#if someone wants to actually flesh this fic idea out please do

[tokenofmydevotion]

I'm not a writer but I have this Buck/Tommy/Eddie 3 dads fic idea that won't let go of my brain, so I'm just gonna spit it out here:

Chris is in high school now. Eddie gets a call from the school that Chris is in trouble and a parent needs to come meet with the principle. They're all off work, so they all go to the school. Hilarity ensues.

Principal: so which one of you is Chris's dad?

Eddie: I'm his dad, Buck is his other dad, and Tommy is his stepdad.

Principal: Ah, child of divorce. Which one of you is married to Chris's mom?

Eddie: oh my wife died when Chris was young.

P: So Chris has no mom?

E: well Carla has been his nanny for years, she can stay with him overnight if we're all working. Or my Tia Pepa.

B: or my sister Maddie

(P glances at Tommy)

T: oh I don't have any family here, but if we're just listing strong positive female role models there's...

(all 3 begin to tell P about Hen, Karen, Athena, etc)

P: I'm sorry, what is that you do that would keep you away from home so much?

E: oh we're all firefighters

T: I'm also a helicopter pilot

P: ok, so Chris has 3 gay firefighter dad's-

B: umm, actually I'm bisexual

E: I'm demisexual

(P once again looks to T for his response)

T: me? Oh yeah, I'm gay.

P: ok... I think I've got the picture here.

E: now that that's out of the way, why are we here?

P, sighing heavily: Chris hit a kid with his crutch for "being homophobic"

Chris is called into the office and explains that Mark was saying nasty things to Marie and her trans gf, so he whacked him in the shin.

E: Chris, you know that was wrong.

C: I know! That's why I hit him!

At this point they can barely keep from laughing.

T: You know, we're also both medics. We could take a look at his leg if you like. Unless you think he might be scared of the big gay firefighter.

P, head in hands: No. Just... just go. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

E: Chris, we'll discuss your punishment when we get home.

Halfway down the hall:

C: Am I really getting punished for this?

E: No bud, you're not.

B: No, you're getting ice cream.

T: No. No ice cream.

All stop to stare at him. Tommy puts his hand on Chris's shoulder and leans down to eye level.

T: Chris. You didn't earn ice cream...

They're all holding their breathe cuz Tommy looks really serious.

T: You earned Cheesecake Factory buddy.

And scene.

[rowarn]

MONSTER (m.)

neighbor!simon riley x reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, neighbors to lovers, afab!reader, no pronouns, hurt/comfort, smut, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

cw: description of corpses, simon is aggressive towards you, but also very soft!simon, protective!simon, violence, simon does murder someone, lots of kissing, wet&messy sex, multiple orgasms, edging (simon), missionary position, mating press, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, breast play, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names, eye contact, praise, teeny bit talkin u thru it

note: i think that's all the neccessary warnings but if u think smthn else should be added, let me know. please enjoy this MONSTER fic!!!

; you find yourself hiding out in your apartment as the undead begin walking. luckily, you have a well-trained military operative as a neighbor who is more than willing to keep you safe.

16.5k

“Residents are advised to remain in their homes. Authorities are unsure what is causing the severe aggression in people but the military has been called in nationwide. Please stay tuned as more information becomes available.” 

That was the first news broadcast. They reported  people getting sick-- airborne is what they had said. Stay inside, and stay away from other people. 

So you did just that – stayed hidden away in your apartment, glued to your television for every possible news cast that you could get. 

It was only a week later that the whole story had come out. 

The airborne strain is what caused the first swell of infections. Anyone who was susceptible to the infection would have already become sick by now. But those who were infected by the airborne strain turned…feral. They became like wild animals, barely human. Their skin rotted around them while they were still alive. Their brains died but their hearts remained pumping. They were walking corpses that had a vicious hunger for human flesh. 

The bites are what caused the following wave of infections. Something in their saliva turned you into whatever they were. 

You were scared. When you looked outside your window, down just a few floors to the ground, you could see hordes of people stumbling around, shuffling and shambling. 

Sometimes you would hide in your bathroom as the sounds of gunfire filled the city. It was the worst when it was the middle of the night. 

You weren’t equipped to deal with a disaster of this level – humans turning into disease spreading killers. You were having to ration your food, waiting for the day that there would be an announcement that it was safe. 

You wanted it all to be over. 

Then the news broadcasts stopped, cell service dropped, and the populace was left in the dark. 

You kept the lights off in your apartment, scared that the wandering hordes outside would see it and find you.

You had no idea how long you had been hiding in your apartment, spending most nights with your knees to your chest as you watched the static on the TV. You held out hope that the news broadcast would come back, but it never did. You spent the days and nights in mundane monotony, hopelessness settling in. 

The only interruption was a heavy knock on your front door, practically making you jump out of your skin at the sound of it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach your apartment in search of you. It terrified you that anyone could be out there at a time like this.

With wide eyes and trembling hands, you grabbed a kitchen knife off of your counter and tiptoed towards the front door. Peeking through the peep-hole, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Throwing the door open, you were faced with the familiar balaclava of your neighbor across the hall.

“Simon…” you whispered in relief. 

He wasn’t lunging nor did he have the milky-white eyes of the undead that you had seen on the news. He was normal. 

“What’re you planning to do with that?” he asked, eyeing the kitchen knife still in your hand.

“Oh!” you gasped, quickly placing it on the table by your front door, “Sorry, you– you– startled me when you knocked. Would you like to come in?”

His lidded, brown eyes gaze around your apartment behind you before landing on you again, “You have anyone else in there?”

You blink and slowly shake your head, “No, I’m alone.”

His brows furrow at that, “You’ve been by yourself this whole time?”

You shrug and nod, “What else was I supposed to do? The news reports said to stay inside…”

He hums, “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” you respond quickly, “Why?”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your forehead and you realize he’s checking your temperature. You remain still and allow him to do it before he's shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. 

“Fever’s the first symptom,” he explains, “I’m goin’ door to door to check on everyone.”

“Oh!” you gasp, smiling, “That’s very nice of you, Simon.”

You knew that Simon was in the military. He was often out on long deployments and sometimes he had tasked you with keeping an eye on his apartment since you were right across the hall from him.

He was a nice enough guy, if not a little cold and blunt. He was tall and broad, clearly well built despite the fact that he usually wore a hoodie that hid his biceps from view. You’d gotten glimpses of his tattoos when you had knocked on his door one evening and asked him if he knew anything about water heaters because your hot water had been out for nearly a month in the dead of winter and the apartment manager hadn’t done anything to help you.

