someone and we just sit here with our junk in our hands?" Dean barked.
"We're no good dead!" Bobby shot back at Dean. "We're not gonna make a move until we know what the score is."
Sam sat forward and pointed his finger out the windshield to where Isaac and Tamara walked across the lot the bar. "That's not really an option anymore."
Bobby slammed his hands on the wheel and let out a frustrated yell. "Damn it!"
The group exited the van and walked over to the doors to get into the bar, but when they pushed on the doors, they didn't budge. Delaney furrowed her eyebrows and slammed a shoulder against the doors, but they didn't give. Someone had locked the doors from the inside, which meant Isaac and Tamara could be in trouble.
"Boys, something is wrong."
Bobby, Sam and Dean threw their weights against the doors, but it was still useless. Nothing worked and Bobby eventually walked off to the van, hopping into it and starting it up. The three Winchesters backed up out of the way of Bobby's van and watched as Bobby floored the van backwards towards the double doors of the bar and burst through them.
The four hunters rush into the bar armed with holy water, which they flung violently into the crowd of demons. They backed up and Delaney grabbed Tamara, who screamed frantically for Isaac who laid dead on the ground in a pool of blood and drain cleaner.
"Tamara, come on! We have to go. He's dead," Delaney yelled over the chaos that happened around her and Tamara. She knew how much it hurt to lose your other half, but Tamara wouldn't be good dead either. She began to tug her towards Bobby's van and noticed Dean, Sam and Bobby still immersed in fighting with the demons. "Boys, come on!"
Dean entered combat with Walter and he opened the trunk just as he ran out of Holy Water. Walter grinned maniacally at Dean, stepping closer to him to attack. Dean overpowered him and stuffed him in the trunk, which had been inscribed with a Devil's Trap. He stumbled into the front seat where his siblings, Bobby and Tamara all were and shouted for Bobby to go.
Delaney had never been more happy to escape a bar in her life.
At Tamara and Isaac's house, they were able to tie up Walter to a chair underneath a Devil's Trap that had been inscribed into the ceiling and one on the ground below his feet. The group of hunters stepped into the next room away from Walter to discuss what they wanted to do, even though with Tamara's screaming, Walter probably heard everything anyway.
"And I say we are going back - now!"
"Hold on a second," Delaney said and held her hands up to calm down Tamara, but it was no use.
"I left my husband bloody on the floor!"
"Okay, I understand that, but we can't go back," Sam yelled over Tamara.
Tamara narrowed her eyes at Sam and poked a finger into his chest. "Fine. You stay, but I am heading back to that bar."
"I'll go with her," Dean offered, but we pushed back into the room by Delaney.
"It's suicide, Dean!"
"I'm already dead! So, what's it matter?"
Delaney curled her hands into fists and fought against the urge to knock Dean in the side of the head. It pissed her off how blasé Dean was about his impending death. It was almost as if he didn't care at all. "How you gonna kill 'em, then? You can't shoot 'em. You can't stab 'em. They are not gonna just wait in line to get exorcised!"
"I don't care!" Tamara cried.
"We don't even know how many of them there are!" Delaney snapped at Tamara.
"Yeah, we do," Bobby corrected, entering the room with a book in his hands. "There's seven. Do you have any idea who we are up against?"
Dean blinked and shared a look with his siblings before he turned back to Bobby. "No. Who?"
"The seven deadly sins. Live and in the flesh!"
Dean paused for a long moment before a wide grin broke out on his face. "WHAT'S IN THE BOX?!" He noticed the room fall into an awkward silence and held his hands out to the side. "Se7en? Brad Pitt? No?"
Bobby shot Dean an unamused look and shoved the book into Dean's chest, causing him to stumble back a few steps. "Binsfeld's Classification of Demons. In 1589, Binsfeld I.D.'d the seven sins - not just as human vices, but as actual devils."
"The family - they were touched by Sloth. And the shopper..."
"That's Envy's doing," Bobby finished for Sam. "The customer we got in the next room. I couldn't suss it out at first until Isaac. He was touched with an awful Gluttony."
