#apocalypse story

[artemis-moon101]

explanation: its for a story set in a post apocalypse hundreds of years after a nuclear war. a mutated version of the rabies virus has infected humans and animals all over the world, creating zombie-like highly dangerous creatures.

pros/cons for A pros: because living in the post apocalypse right? the whole world is out to get you, your constantly being hunted. this allows me to have things like birds and shit which is nice cons: wolves man. and coyotes and foxes and lynxes and etc. theres a lot of cool wolf imagery that i am a SUCKER for but it just wont be possible.

pros/cons for B pros: this means only mammals and basically only predator animals. also the symbolism bc even though some of them might feel invincible, they very much can get the disease, which wouldnt be as goof for say, a bird character, bc birds dont get rabies. cons: but birds!! i had an idea for a bird character that i rlly like but... wolves...

[dyingroses]

When it’s the zombie apocalypse and your stuck with a misogynist religious fanatic in your group

[marvelcriminalhoe]

The Great War Masterlist

Steve Rogers x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

“ I vowed not to fight anymore, if we survived the Great War”

Summary: Some called it the end of time, others the zombie apocalypse, but most people called it the Great War— the living vs the dead. At first, that’s how it was split, only two sides fighting. But as the years drew on, the lines began to blur and the world became even more dangerous. When a new group makes itself known in your area, it’s your job to decide if they can be trusted or not. Especially when tragedy seems to strike and a fight against more than just the walkers is on the horizon.

Chapter 1: Pirates

Chapter 2: Strangers

Chapter 3: Neighbos

Chapter 4: Allies

Chapter 5: Friends

Chapter 6: Partners

Chapter 7: Fighters

Chapter 8: Lovers

Chapter 9: Survivors

[mmechanicat]

oh, i'll show you queer-coded villains

[asassydork]

Chapter 1: One-Eyed Flying Monkey

Story: High Water

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Post-Apocalyptic Cult Vibes.

The day was supposed to be like every other at the end of the world. It was peaceful down by the creek. But when alarms are sounded and flares begin flying in the valley, it’s clear something isn’t right. Upon discovering the group returned with both members of a rival group, random stranger refugees, and everything they were meant to scavenge, it becomes clear there’s more going on than they anticipated.

TW: MDNI, 18+, enemies to lovers, they kiss in the first chapter, references to torture, whump inspired, adult language and adult themes.

The sirens came rolling in over the mountain. A series of sticks being smacked against trees loud enough to reverberate across the valley. Tens of them, spread out from the lookout points.

It was something we practiced but not something put to use yet. When the flare went up over camp, all sound ceased in a rush. There was no echo. Nothing but birdsongs rising out of the silence. A flare like that meant something had gone horribly wrong during the last raid. They were only sent out to scavenge but you never really know what you’re getting into when you go out there. The world is nothing like it used to be.

I drop the sticks I was gathering and take off running towards the camp. They’re going to need me for the sake of keeping everyone calm. I wasn’t the best with interventions of a certain magnitude but everyone seems to have enough faith in me that I influence decisions.

Black Water Creek was an outpost along the Black Water River, an ironically crystal clear safe to drink little river that flows between the mountains from a spring up north. It’s got plenty of safe fish to eat. Vegetation that’s not going to kill you. And draws in enough wildlife that we rarely have to go off looking for food. It was somehow a perfect place despite the reputation it once upheld.

The outpost is more like a compound behind walls of steel, iron and concrete. They’re over ten feet tall and four feet wide, plenty enough room to keep people out. It’s got a series of twenty five buildings behind those walls and plenty of vantage points and lookout spots. It existed before the world went sideways, but its mission was much different these days. It was a safe haven but only to the select. Most of the time, people we bring in choose not to stay. There’s a lot of rules and cooperation that goes into keeping a place like this functioning. And what we can’t get from the land, we have to scavenge from the wreck of the world. It’s something that started off small. A few trips into Brown Water, the town up and across the river. But then the town stopped having what we needed and babies continued to be born despite everything. It meant having to leave the valley all together for days or weeks at a time. But the groups had to be bigger to survive those trips. They had to be more prepared. After my last run in with the group we call the Flying Monkeys from up north, I haven’t been able to leave camp. It’s some paranoia attached to the post traumatic stress related to getting taken and tortured like I was. I was gone almost six months before they managed to figure out where I was being held. The scariest experience of my life and I survived The Collapse first hand.

The trucks pulled into camp around the same time I entered the gates, each vehicle accounted for but covered in bullet holes. That was new. The number of holes was over a hundred. I couldn’t begin to think who might have that many bullets. But I knew it wasn’t good. The Monkeys only use resourceful weaponry handcrafted so they don’t run out of munitions. They’re also more interested in skinning you alive than they are about shooting at you. Torture was more their style, which was why they’ve been plucking people off of trails and new access roads like it’s nothing. It makes the mountains a dangerous place.

A second flare goes off from the gate as a new truck pulls in behind the others. It didn’t have any bullet holes in it but it was also packed with people and supplies. People weren’t something meant to be brought back from this one. This was strictly baby business. My eyes scanned the vehicles and I ultimately moved to find Bastian unloading someone injured from the back cab of one of the old trucks. Caleb. He was alive?

My heart sank as Bellamy moved to help him carry the makeshift stretcher. Caleb was alive and moaning. He’d been assumed dead last year. MIA without a single sign of life. There was nothing we could’ve done. No one knew where he’d gone off to or how he got separated. But it was good to hear sounds coming from him. Chances were he might just survive this. But I don’t go with them to the infirmary. There was a commotion around one of the other trucks and I needed to get to the bottom of the reasons for the flares.

Inside the back of one of the trucks was a badly beaten, bloody and bruised man hogtied and gagged. There was nothing familiar about him that stood out of me as Jeremy and Derek both dragged him out of the truck and let him fall onto the ground hard without being able to catch himself. He groaned in pain behind the cloth in his mouth and another man awkwardly climbed out of the truck. He was beaten and bruised but far less purple and not so bloody. He just had his hands bound behind his back and a gag in his mouth that he likely didn’t need considering the large tattoo on his forehead. He was sworn to secrecy. Opening his mouth would mean a true death by the people he’d been stolen from. The Flying Monkeys.

I haven’t seen one of them without those stupid fucking masks on their head but I’d known about the tattoos. They’re basically covered in them, so the only way to get them off is to peel off their skin like what they do to their victims. It’s a cycle. A vicious endless cycle.