Simon had kindly come to your apartment, even though it was nearing midnight, rolled his sleeves up and fixed your problem within the hour. You had baked him cookies as a thank you that following weekend. 

“How is everyone doing..?” you venture to ask, leaning against the doorjamb as a breeze flows into your apartment from the open door.

He casts a glance down the hallway, almost like he’s thinking before sighing, “Few people are sick. They’ve been…” he hesitates for a moment, “Quarantined.”

“Probably for the best,” you respond, “Keep them from hurting anyone when they…turn.”

It feels so surreal to be talking about confining people to keep them from literally eating the healthy people. But it seems that’s where you’re all at now. 

“I’m going to barricade our floor,” he says suddenly, “Keep anyone from comin’ in that’s not supposed to come in.”

“What if we need to leave?” you ask, concerned, “We’re only going to have finite food and resources between us. The power’s also going to go out sooner rather than later, Simon.”

“I know,” he sighs, “But we should stay indoors for as long as possible. When the power runs out and we run out of supplies, we can figure out what to do next,” he explains, “The military was on the ground here last I heard, you’ve heard the gunshots. I don’t believe they’ll last much longer but it’s not wise for us to go out while they’re tryin’ to eliminate as many of these…undead as they can.”

“I guess that makes sense…” you whisper before his words finally settle on you, “What do you mean you don’t think they’ll last much longer..?”

He levels a hard stare at you that makes your heart race in anxiety. Simon was always a serious individual by nature but this is how you imagine he looks when he’s on duty, “Hundreds of thousands of people are sick out there. The airborne strain no doubt got to hundreds of the soldiers meant to be protecting the civilians. Eventually, they’ll eat each other from the inside out –literally.”

“You mean even the military is going to collapse..?” you ask, horrified. You try not to let the tears fill your eyes but Simon’s words fill you with a dreadful sense of hopelessness. 

“Communications are cut,” he says finally, “Radio’s been silent all day. Not sure what’s goin’ on but it’s not good.”

The tears quickly began to fall down your cheeks. Before you could wipe them away, a calloused thumb was doing it. You sniffled and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you confessed softly, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive, Simon.”

“Don’t you worry about that, love,” he whispered, grabbing your chin gently to make you look up at him, “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” you explain, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I took care of you,” he joked, though it held little humor, “You won’t be a burden. I’ll teach you what you need to know, alright?”

“You will?” he nods when you look up at him hopefully and you smile, “Thank you, Simon. I don’t really want to die by getting eaten by walking corpses.”

He chuckled under his mask, brown eyes crinkling around the edges a bit, “It is pretty fuckin’ mad, isn’t it?” You laugh, the first genuine smile you’ve cracked since before that first news broadcast, “Why don’t you come across the hall and stay with me, yeah?”

“Is that okay..?” You can’t deny the idea of being with company sounded more appealing than anything. You were definitely beginning to feel the ebbs of loneliness creeping in on you as the days of silence passed. Plus, Simon was…safe, “The news said not to…mingle in case of the disease spreading.”

He scoffed, “Rules like that don’t really apply anymore, love,” he mutters softly, “Plus, neither of us is sick so it’s not like we’ll spread it anyway. I can teach you some knife work and how to use a gun easier if we’re together, yeah?”

“Okay,” you smile, excitement surging in your chest, replacing the painful void of hopelessness you had, “Let me just get some things together and I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Sounds good, love,” you can tell he’s smiling under the mask. He gives you a pat on the shoulder before stepping away, “Just knock when you’re ready.”

You stand in your doorway until he disappears into his apartment. Once you’re alone, you cast a cursory glance around your living room, eyeballing everything you need to take before you dash into your bedroom. From the back of your closet, you grab a duffle bag that you have stowed away in the back of your closet from when you first moved in.

Navigating in the dark of your apartment was a bit of a challenge but you managed to stuff all the essentials into the bag. After slinging it over your shoulder, you step out of your apartment, making sure it was locked before knocking on Simon’s door. 

He opened it quickly, still wearing the same hoodie, jeans, and balaclava as before – his hood still up as well. He stepped aside for you to enter.

Unlike you, his apartment was illuminated by lamps – but his windows were covered with blackout curtains so no light would seep outside. It was pretty plainly decorated, just the essentials and a few photographs on the walls; upon closer inspection it looked like him and, you assumed, his comrades. 

You went to place your bag down but he stopped you, “I cleared out a drawer for you to put your clothes in for the time bein’.”

“Oh…” you gaped at him, surprised to hear that he had done something like that for you, “Thank you, Simon.”

He led you to his bedroom, standing in the hallway while you walked in. His bedroom was darkly decorated, black out curtains on the windows, navy blue sheets and a black comforter on his bed. His furniture was all dark toned as well. 

It suited him, you thought.

There were two drawers open and empty, letting you know that those were yours for the taking. You knelt down and opened your duffle bag, carefully folding and placing your items inside. When you got to your undergarments, you cast a glance towards the door to find that he was no longer standing there. Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly filled the top drawer with all of your delicates before closing the drawers and standing up. 

Flicking on the light to his en suite bathroom, you placed your toothbrush and toothpaste alongside his, the sight making you blush before you went to add your belongings into the shower as well. 

Realistically, you knew that the water was going to go out sooner or later but you planned to enjoy it for as long as you possibly could until then. 

When you ventured into the living room, Simon was in the kitchen, the cabinets open as he scanned over all of his belongings.

“Is something wrong..?” you asked softly.

“Thinkin’ of how to ration,” he replied quickly, “Have you got any stuff over at yours still?”

You nod your head, “It’s not much but I have some canned food and like...rice and stuff if you want that.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good to consolidate all our supplies in the long run,” he explained, “You got your keys?”

“Yes!” you pull your keyring from your pocket and drop it into his open palm.

“I’ll be right back love, make yourself at home,” he gave you a gentle nudge towards the couch before leaving you there. 

You took a seat on the couch, realizing just how tired you were. You hadn’t realized how tense you’re been for so long on your own. Now that you were safe and with company, you could almost feel the tension sliding right off of you. You rested your head against the back of the couch and closed your eyes, intending to just rest your eyes and enjoy the peace you felt. 

You were startled awake by the sound of the door slamming shut. You nearly jumped out of your skin, wide eyes finding Simon’s who looked a little sheepish.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, “Didn’t realize you’d be sleepin’.”

“Didn’t mean to…” you confess, standing up and stretching, watching Simon lug a bag of food into the kitchen.