"I don't give a rat's ass if they're The Three Stooges or The Four Tops! I am gonna slaughter every last one of them!"
Bobby stepped closer to Tamara and it was obvious in his face that he was over Tamara's attitude. Sure, her husband had just died and Delaney felt her pain, but she needed to keep her mouth shut because if her nor Isaac had showed up at that bar then he wouldn't be dead. The couple should have just listened to the Winchesters and Bobby in the first place.
"We already did it your way! You burst in there half-cocked and look what happened to Isaac! Now I don't want to lose anyone I care about, so we're doing this my way. These demon haven't been topside in half a millennium! We are tracking medieval, dark ages! We never faced anything close to this. So we will be taking a deep breath... and figure out what our next move is!"
Tamara and Bobby had a long, awkward stare off between two before Tamara stormed off in an emotional wreck.
Envy chuckled darkly as Bobby, Tamara and the three Winchesters circled the chair he sat in. "So, you know who I am, huh?"
"We do. We're not impressed," Bobby quipped.
"Why are you here? What are you after?" Delaney questioned, stopping to stand in front of Envy's chair while her brothers continued to circle the chair slowly and Bobby and Tamara stood on either side of the chair.
Envy just smiled at Delaney, keeping his mouth shut.
Dean gripped the back of Envy's hair and pulled it back harshly, earning a small hiss from the demon. "I believe the lady asked you a question, asshole. What do you want?"
Envy just laughed maniacally when Dean pushed his head forward and shouted in pain when Dean flicked Holy Water at his face. He groaned softly as his skin continued to sizzle. "We already have... what we want. We're out. We're free. Thanks to you, my kind are everywhere. I am Legion, for we are many. So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little fun."
"Fun?" Sam repeated, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, fun. See, some people crochet. Others golf. Me? I like to see people's insides... on their outsides."
Tamara stepped threateningly closer to Envy with a sneer on her face. "I'm gonna put you down like a dog."
"Please," Envy scoffed and showed no signs of fear. "You really think you're better than me. Which one of you can cast the first stone, huh? What about you, Dean? You're practically a walking billboard of Gluttony and Lust. And Tamara, all that wrath. Ooh. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. It's the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn't it? It's so much easier to drink in the rage than to face what really happened all those years ago."
Tamara yelled and lunged forward, taking multiple swings at Envy's face until Bobby and Dean pulled her away from Envy.
"My point exactly and you call us sins. We're not sins, man. We are natural human instinct and you can repress and deny us all you want, but the truth is, you are just animals. Horny... greedy... hungry... violent animals. And you know what? You'll be slaughtered like animals, too. The others - they are coming for me."
"Maybe," Dean said, leaning his hands on his knees so his face was a few inches from Envy's. "But they're not gonna find you... cause you'll be in Hell. Someone send this clown packing."
"My pleasure," Tamara said and grabbed the book to begin reading off the exorcism as the other four hunters left with the sound of Envy's screams ringing in their ears.
Once they were far enough away into the next room, Bobby turned to the three siblings that sat on the table together. Delaney momentarily wondered how the table didn't give out with all their weights combined on it. "I don't think we're gonna have to worry about hunting them. I think maybe this joker's right. They are gonna be hunting us and they aren't gonna quit easy."
"You guys, why don't you take Tamara and head for the hills? I'll stay back, slow them down, buy you a little time."
"You are insane, Dean. Just forget about it, okay?" Delaney huffed.
"Laney's right," Bobby agreed, earning a triumphant grin from the youngest Winchester.
Dean ran his hands over his face and threw them in the air. "There's six of them, guys. We're outnumbered, we're outgunned. We'll be dead by dawn."
Bobby lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "Maybe, but there's no place to run that they won't find us."
"Look, if we're going down, then we are going down together, alright?" Sam demanded.
"Let's not make it easy for them," Dean said.
Envy's final scream echoed through the house and Tamara stepped into the room just seconds later. "Demon's out of the guy and he didn't make it."
Delaney raised an eyebrow as she watched Tamara walk away. "Huh, who would have thought there would be someone with worse sarcasm and sass than me?"