But they hadn’t tied his legs. He could attempt to run and get knocked down and dragged back. It was like a cat toy, basically. There was nowhere for him to go, now. But he didn’t make the attempt. He jumped down out of the back of the truck and scanned each of our faces like he was studying for a report back. It wasn’t until he looked in my direction that he even seemed to blink. The expression on his face became that of fear and he’d taken a step back. A step that was intercepted by Jeremy who shoved him forward roughly. They weren’t taking their chances with him. He’d be the first prisoner we’ve had in a while and the first Monkey. He’d have an awful long road ahead of him if he chose to survive.

I moved to help gather boxes out of one of the other trucks. I got first dibs on some of the supplies, even though I technically shouldn’t. Motherhood wasn’t something I spent a lot of time thinking about. It wasn’t in the cards for me by the way this was all going. The end of the world was the end of hope itself. I couldn’t imagine raising a kid in all of this. And yet, I technically have been. More than one. Children that weren’t mine but needed my guidance and my reassurance. Children who found me out of everyone else and chose for themselves that I’d be left with this impossible title. A role I didn’t ascribe to very well.

We made several trips from the trucks to the warehouse. The boxes had to be sorted and rifled through. It could take days to get that process flowing. It was when I went back to the trucks that I saw someone new that I hadn’t expected to see. Another Monkey. A more noticeable Monkey pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t have a forehead tattoo, so his identity wasn’t given away as easily. He was the One-Eyed Captain. The one who kept me locked inside a cargo container for months on end with barely enough food to eat. He tortured me in the most horrific ways and waited for me to die every time. A monster of all monsters. He was cruel and undeserving of life. When I moved to ambush him in front of the others he pretended to be with, he grabbed me harshly and pulled me right into his personal space with his fingers digging hard into the backs of my arms. He forced a kiss upon my lips in a savage threat to keep my mouth shut. He’d do all of those things to me again if I didn’t let him be. That was the promise the kiss swore.

It wasn’t a tender kiss or a violent kiss. It was the kind of kiss you can’t ever possibly be prepared for. The kind of kiss that not just anyone can give you. It was precise and practiced. He’s planned this assault on my senses and on my dignity. It was equal parts cruel and comforting. A man expressing to a woman feelings he wasn’t supposed to have. And when I didn’t head butt him like I could’ve, he loosened his grip on my arms and moved to hold my neck, keeping me in front of him like I was nothing but a pet now. My sense of self had been stripped away from me in a single second as he deepened the kiss with the taste of sex on his tongue. He was salivating as he thought about it. He was probably thinking about all of the harm he brought to me in our time together. I was nothing but a mere commodity now. Expendable. Recyclable.

He moaned into my mouth as he tasted me, forcing me to taste his hunger. It was violating in every way but I knew what he’d do if I pulled away or pushed him off of me. It made him smirk behind his lips as he sipped and licked at my mouth like he would’ve done this a long time ago if he thought it would’ve worked. It was like all of his torture was meant to make me submit to him, to give in to some desire I simply didn’t have. And yet, I reluctantly kissed him back, forced to play this part with an audience clearly watching us. His thumb on my neck stroked me like it was a reward. I was being a good pet giving him what he wanted. And that’s when I stopped being nice, nipping and biting at his tongue in my mouth. He growled at me a feral sound as he pushed me up against the side of the truck and nipped and bit at me just the same, fueled by the rage I just provoked and reminded him of. He grinds his hips against mine, rubbing up on me with his want. He manipulated my mouth and took all that he wanted from me because he wasn’t going to let it go. I kept my pace, a taunt in every movement. I’d get my revenge on him and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s in my territory now. He’ll be my prisoner by the time the sun goes down. That was a promise. I’d do worse to him than anything he’d done to me. I could guarantee it. It was what made him moan at me again. I was in control. This was my game. My pet and my leash. That was when I shoved him off of me and walked away. He’d gotten the scene he wanted and I’d gotten my message across. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back towards him, kissing me again softer like he didn’t want it to end on a high note. He was probably never going to stop kissing me, now.

“I’ll find you later,” he whispers, kissing the knuckles on my left hand in a strange way that I wasn’t anticipating.

He didn’t have to tell me. I knew he wasn’t going to leave me alone. He’d find a way to slip away from the others and come find me. And then I’d have him right where I want him, where he’ll never come back from. I’ve wanted my revenge since I escaped. I’ve wanted it since the minute he started hurting me. We’d never be whatever he thinks we are. It was a game. An act. A manipulation of the human condition. I’ll own him in ways he never imagined someone else would own him. I’ll do unthinkable things that he hasn’t prepared himself for.

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, pulling my hand away and escaping this weird exchange going on.

[candiedbooks]

What would be a reason for someone to intentionally start a zombie virus, other than "THEY'RE CRAZY!" but not for an entirely "sane" either?

(Through dark magic, I think, not through science. Idk, I'm in the beginning stages of this story; I don't want to go the "dead rising from their graves" classic, but I also don't want to go the overused typicial "zombie virus outbreak" route. I want something somewhere in the middle. I think. 🤔)

(*DO NOT "Like" this post! Either offer the help I'm asking for, reblog it so others can, or scroll past!)

[butchysterics]

21xx. noah atwood calls himself an artist—an eccentric painter, a vivid erotic performer—but trouble with the law has cast him adrift, from his home city of manchester to a flooded miami to a burning california

in the bay area, he finds friendship in student veronika belyakof, the estranged daughter of a bioengineering monopoly well-known for its military industrial ties in producing cybernetically-enhanced "supersoldiers." bane international rose to prominence marketing fashionable prosthetic limbs for an increasingly maimed populace, though its purpose expanded to an array of for-profit healthcare schemes, and, of course, the defense division. as a college student, veronika temporarily fled the trauma and controversies of her family in the growing northern capital, a technocratic autonomous city in tlingit aani (once so-called southeast alaska), a beautiful but chaotic place swelling with climate and conflict refugees. noah takes a chance following veronika home when she drops out, facing the changing city again—a city under threat of "apocalypse" as veronika's brother-in-law, the charismatic doomsday preacher trejan arkwright, broadcasts nightly about the encroaching rapture and seems adamant about making it happen, divine intervention or not. and, of course, noah finds himself involved

[building blocks for a new iteration of Apocalypse Story, a loosely formatted webcomic based on near-future sci-if world i've played around with for many many years. queer doomsday televangelism, disabled cyborgs, anarchists trying to keep their city alive, much to do with biopolitics

elevator pitch: repo! the genetic opera (grand inspiration of many years) meets disco elysium (brand new media to me which hits all the marks and feels v much in kinship/conversation with everything this story is about)]

[hyenazzwritinggaystuff]

so i found some old writing i did

debating if i should post a random story i wrote as an assignment a year ago, cus tbh it wasn’t terrible.

its a really short story about an apocalypse with unknown monsters.

part of me wants to use the idea more.