“Haven’t been sleepin’ well?” he asked, his back to you as he began to stock up the cabinets. 

“Not really…” with a sigh, you lean back against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest, “I’ve been stressed about this whole situation.”

“It is…” he pauses in his words, placing a bag of dried beans into the cabinet, “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Society is really collapsing around us, isn’t it?” you bravely ask, although you were scared to hear the answer.

“Yeah, darlin’,” his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it and that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

“This is so fucked up,” you cry, burying your face in your hands, “Thank you, Simon. You didn’t have to offer to help me and I really owe you a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he closes the cabinet, the bag he brought finally empty before turning to you, “I’ll make sure you know everything you need to know to survive.”

“I doubt I’ll be as good as you,” you joke, a crooked, wobbly smile on your face. 

He steps forward and cups your chin, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “No one’s as good as me, sweetheart.”

You chuckle softly at his words. 

This is what you needed – someone by your side to keep you sane as society collapsed and everyone that you knew died. 

That night, you slept better than you had in days. Simon had given you his bed, offering to take the couch. You had argued, telling him that you couldn’t take his bed like that. 

“I’m up most nights anyway, love,” he had assured you, “At least someone around here can get a good night’s sleep in that bed.”

When you woke up, fully rested you might add, Simon was already awake, drinking some tea. You sat down beside him, enjoying a nice quiet morning.

“How do you feel about learnin’ some basics today, love?” he asked when he was cleaning his mug. 

“Sure!” you agreed, “I have to warn you though, I really know next to nothing…”

“That’s alright,” he chuckled, waving to you to follow him to the living room, “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you watched as he stood up and went to a closet in the hallway, pulling out an assortment of bags and carriers.

He placed them down beside the couch and took a seat next to you. “I think it’s best if we start with you gettin’ comfortable with the feeling of holding a weapon in your hands,” he explained, pulling out a knife bigger than any you’ve seen, “This is a hunting knife.”

He handed it towards you, his fingers confidently gripping the blade between two fingers. You wrapped your hand around the handle, testing its weight in your hands. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking, holding a weapon in your hands. 

“I know it’s scary,” he assured, “But when you’re comfortable holding knives then you can learn to use them properly to protect yourself.”

“What about guns..?” you find yourself asking, still gripping the knife in your hands, turning it over and adjusting your grip just to desensitize yourself to it. 

“We’ll tackle guns when you get used to knives,” he replied.

“So you have guns?” you ask, letting him pull the hunting knife from your hands.

“Of course I do,” he reaches into a bag by his feet, pulling out a pistol. 

Your eyes go wide as you watch him handle it effortlessly, checking the chamber and moving it around in his hands like it wasn’t a dangerous weapon.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to properly use one so you can use it in case of an emergency,” he explained, placing the pistol on the table carefully.

“I’m going to have to kill other people…” you mutter to yourself.

Simon pulled out another knife, passing it into your hands, “Combat knife,” he supplied simply, “And you’ll have to kill them but…I don’t think they’re people anymore, love.”

“I guess that’s true…” you mutter, holding the knife with a firm grip, “I’ve only seen them on the news before it stopped broadcasting. What about you?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em in person either,” he replies with a shrug, “Some of my…teammates,” the words seem awkward coming from his mouth but he continued, “Were givin’ me some information before they went radio silent.”

“What happened to them?” you couldn’t help but ask.

A brief flash of sadness flashed over his eyes but he quickly sobered up, leaning back against the couch with a sigh, “Not a clue. I guess there’s no way for me to know. I just know it was getting bad. Dangerous.”

“I’m sorry about your teammates,” was all you could find in supply of an answer.

Simon didn’t respond, simply letting his gaze fall back on the knife, “Let me show you some handling techniques for you to practice.”

Realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the world outside anymore, you let him lead you through a crash course on knife handling and knife safety. He took the time to teach you the different kinds of knives in his possession and you nodded along as best you could but if you’re being honest – it was primarily lost on you.

You’re not sure if Simon knew that but he seemed to enjoy teaching you, so you let him ramble on to his heart’s content. 

By the end of the day, you were confident enough in at least not accidentally cutting yourself on the sharp blades. 

In order to repay him, you made dinner for the both of you – though, really, it was just some heated up canned soup-- and did the dishes for him so he didn’t have to.

By the end of the night, you both found yourselves on the couch, watching a movie he had put on. With there being no way to watch anything else, you were grateful he had a collection of movies to his name – you simply streamed your favorite shows and movies and called it a day. 

It ticked late into the night and before you knew it, you were falling asleep on the couch, leaned against his shoulder. You could feel him shift and knew you should open your eyes, but the tugs of sleep at the edges of your subconscious kept you from doing so. Suddenly, you felt the soft beat of his heart against your ear and the heavy weight of his arm laid across you. You briefly registered that you were now wrapped in his arms before the final tug of sleep pulled you under.

When you woke up, you were in bed. 

And Simon wasn’t in the apartment. 

“Simon..?” you called, looking around everywhere for him – to no avail. 

You ventured to the door, carefully pulling it open and stepping out. You looked down the hall towards the stairwell before you heard a grunt of effort from the other end. 

“Simon!” you called, making him look up.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, pausing in his task of pushing a large bookcase towards the elevator. 

“You weren’t inside…” you mutter, wandering down the hall towards him, “What’re you doing?”

“Barricading this elevator,” he replied, giving the heavy object another push with a grunt of effort. 

“Oh, right, you mentioned you wanted to do that,” you mumbled, taking a moment to look over him.

He wasn’t wearing his hoodie for once, instead wearing a tight black t-shirt that was sticking to his skin with sweat. He wore his jeans with a holster and gun on his hip as well. 

“Do you need any help?” you asked but he shook his head.

“No, you can’t help with this, love,” he grunted, giving the bookcase one final, heavy push before it was flush against the elevator doors. 

It was then that you noticed the straps nailed to the wall. He took them and secured them to the other side of the elevators, making sure the bookcase was fastened firmly. 

“Enough people push this and it’ll come down but at least it’s secure enough,” he explained, giving his work a final once over.

“Do you know where the others are?” you find yourself asking as he makes his way to the other end of the hallway

He pauses at that, seemingly thinking of his next words carefully, “I checked door to door. Most of our neighbors got the hell out to go see their families when everything went to shit. A few…were sick and turned in their apartments so I had to…put them down.”