Later on that night, Delaney sat on the floor of one of the rooms in Tamara's house as she loaded up guns and filled up Holy Water flasks with her brothers who both sat across from her. The trio looked up at each other silently and watched each other for a long moment before the lights above them flickered and the radio suddenly clicked on, playing We Shall Not Be Moved.
Dean cocked his gun and stood to his feet along with his siblings. "Showtime."
Delaney split up from the boys and took her position upstairs in one of the rooms and stood against the wall across from the door, gripping her shotgun in hand and her Holy Water sat nestled in her inner jacket pocket.
Suddenly, the door was kicked in and flung across the room as a man in a business suit, flanked by another man and a woman stepped into the room.
The three demons began to advance on Delaney until the business man held his hands up, stopping the two behind him from walking further. They all glanced up to see the Devil's Trap located on the ceiling just a few inches from where they were about to walk.
The business man chuckled darkly and snapped his black eyes back to Delaney. "You really think something like that is gonna work on me? Me?"
"Let me guess - you're Pride," Delaney quipped.
The business man grins and gestured to the ceiling, creating a crack in the ceiling where the Devil's Trap and held his hands out to the side. "The root of all sin. And you... you are Delaney Winchester. That's right. I've heard you. We've all heard of you. The Prodigy, the Girl Queen. Looking at you now, I got to tell you, don't believe the hype. You think I'm gonna bow to a cut-rate, piss poor human like you? I have my pride, after all. Now with your yellow eyed friend dead, I guess I really don't have to do a damn thing, now, do I? You're fair game now, sweetheart, and it's open season."
Pride smirked at Delaney and advanced on her, knocking her to the ground. He pulled her back up with his arm wrapped tightly around her throat, choking her. She struggled against the vice grip of Pride and just as black spots appeared around her vision, Pride pushed her away and she gasped in a lung full of air.
Delaney turned around and spun Pride back around to face her, punching him hard in the face. Pride had gone stumbling forward and a blonde haired, blue eyed boy that looked to be her age, plunged a knife straight through Pride's throat. Fiery light appeared in the wound and Pride went down, dead, next to his two other companions that the boy must have killed.
Delaney coughed and wheezed, her chest heaving as she stared at the boy across from her. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the guy that just saved your ass," the boy replied and wiped blood that dripped down from his nose.
"Well, I just saved yours, too," Delaney breathed.
The boy smirked at Delaney and backed towards the door. "See you around, Delaney."
Delaney balked for a moment, wondering how in the world that this boy knew her name. "Wait!" she called after him, rushing out of the room after him. Only, when she made it into the hallway, the boy was nowhere to be found. "What the hell?"
The next morning, Sam and Dean piled the corpses of the demons that didn't survive into a shallow pit and began to pour salt and fuel over them. Several yards away, Tamara is stood in front of a funeral pyre: Isaac's.
"You guys think she's gonna be alright?" Delaney asked, sadly glancing over her shoulder at Tamara.
"No, definitely not," Dean replied honestly. He turned as Bobby walked over to them, looking way more tired than the trio did. "Well, you look like Hell warmed over."
"You try exorcising all night and see how you feel," Bobby remarked, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. "Thankfully, we had two survivors. The pretty girl and the heavy guy, they'll make it for sure. Lifetime of therapy bills ahead, but, still..."
"That's more than you can say for these poor bastards," Dean added.
Delaney chewed on her lip as her eyes shifted from the pile of bodies below her and over to Bobby. "Uncle Bobby, that knife that guy had last night - what kind of blade can kill a demon?"
"Yesterday, I would have said there was no such thing."
"I'm just gonna ask it again - who was that masked dude?" Dean asked, crossing his arms. "Actually, better a question - how did you let a guy save your ass? You hate being a damsel in distress."
Delaney shot Dean an exasperated look. He had been teasing her all night that the guy had to jump in save her because she couldn't do it herself. As much as she hated needing someone to help her out because she didn't want to appear weak, she was glad that guy showed up when he did. "Three demons, Dean... at once."
Dean pat his sister on the head patronizingly and smirked at her. "Aw, whatever it takes to get you through the night, baby girl."