[akillysheel]

INFECTED.  ( PROLOGUE )

Summary:  When Leylan goes up in flames, it gives Simon Krit the mental fortitude to cut ties with his abusive father, seemingly for good.  However, when they reunite some time later it goes about as well as you’d expect.

Warnings:  Emotional manipulation, mental abuse, some mentions of self-harm/suicide.

A/N:  Simon is the other side of the Kip/Basil coin that I’m keen to explore.  He’s my favourite of this little cluster of my cast and I felt inspired to write something proper for him first!

Simon slides his closet door closed before huddling in its darkest corner.  He’s a large man, six foot three and lined with a flattering layer of muscle, but he feels as small as a mouse as he hides amongst his coats and dress pants, a kitchen knife clutched tightly in one trembling hand.

He’s never been a particularly patient man.  Waiting for a radio broadcast to provide him with further guidance is as painful as waiting in traffic when he’s already running late.  Still, he isn’t about to take his chances in the chaos that’s unfolding in the streets.  In a twisted way, he’s lucky that this entire debacle started on a Saturday, when he and the children he teaches are at home.  Some of them may be little snot-nosed brats as far as he’s concerned, but he hopes that they’re all safe and sound;  that he’ll see them all on Monday when this unprecedented mayhem blows over.  He’ll even forgive Marcel for forgetting his homework for the thirteenth time.  This might be about the only valid excuse he’s ever had to skip an assignment.

Something crashes outside, cutting the thought clean in two.  It takes Simon a moment to realise that it’s the sound of a rowboat hitting the pavement, wood splintering upon impact.  He doesn’t want to think about the wet splat sound that accompanied it.  He refuses to believe that there was a person in there.

The radio on his bedside table crackles so suddenly that it prompts the grip on his weapon to tighten, black knuckles turning white with strain.  His pulse flits across his tongue like lightning, temples thrumming with the dull ache of adrenaline as he tunes in, desperate for advice.  Even through the door, the crackled demand is clear  -  and disappointing.

                     This is a public service announcement for the civilians of Leylan.                                                   Do not leave your homes. Barricade yourself in the most secure place available and await further instructions.

That’s it?  The thought starts small but it echoes.  It bounces off the walls of his skull and grows five times its size with every timed ricochet, until it’s the only thing he can hear.  It feels as if nettles are growing inside of his heart, chest prickling with anxiety.  He’s always known that he’s alone in the world, but this time it feels different  -  as if he’s truly its only occupant.  A helpless thing in a crumbling timeline;  a tiny ember of light in a world that’s quickly drowning.

From deep within his memory, he hears his old university counsellor speak.

                                  And what do you do when you feel helpless, Mr. Krit?                                                                                                   Drink a lot?                                                                                                                 No.                                                                   Make jokes until I feel better?                                                                                                    No, Simon.                                                                             …I guess I garden, doc.

Something tells him that gardening won’t be an option in the foreseeable future.  If they haven’t already been trampled by the beasts unleashing havoc outside, he can see his loyal plants’ health taking an impromptu nosedive.  A shame, too, for he’s been cultivating these same flowerbeds for decades now.

He’s jolted from his thoughts by a steady vibration.  It takes longer than it should for him to realise that it’s his phone.  The idea of someone calling now is ridiculous, borderline comical, and he raises the device with what can only be described as an annoyed smile.

The name on the display makes it fade.

                INCOMING  CALL  ➡  DAD.

Simon groans audibly.  He’s been dodging this man’s calls as often as he can ever since he made his way to university  -  and that was three-hundred-and-something years ago.  The decline button has never looked quite so big and blue before.  Pretty.

It wasn't as if avoiding him was a joyful endeavour, either.  Simon remembers the attempts to pull away from his father like most do their first brush with public speaking, or a really bad dentist appointment.  Despite the way the man had belittled him for his entire childhood, he still felt intense remorse for leaving the cantankerous bastard behind.  Guilt had followed him around like a greedy shadow.  In the end, it had chewed him up and spit him out directly into the university counsellor's office.  He still doesn’t dare to think what might have become of him had she not been there to help him work through his murky childhood.

His thumb hovers over the decline button, his lower lip drawn pensively beneath a sharp canine.  It’s astounding what a mind can tune out when faced with a greater threat.  He tries not to think about what it means to be more afraid of a phone call from his father than he is impending doom.

Just press it, his mind urges.  Just press it and be done with it.

But he can’t.  Even now, even when he’s been told by friends and doctors and past lovers that it’s okay to let go of the people that hurt him, he can’t help but sympathise with his old man.  He’s all alone.  It may very well be his own fault, but it doesn’t change it.

With a frustrated huff, Simon clicks ‘ACCEPT’ just before the tone dies.

“Dad?”

“Oh, thank Florence.”  He actually sounds a little relieved to hear his voice.  “I thought you might be–”

“I’m okay,”  he assures, uncertain why he feels such a responsibility to do so.  It isn't as if he's ever taken that much interest in him before.  "Are you?"

"Of course."

There's an awkward silence.  It's something that Simon is all too accustomed to, for his dad has never had much to say to him unless he's criticising his life choices.  Whatever he’d wanted to do, it was never enough to satisfy him.  The line crackles ominously.  There's a muffled scream on the other end that chills Simon to his core.

"Son."

Simon grits his teeth.  Here it comes.

"Please come home."

“Uh... huh?“

Well…  that was unexpected.  It shows in his prolonged silence, words evading him.  It’s all he wanted to hear, four hundred years ago.  Now, he’s torn between bittersweet relief and haughty chagrin.

A large hand strokes through his beard thoughtfully, the bristled texture providing some comfort.  It’s always been a way to ground himself in the moment.  There’s always time to think.  It doesn’t pay to be reckless or unwise.

“I don't think that’s a good idea,”  he admits belatedly.  “The radio said–”

“I’m alone out here, damn it.  You abandoned me.”  That all too familiar venom rears its ugly head and Simon can’t stop himself from flinching.  He abhors that such a reaction is still ingrained into him.  He’ll probably take it with him to the grave.  “Don’t you care about that?  At least act as if you do, you rotten child.”