You cringed at his wording, you knew he was trying to phrase it delicately for you but you weren’t sure if you would have preferred him to just say he killed them. ‘Put them down’ made it sound like they were rabid dogs and not people you once knew and smiled at in the halls. 

“Found some notes in some of them,” Simon said suddenly, waving you to follow him back to the apartment – to safety, “Guess we can only hope they made it to their families in one piece.”

“I hope so,” you muttered optimistically, slipping past him when he opened the front door for you.

You quickly realize how difficult it is to tell how much time is passing with Simon’s blackout curtains, which he refused to allow you to open for fear of attracting any unwanted attention. With there being no more news broadcasts or anything on TV, you didn’t even know the date anymore and you were too scared to ask for fear of knowing how long you’ve been living like this. Your food rations were slowly dwindling but neither of you talked about it. 

You know you’re still waking up in the mornings and sleeping at night – Simon seems to run on an extremely specific schedule. When you asked him about it, he told you it was from the military, which made sense. Either way, you were grateful to him for helping you keep on track.

The water and power were both still on, but Simon kept telling you not to keep your hopes up about it lasting long. 

You spent your days learning knife etiquette and practicing stabbing various targets that Simon made for you. You’ve grown much more confident. Of course, you would be no match for your teacher himself but against a bumbling walking corpse? You were sure you would be able to at least buy yourself time to escape if you needed. 

Eventually, Simon decided it was time to move onto what you were most scared of – guns. 

“I’m going to tell you a few things before I let you hold this,” he said, eyes hardened to show how serious he was as he held a pistol in his hands, “Are you paying attention?”

“Of course,” you breathe, wringing your hands in front of you as you eye the weapon.

“You can’t be scared of your weapons,” he advises, “You need to be confident and sure with every movement you make. It’s not a toy.”

“Hard not to be scared of it…” you confess, “What if I hurt someone with it or…I don’t know.”

“That’s why I’m teaching you all this,” he says, “You’ll get confident and less scared the more you handle them. We’re startin’ you off simple and you can build up to bigger and badder guns. For now…pistols will do.”

“Okay,” you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Tell me what I need to know.”

“That’s the spirit,” he praises, holding the pistol up for you to see how he grips it, “First, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re going to shoot. Just rest your finger on the side like this, see,” he turns his hand and lets you see the way he keeps his finger hovering beside the trigger rather than on it. 

You nod your head, “Got it.”

“Take it,” he says, “Carefully.”

You stare at the offered weapon for just a moment before you reach out and delicately take it from his hands, “Next, never point it at anyone you don’t intend to shoot. Whether it’s loaded or not, keep it pointed away from people and yourself.”

You mimic his grip, grimacing when you realize it's actually much heavier than you thought it would be. It was definitely going to take practice before you built up the ability to hold it for long periods. You follow his instructions and keep it pointed to the ground – albeit awkwardly.

“Here,” he suddenly steps behind you.

You feel your heart catch in your chest when you feel him press against your back. He’s incredibly warm and firm as you lean against him. He carefully takes your hands in his, supporting your hands and holding the gun eye level.

“Just practice lining up your sight and lookin at a target,” he says.

His face is so close to yours, his voice right in your ear, deep and gravelly with that heavy accent. You struggle to process his words, hoping to god he doesn’t hear how fast your heart has started racing.

You close one eye and focus on aiming at a photo on his wall, a small picture frame. His large, gloved hands dwarf your own and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him. He smells like cigarettes and the body wash you may have taken a quick whiff of when you used his shower for the first time. You find yourself wondering when he has time to smoke since you’ve never actually seen him do it. 

Your mind is blank beyond anything other than him. How big and warm he is, how safe you feel with him wrapped around you, how good he smells and how much you love his voice as he utters tips and commands into your ear – sickly sweet in that way he always seems to talk to you. 

If you focused too much on it, you’d slowly come to the realization that you may have a crush on him. But you quickly dash that thought from your head and focus back on his gun lesson as he teaches you how to eject a magazine with ease. 

This is about survival. Neither of you have time to dwell on a silly crush. 

A few days later, you’re standing in the eerie hallway with him. He had offered for you to just stay in the apartment and relax while he did the work but you honestly didn’t want to be alone so you opted to sit with him as he worked.

Your back was against the wall, sipping a cup of instant coffee you had made. Simon was silent as he worked on barricading the door to the stairwell. You both agreed that it was best if it was still accessible just in case something happened, but you didn’t want any unnecessary visitors making their way into the safe little haven you’ve both made for yourselves.

“We should think about looting the empty apartments,” you said suddenly, trying to keep your eyes off of his bulging biceps as he yanked on a strap that was attached to the doorknob to keep the door from being opened. 

“That’s a good idea,” he grunted, stepping back to admire his handiwork when he finally finished testing its durability, “Let’s do it.”

He offered his hand and you smiled, taking it and letting him pull you to your feet. You brushed off imaginary dust in an effort to hide how flustered just holding his hand for that brief second made you. 

You started at the other end of the hallway from your shared apartment. Simon displayed a disturbing aptitude for opening up very locked doors. You chose not to comment on it, instead silently being thankful that he was able to do it at all. 

“How about we make a loot pile in the hallway so we can bring it all inside when we’re ready?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he responds, eyes scanning over the cabinets in the kitchen, “Food is our main priority but it wouldn’t hurt to have some medical supplies.”

You agreed and started helping him pick things out, filling your arms full of canned goods and pill bottles which you then deposited in the hallway by your apartment. 

The two of you made it through a handful of apartments, securing a nice resource pile for the two of you. You were feeling good, hopeful, as you stared at your future right there in the silent hallway.

It wasn’t until you opened one in particular— it belonged to a shy, college kid, you remember— that it seems everything changes for you. He couldn’t have been but 18, away from home for the first time and living in his first apartment on his own. 

Simon is busy looting the kitchen, you can hear him placing cans on the counter, consolidating whatever it is he chooses to bring with him. You check the bedroom, looking through the drawers and pocketing a bottle of aspirin and nausea medication before you move to the bathroom. 

The second you push open the door, you’re met with the force of another person shoving into you. You cry out as you hit the ground, the person falling on top of you. You panic and scramble out from under them, their coughing and wheezing forcing you to look at them. 

It’s the kid who lives there. He’s deathly pale, dark circles under his eyes which are bloodshot. His lips are crusty and dry, seemingly struggling with finding something to say.

“Pl-” he starts to whisper before you see movement in the corner of your eye.

“Simon, wait!” you cry when you see the knife.