Sam sighed and shifted where he stood in between Bobby and Dean. "Yeah, well, if you really want a troubling question, I got one for you - if we let out the Seven Deadly Sins, what else did we let out?"
"You're right, that is troubling," Dean replied after a long moment of silence, lighting a match and dropping it into the hole, setting the bodies on fire.
Later on, once all the bodies have officially stopped burning and the siblings parted ways with both Bobby and Tamara, they made their way towards the Impala to get back on the road.
"Uh, I don't know. I was thinking maybe Louisiana," Delaney suggested, stopping by the hood of the Impala.
"It's a little early for Mardi Gras, isn't it?" Dean teased.
Delaney shook her head and stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back on her heels. "Uh, no. Listen, I talked to Tamara earlier, she mentioned this hoodoo priestess outside of Shreveport that might be able to help us out, you know, with your - with your demon deal."
Dean made a face at Delaney's suggestion, almost looking as if he had smelt something foul. "Nah."
Delaney scoffed and furrowed her eyebrows at Dean. "Nah? What do you mean nah?"
"Delaney, no hoodoo priestess spell is gonna break this deal. It's a goose chase."
"We don't know that," Delaney argued.
"Yes, we do. Forget it. She can't help."
Sam nudged Dean in the side to get him to lay off Delaney who had just been trying to help. "It doesn't hurt to go look, Dean."
"We're not going and that's that. What about Reno, huh?" Dean offered and went to walk over to the driver's side but was tugged back by Delaney.
"You know what? I've had it," Delaney snapped, finally reaching her breaking point with Dean's attitude towards the whole demon deal situation. "I have bending over backwards trying to be nice to you, and... I don't care anymore."
"That didn't last long."
Delaney narrowed her eyes at Dean and crossed her arms across her chest. "Yeah, well, you know what? Both Sammy and I have been busting our asses trying to keep you alive, Dean, and you act like you couldn't care less. What, you got some kind of death wish or something?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what's it like, Dean?" Delaney demanded, needing answers because she was quite literally losing her mind over the whole thing and Dean couldn't even be bothered to care that he would be dead in less than three hundred and sixty-five days.
"Delaney - "Dean cut himself off, sighing heavily as if not knowing how to word what he was gonna say. "We trap the Crossroads Demon, trick it, try to welsh our way out of the deal in any way, you die, okay? You die. Those are the terms. There's no way out of it and I will be damned if I have to watch you die again. The first time tore me apart enough to last me a lifetime. It's not happening, Delaney."
Delaney rolled her lips into her mouth, tears welling in her eyes as she realized why Sam had started to lose faith so quickly. He had to have realized that there would be no way out of it. "How can you make that deal, Dean?"
"Cause I couldn't live with you dead. Couldn't do it, Della."
"Neither could Sammy, but you didn't see him throwing himself at a Crossroads Demon to sell his soul for me," Delaney gestured to Sam who stood next to her, rubbing her back comfortingly as her voice shook with emotion. "You are such a hypocrite. How did you feel when Daddy sold his soul for you, huh? 'Cause I was there, I remember. You were twisted and broken and now you go and do the thing... to me. How do you think it makes me feel to know you're gonna die in less than a year? How helpless do you think that makes me feel, Dean? Huh? It was selfish."
Dean licked his lips and nodded. "You're right, Della, it was selfish. I'm okay with that."
"Yeah? Well, I'm not."
"Tough, Delaney. After everything I have done for this family, I think I'm entitled," Dean admitted, dropping his arms to his side tiredly. "Truth is, Della, I'm tired. I don't know, it's like there's a light at the end of the tunnel."
"That's Hell fire, Dean," Delaney quipped.
Dean shrugged lamely and pat Delaney's shoulder. "You're alive, I feel good... for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, Della. I'd like to make the most of it and not spend it with you hating me, okay? What do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little Hell, huh?"
"Pretty sure we raised most of Hell," Sam mused and earned laughs from both of his siblings, lightening the mood just a bit.
"You're unbelievable," Delaney said to Dean as he passed her by.