Simon bites back a sharp retort, his tongue pressed flat against the roof of his mouth until he feels it’s safe to try again.  He’s over six-hundred years old and has long since outgrown the ‘child’ title, but his father enjoys spitting it at him all the same.  It never fails to get under his skin.

“It’s not that I don’t care, dad,”  he attempts, hating the way his voice quavers with a vengeance.  It makes him feel as if all the progress he’s made is for nothing--  as if the Universe is indifferent to the good habits he’s fostered.  He should be mad, should be scathing and harsh, but something stops him every time.  His temper is ugly;  the last thing he needs to do is to stoke that fire, even if it’s righteous.  “It’s that it’s not safe out there.  I don’t want to get myself killed trying to reach you.  It’s safer to wait.  I can come see you when all this settles down, okay?”

It’s a sensible response.  At least, that’s what he thinks  -  but Senior Krit thinks otherwise.  He hears that notorious tch, the one he pushes out between his teeth with enough force to spit, and knows then and there that attempting to reason with him further is out of the question.  He’s angry now, and he’s about to suffer the ramifications of his temper regardless of whether it’s deserved or not.

Why don’t you just hang up? I don’t know.  I guess I’m too weak.

“So what you’re saying is I’m not worth the hassle.”  He pauses to scoff bitterly.  Simon pinches the space between his eyes, the beginnings of a headache forming.  He already knows that refuting what he’d said would only make him angrier.  I should’ve hit decline.  Why didn’t I just hit decline?  “Damn it, Simon!  I hope I DIE in this mess!  Then you’ll realise you’ve squandered me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I mean it, boy.  I mean it.  Maybe I’ll go outside right now!  Maybe I’ll–”

“Dad, don’t.”

He resents the knot his stomach has become.  His heart is back to pounding, fresh fear flooding his veins like oil in a bay.  It’s hard to breathe.  The closet walls seem closer than before.  All he can think about is this stupid, bitter old man trundling spitefully outside, waiting for death to barrel into him with the force of a train.  The more gruesome his demise, the better a lesson it serves.  He’s quite certain that even his tombstone will spit vitriol at him.  Here lies Cyrus Krit, the spoiled and the squandered.

Simon tunes in and out of his detestable tirade, a black void consuming his thoughts whole.  He’s heard it all before, but it still hurts;  it hurts even more to realise that, even after everything, he’d still held out hope that his father would change.  

    It’s a pointless affair, Mr. Krit.  Your father will never alter his ways.  He does not care to.                                           Never sounds a little harsh, eh doc?

“... ungrateful, that’s what you are…  a spoilt child…  abandoning your father…  useless, worthless idiot…  if your mother heard about this… ”

Simon’s jaw squares with visible frustration, his head hitting the back of the closet with a quiet thunk.  The phone is lowered from his ear.  Instead, he listens to the carnage outside.  Things are growing worse.  People are hysterical;  stalls are being torn up and knocked over;  neighbours are beating down one another’s doors in an attempt to gain entry to somewhere safe.  How perverse is it that such tragedy is favourable to listening to his father talk?

                    This is a public service announcement for the civilians of Leylan.                                                   Do not leave your homes. Barricade yourself in the most secure place available and await further instructions.

His head spins.  His mind reels.  Everything’s so loud, yet it’s fading out, as if he’s floating further and further from his body.  Nobody’s coming to help.  That thought replaces everything, casting panic and heartbreak out like house guests that have overstayed their welcome.  This is a fruitless fight, his mind states calmly.  Your frustration is purposeless.

Gently, Simon retrieves his phone and holds it close to his ear again.  In a cold, monotonous voice:  “I’m hanging up now.”

It’s satisfying to hear Cyrus’ insipid little rant suddenly stagger to a halt.  It’s as if his words trip over themselves.  The image of him babbling helplessly to himself would fill Simon with righteous pleasure, if he had the capacity to feel anything over the cloying numbness that’s overtaken his him body.  Maybe it’s better this way;  better to be made of unfeeling brick when the world around you is imploding.

“No, d-don’t–”

“Bye, Cyrus.”

Click.

For just a moment, the world is silent.  The bedlam outside fizzles out, and the sound of his phone being slid gently to the other end of the closet is the only noise that fills the space.  Then CRACK it goes as he suddenly lifts his foot and digs the heel of his boot into the screen.  It splinters immediately, tiny shards of glass leaping free.  They remind him very much of himself: shattered but still accounted for.

By the time he stops stamping on it, his phone is little more than dust;  slabs of plastic and mismatched wires scattered haphazardly across the floor, screen ground down to a fine powder.  With renewed focus, Simon pushes open the door and stands up, turning his radio off and laying it face down on the dresser.  The updates he’s been holding out for aren’t going to help him, and he’s surprisingly okay with that.  Just like everything he’s had to do in his adult life, he’ll have to face this mess alone.

With purpose, he draws his curtains closed before perching on the end of his bed.  Scrick scrick scrick goes his beard, fingers rubbing thoughtfully as he considers what to do next with a clarity he’s never experienced before.  It hits him like a train, that he’s never needed Cyrus to do anything for him.  He’s on his own, the same as he’s always been  -  and that is a liberty, not a curse.

I have enough food for about three weeks if I’m sensible.  Power’s not an issue, especially not with the lights being off.  I should go downstairs and collect all my knives from the kitchen.  That thin, fibreglass fishing rod from the cupboard, too.  I can snap it in half and sharpen its point.

Something thumps against the glass of his bedroom window, and Simon stiffens.  It persists for a few moments before it slides down its length, the sound squeaky and slow.  Whatever is out there squeals with displeasure and scuttles away on all fours, its clumsy footfalls harsh against the solar panels on his roof before they grow distant.  The man lets out a short exhale of relief, hands raising until he can dig the heels of them into his eyes.

The windows won’t be a problem so long as they’re closed.  The reinforcements have held firm for generations.  There’s no way they can suddenly be broken now.

He decides then and there that his first point of call is weaponry.  He doubts he can do much to an iju when push comes to shove.  All he knows of them, he knows from campfire tales and little comments Cyrus made in order to scare him into behaving when he was young, nothing concrete.  Still, he gets the impression that hurting--  or even slaying--  one is going to require something with a little more edge than his knuckles have.