But it’s too late, the hunting knife you had held with your own two hands more times than you could count, is embedded in the kids skull, spraying blood all over you. All you can do is make a pathetic squeak, fear and panic rendering you unable to say anything as you watch his now lifeless body flop onto the ground beside you, his still warm blood soaking into your clothes as it runs out of the gaping hole in his head.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Simon suddenly shouts, storming over to you and yanking you to your feet roughly.

You stumble up, bumping into him as you stare at the dead body on the floor, “He..He was alive…I…”

“He was sick!” Simon snarls, roughly wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, making you cower, “You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Fuckin’ hell, are you stupid?!”

“H-He was talking, he was just sick, Simon!” you argued, tears filling  your eyes as you stared up at him, “W-We could have given him medicine, could have–”

“He was a dead man walking,” he shouts, the volume making you flinch, “He was going to turn. Are you a fuckin’ idiot? Thinkin’ we could save him?”

The tears you were holding fell down your cheeks at his cruel words and you glared up at him, “I-I’m not stupid, I just…h-he talked to me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon’s eyes narrow, “He was a threat. A liability. Don’t fuckin’ worry about him, worry about yourself.”

He releases you with a rough shove, taking out some of his anger on you. He continues to glare at you for a long minute before turning his back on you and stalking out of the room, muttering about how stupid it was that you could have killed yourself over some random kid. 

Your eyes fall on said kid, no more blood coming from the wound, simply coagulating on the floor around him, “Y-You’re a monster.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, quiet and shaky. But Simon hears them clear, freezing on the other side of the doorway, in the hall. 

“I’m a monster..?” he asks, voice suddenly eerily calm. He turns around, his large body taking up an obscene amount of the doorway. You can tell he’s intentionally trying to intimidate you, a punishment that makes your cheeks heat up in anger, “I’ve been breakin’ my back to keep your stupid ass alive and I’m a monster? Because I put down some fucker that was gonna turn rabid in a day?” he glares at you, squinting through the mask and drawing his dark eyebrows together, “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doin’ everything I can to keep you safe!” he shouts so loud that your ears ring and you flinch from the sound alone, “But if you can’t appreciate that then maybe you should be on your fuckin’ own and see how long it takes before you’re ripped apart by those feral bastards!”

He storms off at that, loudly slamming the front door, indicating his final exit from the apartment. You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks only for more to replace them and you sniffle, casting a sorrowful glance at the dead kid before creeping out of the apartment yourself.

Simon is nowhere in the hall but the supplies you both gathered are still there. 

You carefully open the door to Simon’s apartment and peek inside, finding it completely silent and still. You’re not sure where he went but you decide to busy yourself with loading all your looted items into the kitchen and sorting them all for when he returns.

You’re not sure how long you take to finish but Simon still isn’t back and you become worried.

He had said you should be on your own but surely he didn’t actually just leave the building, did he?

You wander over to his supplies and find a handful of his weapons gone. Your heart shoots into your throat and more tears prick at your eyes before you’re dashing out of the apartment once again.

The door to the stairwell is no longer held shut, indicating that Simon had, in fact, gone that way. You curse yourself. If you had checked sooner then he would have at least been somewhere close but if he really left, he would be long out of the building by now. 

You creep towards the door and slowly push it open. You hadn’t even left the floor since before this whole thing started. It was eerily quiet, but if you listened close you could hear some muffled shuffling from somewhere. 

You crept out, quickly realizing how dark it was. You pulled out your keychain which held a tiny flashlight that you used to navigate when it was dark in the apartment. 

You crept down the stairs, holding your breath with every step until you finally reached the floor below you. You can hear muffled sounds from beyond the door and slowly push it open, flashing the light down the hallway. 

It's too small and weak to penetrate the stifling darkness. The power was not on on this floor for some reason and that immediately set you on edge. You could still hear some shuffling and strange, raspy noises from within the darkness. 

“Simon..?” you call into the impenetrable, oppressive darkness. The noises stop for a moment and you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Simon?” you call again, louder.

The noises return, shuffling, heavy footsteps advance on you. You strain your eyes to see past the weak illumination that your flashlight provides. You’re breathing heavily, you realize, anxiety making your lungs feel constricted as the footsteps get closer and closer.

All of the sudden, a disgusting, rotted face appears in your sights, arms outstretched towards you. You scream out in unbridled terror as it grabs you, its bony, sickening fingers latching onto your shoulders. You attempt to push it away and run but you trip over your own two feet in your panic. Your flashlight flies out of sight, its dim illumination casting down the hallway, leaving you to push at the undead corpse as it collapses on top of you. Its weight is more than you thought it would be, leaving your arms trembling as you struggle to keep it from falling on top of you. It fights your resistance and chomps its disgusting teeth at your face, attempting to get a bite out of your flesh. 

It reeks, you realize, like the smell of a dead animal you pass by on the street. It makes your stomach turn and you fear you’re going to throw up from the smell alone. The rotting skin of its chest slips and pulls away from the bone and muscle and you gag, tears coming to your eyes as you realize the very real and terrifying danger you’re in.

You have no way to get out of this. 

As you look down the hall, where the light barely pierced the inky depths, you can see more figures emerging from further down the hall, shuffling and rasping in interest at your fight with the one on top of you.

Tears fall down your temples and a sob bursts from your chest as you slowly come to terms that this is how you’re going to die. You can’t hold the sheer weight of the undead above you for much longer.

“S-Simon…” you call out, weak and strained. You know even if he’s nearby he won’t hear you. You have to try harder, get your voice out, shout for him. You swallow around your tears and panic, taking a full breath before shouting, “Simon! Please! Simon, help me!”

You don’t even register the door opening behind you. But you do notice when the weight of the corpse is gone, a knife stabbing into its skull before a large hand grabs you by the back of the shirt and drags you back into the stairwell. The undead follow after you, slamming themselves against the door as soon as it slams closed. 

You’re trembling and unable to blink or breathe as the shock of what just happened washes over you. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Simon all but screams, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, dragging you onto unsteady feet that can’t hold you up before slamming you against the wall. You can still hear those zombies slamming against the door. Your ears are ringing and you barely register Simon shouting at you. 

He shakes you and it finally draws your attention to him. His eyes are wide, irises darting back and forth over your face. He doesn’t look nearly as angry as you would expect. Instead he looks…concerned. Scared.

“Simon…” you whisper, the tears not stopping as they fall down your cheeks. He’s the only thing holding you up right now, hands balled in the material of your shirt, keeping you pinned to the wall, “I-I was…I was looking for you…”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles to compose himself, “Lookin’ for me?”