Dean stopped by the driver's side door and sent her a knowing smirk. "Tell me something I haven't heard before, baby girl."
Delaney closed her eyes and fought the urge to send Dean off to Hell three hundred and fifty-seven days early.
IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED TO KNOW WHEN FUTURE CHAPTERS COME OUT, FEEL FREE TO SEND ME AN ASK & I WILL ADD YOU TO THE LIST! :)
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My Days Gone review
I've finally beaten Days Gone after close to 80 hours of gameplay (though I'm still getting rid of the hordes for platinum), and I was so shocked by the reception the game got from mainstream gaming outlets that I felt like sitting down and doing a proper review of my own.
Days Gone is a game I'd been looking forward to since the first trailer back in 2015(?) and I'm happy to say that I had one helluva good time with it. It's definitely in my top 3 games of 2019, which has already been a very good year for gamers.
I'm not gonna spoil anything about the story, but this is gonna be very long and detailed, so I'll put the actual review under a read more.
Pro: The world. I've played a lot of zombie games and I have to say, post-apocalyptic Oregon is my absolute favorite setting in this genre. It's full of Americana, and beautiful like a painting. You can honestly pause the game at any moment for a snapshot that'll be like something out of a post card. But this world is hostile as hell and everything is out to get you. Various types of Freakers (=the "zombies" of this game) and humans prowl the broken roads and you never know when you're gonna run into an ambush or a horde that can overwhelm you in mere seconds. The game never allows you to feel too comfortable or like you're a one-man walking armory, and I felt that it maintained the sense of danger all the way to the end.
Pro: Exploration. I very rarely used fast travel, because I enjoyed riding my bike across the map so much. The dynamic events that include things like saving hostages, ambushes by various factions, and clearing various enemy camps and NERO outposts kept every ride interesting. The worldbuilding in the game is very impressive with how detailed every single location is and most buildings you see are accessible. There are also lots of collectibles in the game if that's your thing.
Pro: The enemies. It seems a lot of people, including the critics, went in expecting just another generic zombie game, and some came out thinking that's exactly what DG is. The game does have several genre stables like a world that's fallen into anarchy and chaos with small pockets of humanity struggling to survive. There are zombies or Freaks, whatever you wanna call them, and they're an enemy that feels so overwhelming that it's hard to even dream of the world ever going back to normal again. And I think this is fine, because these are all things I expect from this genre, things I love.
The Freaks have a familiar aesthetic, but they are more disgusting than your average zombie; they even build their nests from human shit. I think the best comparison for them are the creatures in I am Legend. The hordes, which are one of the major highlights of DG gave me plenty of blood-chilling moments, and it took me almost 2 hours to get rid the most massive horde in the game. There are also human enemies, the Rippers being the most notable group. They're a cult of PCP-sniffing, self-mutilating torturers, and I found them quite effective. There's also quite a lot of enemy variety and I like how the game kept introducing new enemy types every time I was starting to feel like the things I'd faced until then were losing their sense of threat. The scariest enemy for me? The Reacher. I see or hear one and I'm outta there!
Pro: The story and the characters. Days Gone is a very narrative-driven game, which I love, and one of the main reasons I had such a good time with this game is the engaging story it tells with Deacon St. John. Deacon, or Deek, is a character some people are gonna want to hate based on his looks or who he is. And I don't blame them, because Deek is no hero. Being a biker and an enforcer in his former club, he's, no doubt, done a lot of bad shit even before the apocalypse. At the beginning of the game, he's like a lone wolf, doing bounty hunts and caring only about his old friend from the club, but to say that he lacks depth or has zero character development over the course of the story is, in my opinion, absurd.
Because so much of the game is spent on Deacon's personal journey from a Drifter who doesn't even want to be around other people unless he has to, into becoming something I'd call a classic (anti)hero. He's morally ambiguous and many of the things he does for others are done out of self-interest, which can be said about almost all the characters who live in this messed up world, tbh.
The Deacon we first meet feels like someone who's been through so much shit that it's hardened him to everything around him. He's so full of anger and pain that he's almost unhinged. Even his line delivery makes it sound like he's on the verge of snapping. He mutters and rants to himself a lot, which ngl, took some time to get used to, but it actually makes him seem more human, because I imagine it'd be hard to hold on to your sanity if you're living the life Deacon is living.