He glances over them with a deep breath, eyes following the white tattooed letters on each knuckle loyally.  A N G E R, they spell.  ANGER, he’ll likely always feel.  There’s always been a lot for him to be angry about:  never knowing his mother;  his father’s abuse;  having to babysit some truly rotten kids throughout his teaching career;  his girlfriend of four years cheating on him;  the loneliness that inevitably came with age.  The end of the world is just the cherry on top of his already-smouldering cake.  Why not, right?  The thing’s already singed to hell!

“... fuck me,”  he mutters numbly, standing up and dragging himself to the kitchen.

[missxfaithc]

Used an online AI art generator earlier today to create mock-ups of some of the characters in my apocalypse story 👀

[allamalad]

M o r e

(These are older btw)

[puppyeared]

littlest furth shop

@laikascomet

[dyingroses]

Me, irl: I’m a waste, I ruin everything I touch, I suck

Me, in self-insert fantasies where I have to convince people to like me/not kill or abandon me: Bitch, I’m so fucking valuable you have no idea! I’m smart, fun, resilient, creative, strong, and have a good memory, soft skin, and a nice shoulder massage.

[marvelcriminalhoe]

The Great War

Chapter One: Pirates

Steve Rogers x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

My knuckles were bruised like violets • Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked • Spineless in my tomb of silence • Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

TGW Masterlist

AN: Slow updates for this but here is chapter one. I have been writing A LOT over on wattpad (Have three stories going. Yeesh.) right now there’s a lot of personal stuff going on so all my stories are slow updates. This has been in my drafts for awhile though so thought I would finally get it posted.

Word Count: 2,316

Story Warnings: Zombies. Blood. Gore. What do you expect in a dystopian world. Strong language. Eventual smut. Could contain heavy content or topics, read at your own caution.

Summary: Some called it the end of time, others the zombie apocalypse, but most people called it The Great War— the living vs the dead. At first, that’s how it was split, only two sides fighting. But as the years drew on, the lines began to blur and the world became even more dangerous. When a new group makes itself known in your area, it’s your job to decide if they can be trusted or not. Especially when tragedy seems to strike and a fight against more than just the walkers is on the horizon.

The sound of dripping water echos through the destroyed pharmacy. It’s the only sound outside the quiet shuffle through the practically barren shelves of your search team. This is the only pharmacy within fifteen miles of your camp, and you know this is the last run you’ll be able to make here, having to go farther out the next time. The thought sets you on edge. The farther the runs the riskier they are. But you do what you have to do.

Your camp has rules, especially on runs, only take what you need, don’t horde, and don’t make noise unless absolutely necessary, the walkers are attracted to the noise. You know most people, especially now, take everything and anything they can. But your camp still believes in the laws of humanity. The laws set in place during the beginning of the pandemic. 

1. Water and shelter should be your main priority. 

2. Don’t horde supplies, everyone needs something. 

3. Don’t fight them unless absolutely necessary. 

And the last one, maybe the most important, 4. Do what you need to survive.

The world changed a lot in the beginning. Food, water, and medicine flying off the the shelves faster than demand warranted. This led to the rise of outbreaks as more and more people went looking for supplies, it also led to the start of fights against each other. As time went on, the pandemic turning into an apocalyptic situation, the Great War started and it only got more out of control. Places that were meant to be safe zones got ransacked by pirates, men that wanted to horde and control everything. More and more places became unlivable, making more and more people victims to the walkers. 

Splitting up into smaller groups seemed to be the best option, not trusting outsiders. Your camp was more likely to survive that way. But small numbers could lead to dangerous situations if a walker pack found you. Advantage in numbers always meant more in the end.

Your camp is fairly decent in size. Stationed at an old school, it has plenty of room, buildings, and space. A nice twelve foot fence sits around it, and multiple wooden towers were built for look outs. You have great room for a garden during the spring and summer months. Even growing a few veggies during the fall to stalk up for winter. The school had some Ag barns available too, giving you place for a few cows and goats. You have a couple horses to help around camp too. It’s a nice camp, probably one of the nicest, not that you have a lot to compare it to though.

Your family was one of the first with the camp, helping build it to what it is now only a year into the war. Though just a year later, you were overrun by pirates and almost lost the whole thing. They had disguised themselves as refugees claiming to need safety, to want a home. They used the woman and children within their group to their advantage, but just as you all had let your guard down, letting them into your camp, trusting them, treating them as friends and comrades, they turned on you. 

You lost a lot of good people that night, your father included. He was the only family you had, surviving for that long, only to die at the hands of greedy men. It sickened you. Most of the people left were in the same boat as you, losing family, friends. Left broken by the devastation of not only what life is now, but the grief of never getting it back. When you were able to banned together again, start rebuilding, most turned too you for direction, which lead to you taking on more and more responsibility as time went on. You were able to build up the school again, and now, two years after the initial mutiny you suffered, the basecamp is better than before.

Peter, the other lookout partner in front of the pharmacy, turns to look at you, whispering out and drawing you from your mind, “Do you see that?”

You look out the windows, following his gaze, and see a small movement of a shadow across the way. “Guys let’s hurry it up, we could have company.” You tell the two in the back going through the aisles looking for supplies. 

“Friendlies?” One calls back, making you whisper under your breath as you see more movement, “they’re never friendly.” 

You make sure your gun is loaded before bringing the butt of it up to your shoulder, looking through the scope with your right eye. You can tell immediately that they aren’t walkers, just by how they carry themselves. But there are at least 4 that you can see, all together, which puts you on edge. 

“Alex, hurry it up.” You yell when you see where they’re direction is headed, “We got maybe four minutes before they come in here.”

It takes two more minutes before Alex and Miles finish grabbing the supplies they can find, coming to stand by you and Peter. 

“Is there a back way out of this place?” Miles questions, and you have to sigh, knowing there is, but it’s a longer stretch to get back to the bikes, “Alright, stick close, we don’t need anything to draw attention to our location. I don’t think they know we’re here. Let’s keep it that way.”

You receive three nods from the teenage boys. They might still be young, but they’re the best when it comes to runs, fast and efficient. All of them alone like you after the betrayal. 

At first, when they sort of stuck to you like small ducklings, you found them extremely annoying. Especially when they would beg day after day to get to go on runs and be part of the scout teams. Some days you still find them annoying, but they’ve turned into little brothers to you, and they’ve proven themselves ten fold in their duties. 

The three of you sneak out the back way through the broken door, trying not to step on all the glass and debris around. Going this way, your forced to walk two extra blocks to make it back to the bikes, but when you get into view of them, your happy you had to go this way, as there’s extra coverage than the front offered. 