“Y-You said you were leaving and I…” you whimper, “I-I didn’t want you to go so…I went to find you…I didn’t think that…”

You see his jaw tense through his mask before he slowly lets go of your shirt. Your knees tremble under your own weight and your hands find purchase against his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, stepping away from you with a heavy sigh, “Just don’t…do that again, got it?”

You nod your head, sniffling as you feel your tears slowly come to a stop, “Th-Thank you, Simon…for saving me…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning his back to you, storming back up the stairs to your floor. 

You unsteadily follow behind him, still a shaky and anxious mess. When you get into the apartment, Simon is in the kitchen, barely sparing you a glance.

“Go take a shower,” he orders you.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, hoping that he’ll look at you even for a second. But he doesn’t and you hang your head, skulking off to take your shower with a heavy heart. 

The night rolls around and Simon hasn’t said a word, putting you more on edge with each passing minute. He sits, manspreading on the couch with a glass of Kentucky bourbon in a glass, sipping on it and watching some old movie that he put on play. Usually, he asks you if you’d like to watch with him, but this time he didn’t and that just makes your heart ache even more. 

“Simon…” you venture to ask, casting a glance at him. His hard gaze doesn’t move from the TV, “I-I want to apologize–”

“For what?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken to you in hours. They’re cold and make you wince.

“F-For what I said…” you mutter, tucking your legs underneath you as you turn to look at him, “I…I was mean. I know you’re doing all you can for me and it wasn’t fair of me to get angry at you…I was just…startled, I guess.”

“You were naive,” he snaps, finally looking at you with a harsh glare, “You had no fuckin’ idea what those monsters were and you almost got yourself killed because of it.”

“Y-You’re right…” you whisper, feeling the tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that day, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He doesn’t respond, simply throwing back his glass of bourbon, downing it all before he stands up, “Sleep on the couch.”

The last thing you hear from him is his bedroom door slamming shut. You lay down that night, quietly crying into the pillow until you finally fell back asleep.

“Wake up!” a barking voice is what draws you out of your slumber. 

Still shaken up from yesterday’s previous events, you sit straight up, wild, fearful eyes looking around before your gaze falls upon Simon. He stands in front of the couch, dressed in full tactical gear. Even his balaclava is different, with a hard plate in the shape of a skull covering the front. He looks intimidating.

“Wh-What’re you doing?” you ask, turning yourself so your feet are on the floor. 

“We’re trainin’, get up,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow.

You find yourself following him out of the apartment and into the dimly lit hallway. It’s eerily quiet as always and you feel more intimidated than ever standing before him in nothing but some flimsy pajamas while he wears full gear. Even his gaze is different through that skull mask, hard and cold, looking down at you like you’re insignificant. 

It’s so different from before. He was so kind and patient with you before and you can tell that now he’s going to really train you. 

“What’re we doing today..?” you timidly ask, wringing your hands in front of yourself.

“Escaping,” he responds.

“Escaping?” you parrot back dumbly. 

His glare narrows down at you, “You’re going to try to get away from me and make it towards that exit.”

He points to the other end of the hallway, to the stairwell. You glance up at him, where he stands between you and your exit. 

“Okay…” you lick your lips nervously, “Do you want me to just run past you?”

“For now,” he drawls. He sounds almost bored, hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest.

You take a deep breath and attempt to bolt past him but his reflexes are frighteningly fast. His arm shoots out before you even realize it, catching you around your middle and halting you immediately. 

The air is punched out of your lungs from the force of his arms and you stumble back with a groan. 

“You’re goin’ to have to do better than that,” he says, looking down his nose at you like you had offended him with your poor attempt. 

You brace yourself again and attempt to run past him. This time, you attempt to fake him out and run in the other direction but it ends the same with his arm grappling around your middle and you still not any closer to the exit.

“Again!” he barks and you can’t help but wonder if this was how he was when he was training recruits in the military. 

You try again and again to run past him, duck under his arm, avoid his reach – everything to no avail. After several attempts, you’re left panting and frustrated. Simon is still as cool as a cucumber, staring at you in pure boredom as he awaits your next move. 

You run again, making rough contact with his arm once again. But this time you start fighting against his hold. You push with all your might, shoving at his arm and his side in an attempt to slip past him. 

“There you go,” he says, though it sounds more condescending than proud, “Fight me.”

You slam your fist down over his arm, successfully knocking it out of the way and giving you a chance to bolt past him. You have a clear view of the stairwell door and you can almost taste the success. 

But you’re stopped suddenly when a rough hand grabs the back of your shirt. You cry out in shock when he yanks you back towards him, carelessly tossing you to the floor. You hit the rough carpet harshly, the coarse material skinning your hands and knees and you cry out at the pain.

“Simon!” you chastise him, glaring up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, “That fucking hurt!”

“Oh, it hurt?” he sneers, squatting beside you, behemoth form still dwarfing your own as he gets down on your level, “It’s not supposed to feel good. This is training. You’re supposed to try and survive, not whine and cry because you fell on the floor.”

You sit on your burning knees and glare at him. He glares back at you, neither of you backing down. 

“Get up,” he commands, standing up, “Go again.”

By the time he allowed the training to be called off, your body was sore and bruised from the amount of times you’d been thrown to the floor. Your knees burn and ache from where the skin had been rubbed off and you fight back tears as you watch the dried blood crust on your skin. 

Simon is no more rough for wear than he was before – all your hitting, kicking, pushing, and biting hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. He wasn’t even winded. 

Worse more, you hadn’t made it anywhere near the door. 

You weren’t sure how Simon felt about it. If he was mad or disappointed, he didn’t say. As soon as you got into the apartment, he went about making dinner after ordering you to wash up. 

When you got out of the shower, he tossed a first aid kit to you and silently sat down in the kitchen to eat. 

Usually, you would sit with him but you found yourself deciding to eat on the couch by yourself. A sense of loneliness settled upon you that you hadn’t felt since before you had moved into this apartment with him and you find yourself hiding your tears in your food. 

Once again, you’re sleeping on the couch. You wouldn’t have minded it if it didn’t feel so much like a punishment. You felt like a dog banished to sleep in the dog house and you can’t help but curl in on yourself at the cold, empty feeling that it causes. 

The next morning follows much the same with Simon startling you awake with a barked order. Your body aches and your wounds sting with every movement you make as you drag yourself behind him to the hallway.