I feel that it's his love for his wife Sarah that really makes Deacon more than just a one-note selfish asshole. Some of their relationship is told through flashbacks and it's these glimpses into who Deacon was around her before the world went to shit that really highlights his more human side, and how much the world has changed him by the time the player jumps into the story with him. One of the biggest surprises for me was the relationship between Deek and Sarah, because I found it to be one of the most compelling video game romances in a long time, and I didn't expect to get something like that in a post-apocalyptic game like Days Gone.
Pro: Graphics. Days Gone is, hands down, one of the most beautiful games on the PS4. I'd say it's right up there with RDR2 and AC: Odyssey. The cutscenes and the facial animation are all very impressive, and you can really see the performance from the actual actors who all do a great job. There's also the most gorgeous dynamic weather in the game. The snow effects and night-time thunderstorms are especially impressive.
Pro/con: Gameplay. The gameplay borrows a lot from other games, which some people count as a minus, but I personally liked how familiar everything felt, and how I could just jump right into the story without any real learning curve. The stealth dynamics, menus and crafting system felt similar to those in The Last of Us, Horizon Zero Dawn and Tomb Raider, and the gun and melee combat is very basic action RPG stuff. It's okay and it also doesn't even attempt to bring anything new to the table. The motorcycle, however, was a great way to get around, better than your basic horses or cars. And I felt the bike controls worked really well.
Con: The weapons/item wheel got pretty clunky to use as my inventory kept growing and I often ended up picking the wrong item in a critical situation.
Con: Some major technical issues. I started playing on day one, but I didn't actually experience most of the pre-patch bugs, because the game received multiple fixes during the first couple of days. I had a couple of cases of an NPC sinking into the ground, but overall, the game ran very smoothly on my Pro - up until the third act. That's where I experienced a lot of frame rate issues while driving around in areas that had a lot going on. I also had audio related problems in the first couple of days with some of the dialogue cutting off too soon, and my bike lost the sound of its engine until I got off it and mounted it again.
Con: The audio mixing in the game had some issues all the way to the end. Sometimes the sound from my bike's tyres was way louder than the sound of the engine, and the cacophony of sounds from a horde didn't feel like it was an organic part of the world. The volume of some of Deacon's line delivery was also very odd, because sometimes he'd be yelling way too loud even when there were no other sounds around him or the character he was talking to was right next to him.
Pro: The soundtrack and ambient audio were very good. I loved the songs performed by an actual artist and how they were used in the game, and the goddamn track that played around a horde gave me chills every single time. All the sounds you hear in the world from your own footsteps against wet mud to the distant screams from Freaks and the wind rustling in the trees were very well done.
Pro: Gore. Ahah, this won't be a pro in everyone's eyes, but I loved how gory this game is. Especially with melee kills. When you smash a sawblade attached to a wooden board into somebody's skull, it really looks and sounds like a sawblade sinking into flesh...
Pro: Quests. The way the game handles quests compared to other open world games was something I really loved. I'm an obessive completionist, meaning that I have to do every damn side quest, no matter how insignificant it may be. Games like Skyrim and Assassin's Creed are a nightmare for me, even though I love them, and my map is often full of markers from all the quests I'm hoarding. But in Days Gone you rarely have more than two or three active quests on the map, which kept me from feeling overwhelmed or getting side-tracked from the main quest. I often create pacing issues in open world games that have side quests, because I always drop the main quest for hours, but Days Gone never game me a chance to do that, which is why the story felt like it was moving at a perfect pace.
Con: Very long loading screens. The initial loading screen when you start the game is pretty damn long. You also get shorter, but distracting loading screens between cutscenes.
So yeah, that's all my pros and cons. I felt like I was on a Journey with Deacon St. John, a journey so memorable and intense that I'll be thinking about it for a long time. If I had to give Days Gone a score, it'd be an 8.5 out of 10 with the current state it's in, a solid 9 out of 10 without the bugs.
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