You put your hand up, stopping the boys behind you as you spot the two men at your bikes. Their weapons are by their sides, hanging off their shoulders as the look the bikes over. You put your finger to your lips before gesturing with your hands how you want the boys to approach, lifting up your gun as they do the same. You flip the safety off. 

“On your knees.” You make your presence known with a gun to the blonde mans back. He puts his hands up, as the other man reaches for his gun, being stopped by Peter, “Don’t even think about it.”

“We don’t want any trouble.” The blond man says as he slowly turns around to face you, you take a step back in case he makes a move for your gun. He’s a lot bigger than you, probably stronger. He stands at at-least 6’5, arms and legs fully muscled. His broad shoulders are strained as he understands him and his buddy are out numbered when Alex and Miles make their appearance. He’s more of a dirty blonde now that you can see him closer, face full of a beard. He has small scars on his face, as most people do now a days from such harsh living, and his eyes are blue, dark like the night sky. 

“So you’ll have no problem getting on your knees then.” Your shrug nonchalantly, face stoic as you keep your gun trained on him, target locked right where his heart should be. You aren't taking any chances, you don't know these strangers. You don’t trust them. 

“Okay.” He gestures with one hand for his buddy to follow his lead, getting on his knees. His friend follows him down, but with a dirty glare on his face. 

“You bandits?” The black haired man spits out, and you roll your eyes at his accusation, considering they were the ones looking at your bikes, “No, just people that don't like strangers touching their bikes.” You gesture with your chin for Alex and Miles to get on one of the bikes, waiting until Peter gets on the other one before climbing on behind him, gun still pointed just in case. 

“We didn’t know they were anyones.” The blonde man reasons as he starts to put his hands down. He watches the four of you curiously and you don’t like that he's studying you. “We wouldn't have come near them if we knew they were someones.” “Right.” Miles scoffs, and you send him a look. Don’t antagonize the very big men, Miles. The teenager just starts up the bike, Peter doing the same. you don’t lower your gun until Peter starts to drive away, trowing it over your shoulders as your arms move wrap around his waist. 

Looking back over your shoulder, you make out that the two men are no longer alone, four new bodies beside theirs, all watching the bikes drive away. You recognize one of them, the short blonde girl, and you realize she was one of the people you saw in the scope back at the pharmacy. 

You face forward again, an uneasy feeling in your stomach that you were never really outnumbering the men. Your stomach churns more at the thought that this might not be the last time you see them. 

“How’d you do?” Jean, one of the nurses at the compound, ask as you and the boys place the medical supplies on the table in the lab room. Alex starts to fill her in on what items you were able to acquire as you instruct Peter and Miles to take the food bags to the cafeteria for distribution. 

You don’t usually make it a habit to do consecutive runs together— food, pharmacy, and base supplies— but you knew this could very well be the last run in that area and wanted to take advantage of it.

“Any problems?” Logan questions you as you put the gun over your shoulder on the table beside him. Logan is fairly older than you, having been in his forties when the outbreak started. He lost his wife and daughter in the beginning before making his way north, running into you and your dad. You traveled to the school together, making it what it is now. He was there for you when your dad passed. You don’t trust anyone as much as you trust Logan.

Logan was in the army before the world ended, having knowledge of tactics and weaponry and all the scars to prove it. His wisdom is beneficial and he's usually the one to train the recruits and over see scouting duty stations and scheduling. 

“Yeah.” You shrug, but he can see your jaw clenched, rising a brow and waiting for you to explain whatever it is that’s plaguing your mind, “We had a small run in with some others but nothing serious.” “But you’re worried.” He summarizes, being able to read you like a book after all these years, “You think they’re pirates?” 

“Dont know.” You shake your head, running a hand over your forehead, “But I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them.” “I don’t know of another camp this far North.�� 

And you sigh, because you haven't either, “Thats what I’m afraid off. They're either new, which is entirely plausible, or they’re travelers.” 

“Either one could be a problem.” Logan nods, his mindset the same as yours. 

Whoever they are, you hope they stay far away. 

“You boys alright?” Nat questions Steve and Bucky as her, Yelena, Sam, and Clint make their way over to the two men. 

Bucky scoffs, “You could have come out, what if they had shot us?”

“If they knew they were outnumbered it could have spooked them.” Nat rolls her eyes at the man, “We don’t want unnecessary fights, remember?” 

Steve nods to the girl, “You did the right thing.” “Who do you think they were?” Yelena questions as she watches the bikes disappear. 

“Pirates.” Bucky spits out, venom lacing his voice, but Steve shakes his head, hands on his hips as he watches the now empty street where the bikes once were, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, they were too clean to be pirates. Young too.” Sam agrees. 

Bucky frowns, “The girl was older though, at least in her 20s.”

“Think they have a camp here? Or it’s just them?” Nat asks. 

“Did you see their bags? They were gathering supplies. This was a run for them. They’re probably part of a camp.”

“I didn’t know there was a safe zone this far north?” Yelena’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to think, “I thought the closest one was like 200 klicks from here?” 

“Maybe it’s not a safe zone.” Nat remarks, “Just a small camp.”

Clint nods, before tilting his head, “Maybe. But the stores were basically wiped clean, we got a few things but not much. Wonder how they did.”

“They didn't take everything? They had to have been in there before you guys.” Bucky observes. 

Clint shrugs, “If they were, they didn’t take all that was left.” 

Steve turns over to his best friend, giving him a pointed look, “Doesn’t seem like pirate behavior to me.” 

Sam sighs, “Whoever they were, they’re gone now. And we should get going too. It’ll be dark soon, we need to get back to the others.” 

Steve nods as the six of them start making it back to they’re set up for the night, his mind set on the woman with the gun pointed at him, wondering who she is, and how she's managed to survive this long with three teenagers. 

Maybe they're wrong and there is a safe haven near by. Maybe they don’t have to try and travel another 130 miles before reaching a proper shelter. 

Its a dream, Steve knows that. The likelihood of that being true is slim. But the longer they're traveling, the harder its becoming, and the more restless they all become, especially the kids. He just wants his people, his family, to be safe. 

As safe as they can be that is. 

[mmechanicat]

conversation over surgery (wip)

[asassydork]

Chapter 3: Busted

Story: High Water

Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: Unable to mind his business, Bastian seeks a serious conversation that doesn’t go well. How could it?