“Do we have to do this again today, Simon?” you ask hopelessly, “I’m really tired…”

“Do you think those undead freaks are going to care if you’re tired?” he snaps at you, arms crossed, making him appear even bigger than he already was, “You’re goin’ to learn how to escape from holds.”

“Simon…” you start to complain but a sharp look from him has the words dying on your tongue and you hand your head in defeat. 

He’s no more gentle than he was yesterday with you, rough grips and manhandling you around to fit his needs. He barks in your ear, ordering what you need to do and when to break various holds that he has on your body. 

He feels so much stronger and more powerful than those zombies had. At least they were mindless and slow. Simon was fast and smart. 

“Put your hand under mine to break the hold!” he shouts, clearly frustrated the more you fuck up breaking his holds. 

“Not like that! Are you daft?” he grits through clenched teeth, “You’re goin’ to fuckin wind up dead if you keep this up!”

You feel your heart rate speed up and you find yourself almost panicking under his completely oppressive energy. His shouting only sets you more on edge and the tears begin to prick at your eyes once again. 

“None of those fuckin’ tears,” he snarls, tightening his hold on you when you squirm and attempt to rid his body weight off of yours, “Do what I told you! You can break the hold if you just fuckin’ focus!”

“Simon, I-I don’t want to do this anymore!” you cry, the tears tumbling down your cheeks as you cry out the words. Your cheeks feel hot and you can barely catch your breath as you weakly punch at his chest.

“There’s no tappin’ out,” he snaps, tightening his grip on you even more. Your body aches where he holds and you know you’re going to be feeling those bruises for days to come. 

“Simon!” you practically screech, freeing one hand and harshly slamming your fist down over the hard faceplate. 

It seems to startle him enough into loosening his hold and you manage to kick back away from him in your panic, foot hitting him square in the chest in an effort to propel yourself away – putting as much distance as fast as you can between the two of you.

“Simon…” you whimper, voice wobbling, “I am not one of your soldiers. You need to stop trying to train me like I am!”

You watch him adjust his jaw through his mask before he pops his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and every hair on your body stands up in pure fear. 

He’s on top of you before you even have the chance to say another word. You cry out when the force of his body forces you back and your head cracks harshly against the floor. Your vision blacks out from the force and you groan in pain but he doesn’t stop, a rough forearm pinning against your throat, cutting off your air.

“That was good,” he says, voice cold and devoid of any emotion, “You managed to escape, now do it again!”

Your hands push weakly against him, but you’re worn out and your head is starting to hurt like hell. You open your mouth to say something but his hold on your throat ceases any words from escaping. 

You reach up to his face and his cold gaze narrows at you, “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

But instead of hitting him, your fingers wrap around the face plate and you attempt to push it off – hoping that it’ll obscure his vision enough but he shakes you off with ease. 

He catches your gaze and what he sees gives him pause. Wide, teary eyes, red rimmed and filled to the brim with fear. Tears wet your cheeks and he finally notices the way your entire body is tense and trembling beneath him. 

“P-Please,” you finally find your voice when his weight eases a bit off of your throat, “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Simon, please.”

That has his own eyes widening and you take his slackened hold as an opportunity to run away. He watches you scramble up from your spot on the floor and stumble back to the apartment, disappearing within with a slam that makes him flinch. He looks down at his own hands and finds that he can’t conjure up any thoughts that aren’t about you.

You hear him enter the apartment, his heavy footfalls pacing around the living room. You’re hiding in the bathroom, leaning against the door with your knees against your chest to muffle your cries. 

He enters the bedroom and pauses, no doubt looking for you before he approaches the bathroom and you feel a brief ping of fear that he’s going to open the door but instead he softly knocks. 

“Will you come out so we can talk?” he asks, voice holding none of the cold, harshness that it had for the last few days. 

“G-Go away, Simon,” you sniffle.

You can hear him sigh before he follows your request and steps away from the door. You can hear him linger in the bedroom for several more minutes, kicking his boots off before he’s quietly closing the bedroom door and leaving. 

The silence and loneliness sinks in once more and you find yourself sobbing into your knees all over again. Your head kills and you feel almost nauseous through your cries from the headache but you can’t stop yourself. 

You have no idea how long you cry for but before you know it, the bedroom door opens once again and you can hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches the bathroom door once again.

“I made something for you to eat,” he says through the door, “Figured you might be hungry.” At the idea of food, your stomach growls, “It’ll be waiting for you at the table when you want it.”

You listen to him walk away and you know this is his way of luring you out of the bathroom. Part of you desperately wants to spite him for being so mean to you and refuse his food but the growling in your stomach is too much to bear and you can’t help but clamber to your feet and quietly pull the door open. 

When you reach the living room, Simon is facing the TV, giving no indication that he realizes you’ve come out of your hiding place. You sneak into the kitchen to see a bowl of soup sitting nicely at an empty spot. You take a seat and quickly devour the entire bowl, barely taking a break to breathe before it’s completely empty. 

You place it in the sink and carefully sneak back out of the kitchen, intending to slide right past him but in your haste you fail to notice that he’s no longer sitting on the couch. Instead, you come face to face with him sitting at the foot of his bed, clearly waiting for you. 

You freeze when you see him and all too soon that headache comes racing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Simon’s no longer wearing the skull plate and instead wears his usual black balaclava with the skull print on it. He wears a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having let himself get comfortable while you hid in the bathroom earlier. 

He looks up at you the second you step into the room and the two of you halt in a stalemate, simply staring at one another while you wait for the other to make the first move. 

You’re the first to break eye contact when a heavy throb goes through your head, making you close your eyes and bring your hand to your head until it passes. You hear the bed creak when Simon stands up before his hands are cupping your cheeks.

“You hit your head, didn’t you?” he asks, soft and gentle. 

You can’t stop yourself from glaring and snapping, “No thanks to you.”

His gaze softens as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, ever so softly prodding at the sizable bump that’s there, “I’m sorry, love.”

“If you’re sorry then why did you do it?” you find those damned tears returning all over again as you continue to glare up at him, “I told you I didn’t like it and I wanted to stop.”

“I know…” he whispers, hands once again cupping your cheeks, thumbing your tears away.

“What was your problem, Simon?” you tearfully ask, sniffling pathetically, “You hurt me. You were scary – scarier than those stupid zombies downstairs. Why did you do that?”

“I got…I was…” he struggled to find the right words before he stepped away from you with a troubled expression, “I was angry— scared. I just—I don’t know.”

“You were scared?” you scoff, “I’m the one who got attacked.”