TW: MDNI, 18+, relationship problems, adult language and themes, it’s coming along, gaslighting, manipulation, toxic masculinity, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, rumor mill,

By the time I made it back to the shack, the kids had already made their own dinner of fish, vegetables and a wild boar I didn’t know they caught. But we weren’t alone. I felt him follow me out of the compound. He has too much of a demanding presence to be invisible behind me. He’d deal with me on his terms when we were alone and in the meantime, he’d pretend to cater to this imaginary role he’s ascribed to himself. He thinks of himself as my protector, when he hadn’t been the one who saved me. He also wasn’t going to save me from what was coming because it had already come. He didn’t stop them from snagging me in the woods. Didn’t come for me like he could’ve. Left me to die. He couldn’t get swallowed up in a war with the Monkeys. He couldn’t risk becoming a captive. So, the others had to be meticulous about rescuing me and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was nothing more than a trap in the first place. That I was only released to scurry home so they could continue to do the awful things they weren’t going to stop doing.

Bastian sat silently at my side as we ate in the dark around our own little fire. Bastian wasn’t the quiet type, usually asking the kids various questions in that curious and nosy way his mother likes asking people questions. But he normally means well. Although, he’s not someone I’ve trusted serious secrets with. I haven’t trusted him very much in all of this, because his position makes that information valuable. You never know when he’s going to use it against us. But silence at dinner was new. We fight, sure. But it never led him to biting his tongue. Half the time, we throw hands at each other and get into a screaming match. He tells me how much he loves me and we pretend that the issue is dealt with. It normally never is. He doesn’t see me for who I am or what I am capable of. He only sees what he wants to see and I can’t teach him to see past it. I can’t teach him to see me. I’ve tried. A lot. Too much, really. It’s not an easy life out here but it shouldn’t ever be this hard.

He doesn’t wrap an arm around me or brush his leg against mine. There’s no possessiveness in his actions. He also doesn’t really hold anyone’s eye contact and it really just made dinner more awkward than it needed to be. I tried to engage in conversation but the kids didn’t like the vibes and I couldn’t blame them. He was lucky they didn’t release frogs or snakes on him which they’ve been known to do which was why they gave me a bucket of them. They knew what I was planning for and they weren’t going to ask questions. But Bastian wasn’t the one I was after. He should consider himself lucky in that sense because he wasn’t going to survive it. He’d die of shame alone. Bastian wasn’t built for life in the wild. He wasn’t built to live off of the land like the rest of us. His skills were more limited and militaristic. He could protect himself but he couldn’t properly scavenge or harvest off the land to survive. He’d eat a poisonous plant if he was left to his own devices or fall into some trap he couldn’t get himself out of. That’s why he was so pretty looking with a bubbly personality. His skills were people based because he’s supposed to remain royalty until his death. He gets to reap the rewards of everyone below him without contributing all that much. It was part of why I hate him. You’d think someone like that wants more out of their life, to acquire as many skills as there are to learn. But learning wasn’t something he was fond of, as can be seen.

I didn’t know why he wasted his attempt to meld whatever the problem between us was. He wasn’t affectionate in any of his usual ways, which made me wonder if he’d only come out here to tell me he was finally over waiting for me. I wondered what sort of threats were attached to it or if he thought he’d just get laid one last time before discarding me like waste.

I ate more than I normally eat to avoid being left speaking to him. I wasn’t in the mood for an argument tonight. I also wasn’t looking forward to having any guests. I had plotting and planning to do. I have vengeance burning like crimson and mercury in my mouth. I needed to be prepared for a war that was coming to my door, directly to me. No one could protect me from it. I knew that in my bones. The kids would die if they tried to intervene and it wasn’t worth losing them. They deserved so much more than that. More than either of us.

“Look,” Bastian says, having followed me into the shack after the kids dispersed to go home. He closed the door behind him and sighed loudly. “I don’t wanna fight. I don’t wanna argue. I didn’t come out here to stretch the issue.” He reluctantly moves from the door to find me putting the jars of tree sap on my desk. He picked them up like I was making homemade bombs. They could’ve been Molotovs but I had bigger plans for it. The basket of kindling didn’t help me.

“Stop touching things,” I complain, moving them away from him and pushing him away from the desk. “You don’t wanna stretch the issue. As if we have an issue? I don’t have an issue with you, Bas.” I groan softly, letting the air out of my nose. “Whatever this is about, I really don’t wanna deal with it tonight. I've had enough eventful bullshit today.”

“Who is he?” He asks, moving through my space like he belongs here. But he doesn’t. I don’t even let him keep a drawer of clothes in my space because he’s not my end goal. He’s not what becomes of me.

“Who is he?” I couldn’t avoid the question. It made me scoff and unlace my boots from the edge of my bed. My one luxury that took me a long time to finalize and pull together. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” It wasn’t going to be the whole truth. I knew better than giving that card away.

He scoffs as he continues moving through the shack like he was looking for hints about this sudden other man that appeared, as if I’d manage to survive keeping that kind of secret out here. It made it very clear to me at that moment that I probably wouldn’t survive secrecy. They’d find my prisoner and they’d have too many questions and they’d really expel me. They’d leave me with no choice but to flee and they might not even grant me the death I was seeking. It was unthinkable to imagine losing such an opportunity.

“I know who he is,” Bastian says, dismissively like it wasn’t worth arguing about. It was such a flip from where he started. “They call him Torque. But that’s not really his name. I think it’s something like Rick.” He turned to look at me with this serious expression on his face, no more hiding his anger. “He talked about you on the road. I didn’t talk to him much. He’s got this attitude about him I don’t like. But I heard him talking about you. Intimately. Some twisted history none of us were supposed to know about.” He grit his teeth to bite back the harsh words that were likely supposed to accompany that outburst. But he didn’t raise his voice at me. There was no shouting fit. No yelling. Just anger. Contained anger. Improvement from the Bastian I was used to. Who’d have thought a little competition would’ve gotten us here?

“Well,” I begin, dropping my boots loudly onto the floor and peeling off my socks, “I have never met this sad fuck. And I had no intention of any of what happened today. It’s clear to me that he knew whatever fabrication he came up with spoke to you.” I peel out of my hoodie slowly, making sure the shirt underneath doesn’t come off. “Does it really look like I’ve been with anyone else? Really? You pick up some stranger on the road and you’re just going to believe him?” I shake my head as I toss my hoodie into the pile of dirty clothes at the end of my bed. I never agreed to be a clean freak and he surprisingly doesn’t bother me about one pile of dirty clothes that doesn’t sit on the floor for very long.

“No,” he says, exasperated. “I wasn’t just going to believe him. He’s never been here. He doesn’t know anything about this place. But he knows a fuck ton about you.” He punched one of the central pillars holding the shack up. It’s a huge log that hurt his hand more than anything. “He knows about the scar on the back of your right thigh from that accident with the tree. He knows about the birthmark under your left breast. He knows about the way you wear your hair when you’re angry and how it’s different when you’re trying to concentrate. He had stories about the kinds of books you like to read. He knew about the songs you sing to help yourself sleep. Songs that you only sing to yourself when you’re upset or scared.” There’s a pause that’s heavier than any of the things he said. It was like a truck of bricks being dropped on me one at a time as he held the pause for a longer time than I anticipated. “Why does he know that? How does he know that?” He trailed off and was suddenly sitting on the side of the bed next to me, unlacing his boots like I wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him. “He knew exactly what kinds of songs they were. Sung them for an audience, actually, like he wanted validation.” He brushed his hand over the back of my neck slowly but held me firmly like he knew that this was heavy and terrifying.

I have nothing I can say. Nothing to say. The silence is heavy for a long minute. “I-I don’t know.” I shrug and fidget under his hand as he squeezed the back of my neck a little too tightly like he forgot his own strength again. “I have no idea what he knows or how or why. I’m telling you, I really don’t know this person.” But I did. I knew exactly where he was gathering his information and how he’d gone about it. I was his favorite pet for months on end. It didn’t surprise me that he managed to watch me in that dark place they kept me. It didn’t surprise me I was a test subject and something to study.

“There has to be some way he got this information.” But he doesn’t press it. Just leans his head against the side of mine in a weird embrace that I wasn’t fond of.

“I wanna be alone tonight,” I say, pulling his fingers off the back of my neck. “I have some things to think through.”

“I don’t trust leaving you out here alone.” He kissed my temple for a long minute. “I’m sorry I’m so quick to anger. But you have to understand what this looks like.” He nuzzled his nose against my neck, pleading with me to forgive him.

“I’m serious, Bas. Not tonight. And I’m not alone out here and you know that. I know better.” I stood up carefully, needing to put space between us because he was going to start trying to seduce me and then I’d be stuck with a bed buddy and he might find a reason to stay. I didn’t want to give him one.

“Listen,” he says, raising his voice a little bit like I was just making him angry again. “It’s not safe out here. Never was. Never will be. You need better security and you need to come inside the walls. I can’t lose you again.” He stood up to cross to me without his boots. Choosing to put up a protest rather than giving me the space I needed right now. It was more proof as to why it would never work between us.

“Get your boots,” I warn firmly, knowing that he’s not going to change my mind with sad eyes and pleading. “If you wanna fight, you do it tomorrow in the daylight. I don’t have the energy for all of this tonight. I really don’t appreciate the accusations coming out of you that I’d have invited strangers out here to make themselves at home. If I have you, then I don’t need anybody else. We made that agreement a long time ago. Although, if you really wanna go there, you need to take accountability for Brittany, Tiff, Hannah and Marsalis to start with. Not to mention the girl in Brown Water. I have never once said anything about them. Never brought it up. Didn’t want to. But you’re standing here accusing me of impossible things and you don’t want to believe me. How can you honestly expect us to have a future when we don’t even trust each other? Huh? You’re always going to jump to these extreme conclusions, aren’t you? The next time anybody says anything remotely true about me, you’re just going to believe them over the clear facts. How safe is that for me? What kind of life is that? What kind of life is this?” I opened the back door and waited for him to leave.

He reluctantly grabbed his boots, a deep scowl on his face as he carried them out the door. “I’m not done with this. I hate when you pull the rug out from under me. Why can’t you just fight like a normal woman?”

“I’m too fucking smart,” I growl, “And I let you get away with too much. I let you continue to mistreat me. To gaslight me and manipulate me. As if I’m not going through some really rough shit. Shit you can’t even begin to imagine. You won’t. You don’t even want me talking about it. What kind of relationship is that? Huh? What kind of protector are you?” I had to refrain from raising my voice.

Eli and Nate were standing in the shadows down the back steps, drawn away from the fire because of the commotion. They’re the oldest of the boys, in their twenties now but still children to me. Boys. They’d make sure Bas went about his way and didn’t turn back around. That was the security I earned myself, especially lately. Others would be up all night checking in to make sure I was okay between keeping the cabin safe and keeping me from a fit of nightmares that have a way of waking me with screams. They’re getting better but they might never truly go away, even if I regain the sense of control I lost.

Bas doesn’t say anything in front of them. He knows better than to taint his reputation any further than he already has. He didn’t need me for that. He really didn’t need me for most things when it came to ruining his own life and reputation. He’d probably do better without me, though. I tend to get tied up in things I’ve got nothing to actually do with, like these stories that don’t have much merit to them. But he’s not going to take my word over that of a stranger. A lying, manipulating, conniving stranger. A monster in disguise. That told me they weren’t going to quarantine him for long. They weren’t skeptical of him like they should’ve been. He played a friendly character to fit in with the group during their trip. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to do it.

“If you see that fucker from earlier, you whistle,” I whisper to Eli before the two follow after a disgruntled Bas.

Eli simply nods before the two disappear into the shadows of the trees. This place gets eerie at night. I locked the doors, started a small fire in the fireplace and changed into more comfortable clothes to sleep in. I’d go down to the river to bathe tomorrow. If I’m not stuck here with my captive. It made me finesse some of the setup to keep from having to worry about it later. The plan was coming together on its own. An instinct I didn’t know I had. It unfortunately also made me realize how much me and the One-Eyed Captain seemed to have in common. A kink for pain. A darkness within us few will ever get to see. Something that can’t be tamed or ignored. It won’t go away and it can’t be stifled. The shack was a good place to hold a captive because few people come out here and the kids wouldn’t rat on me. They knew better. I was like a sister and a mother to them at the same time. A guardian. They’d trust me to do the right thing, always. Even if it was untraditional and didn’t initially make sense. It wasn’t like he was one of us. He was an outsider, an enemy and I might just bathe in his blood to prove a point. I gave the fire enough to burn throughout the night, to keep this place warm. I slid into bed with a knife under my pillow and laid there for a long time before sleep finally came for me. It wasn’t the usual kind of sleep. It was the anxious kind that said something was coming so I couldn’t drift off very far. But it was better this way than waking up with nightmares.