“You think that wasn’t scary for me?” he asks in disbelief, “You almost got eaten alive on my watch.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you sniffle, angrily storming over to the bed, letting yourself flop down on the comfortable mattress for the first time in days.

“I know,” he whispers, “Just let me explain, okay?”

You lay there silently, listening to his weight shift where he stands. You take notice of how his scent lingers much more on the blankets now that he’s slept on it. It smells good, you note, musky and delicate. He doesn’t wear anything that smells particularly overpowering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “Ever since this shit happened, I’ve been driving myself crazy. I lost contact with my team, my friends. I’m not able to get anymore information on what's goin’ on outside. I’m worried about you, I’m trying my hardest to make sure you can go out there and survive on your own if you need to. I feel like I’m going crazy and I’m scared because I’ve never felt this out of control before.”

You sit up and turn to face him, “How long have you been feeling like this, Simon..?”

“A while,” he mutters, turning his back on you when your gaze starts to feel like too much, “And then you called me a monster and I just…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of how to explain his feelings properly.

“I’m sorry for that, Simon,” you mutter sincerely, reaching out to grab his arm, urging him to turn around, “I never should have said that. And I didn’t mean it, really.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” he scoffs, “I am a monster. Fuck, look at what I did to you – how I treated you. I was punishing you and I never should have.”

“We both made mistakes,” you compromise with a wobbly smile, “We’re dealing with a lot, right? The fucking world is ending and we’ve been trapped in this godforsaken building for who knows how long. It’ll get easier.”

He stares at you for a long moment, lashes fluttering as his gaze softens. You can’t find it in yourself to break eye contact. After a long moment, he seems to decide on something before reaching up and yanking the mask covering his face off. 

You feel your breath halt in your chest as your eyes widen, taking in every inch of his newly revealed face. His soft, brown eyes are a juxtaposition to the rest of his ruggedly handsome face. You stand up, never letting your eyes stray from him, a feeling of pure awe coming over you.

“You’re so handsome, Si,” you whisper, reaching forward to brush your fingers over a scar that cuts through his eyebrow to his eyelid, “It’s nice to finally see you.”

“I wanted you to see the real me,” he whispers, “Not the asshole soldier I was.”

“I’m glad you’ve trusted me with this,” you let your fingers wander along his skin, feeling the stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t yet shaved. 

“I need to tell you,” he sounds breathy, reaching up and catching your hand in his, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, “I was so scared when I heard you callin’ for me. I thought I was goin’ to be too late and I’d watch you die. I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“Simon…” you whisper in awe, watching how his soft, brown eyes display every tumultuous emotion that he experiences, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to worry you again.”

“I want you by my side for as long as you’re able,” he whispers, throat moving as he swallows.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you agree, stepping closer to him, “I promise.”

He leans in at the same time as you, meeting you for a sweet, tender kiss. It lasts only a second before you’re both pulling back to look in each other's eyes. Then, you’re both surging forward for a hungry, heated kiss. 

His hands grip your waist, squeezing there as he deepens the kiss. You whimper under his touch, standing on your tip-toes to match the intensity of his kiss. 

He moves you backwards, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, causing you to topple down. Simon follows, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. He only breaks the kiss for a moment to move you further up the bed, easily manhandling you so your head is in the pillows before he’s kissing you all over again.

His hands are rough as they travel over your body, slipping your shirt up just enough to let him touch your bare sides. You quickly realize you’re still wearing your sleep clothes and that you don’t have a bra on. 

Clearly, Simon was aware because his hand quickly cups your bare breast with a rough, callused hand. His thumb finds your nipple, flicking over the bud as you whine into his mouth. 

He pulls back suddenly, cheeks flushed before he’s fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” he coos, sickly sweet. 

You follow his orders and eagerly lift your arms up for him to tug the fabric of your shirt over your head. Once your breasts are bared to him, he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one perked nipple while his fingers busy themselves with the other.

You cry out at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, hands tangling in his soft, curly hair. He groans against your breast at the feeling of your pulling at his hair before he pulls back just a bit, breathlessly whispering, “Such perfect tits.”

“Simon…” you whimper, letting yourself relax into the bed as he switches to mouth at your other nipple, leaving the other to harden in the cool air before his hand travels down your stomach to your shorts, easily slipping underneath the fabric.

“Simon!” you call out again when you feel the heat of his hand cup your folds through your panties. 

“Shh, just let me do the work, love,” he mumbled, muffled by the fact he refuses to part from suckling on your nipple. 

His tongue drags over your breast, nipping and sucking marks into your skin. As he works the muscle, his hand in your panties remains stationary, just letting you feel the heat of it against your core. The teasing presence only makes you pulse and drool into your panties. You’re positive the fabric must be sticking to you by now from how wet you’ve become from playing with your breasts. 

“Your tits are so sensitive,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “Does it feel good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back to offer up your chest to him all over again.

He grins, a crooked little smile that makes your heart flutter. It was so nice to finally see him smile. 

But instead of mouthing at your breasts again, he leans back on his heels and pulls his hand from your panties. You whine at the loss but it’s cut short when he hooks his fingers into them and tugs them down your legs. You lift your hips to assist him but find yourself wincing when an ache goes through your body.

He notices and gently runs the palm of his hands up your thighs, urging you to relax.

“You sore, love?” he asks, voice filled with what you can only call guilt.

“A little…” you admit, biting your lip, “My thighs are killing me, actually.”

He shakes his head at himself and leans down, pressing a kiss next to the scrape on one of your knees as his hands slowly begin to knead the sore muscles in your thighs. You sigh and let your eyes flutter at the feeling. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t realize he leans down until you feel a hot, wet tongue slide from your pubic bone to your sternum. Your cunt clenches pathetically at the feeling. When you open your eyes, Simon’s pretty, brown eyes are half-lidded and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. You can’t resist cupping the back of his head and pulling him for a kiss, whimpering and moaning against his mouth.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks, muffled and messy against your lips. 

“What?” your hazy mind can’t quite comprehend what he’s asking of you.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” he reiterates, “I want to make you cum.”

You whimper at that, “B-Both!”

He scoffs, full brows furrowing, “Greedy.”

You find yourself blushing at that but he doesn’t deny your request. He sinks down your body, peppering kisses down your body on the way until he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

He grabs your hips and effortlessly yanks you down so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. 

He spreads your thighs apart and you find yourself holding your breath, watching through your lashes as he trails kisses up your thigh, getting closer to where you want him the most. You’re trembling under his attention and it makes you clench pathetically around absolutely nothing. You’re sure he can see the way your cunt drools and leaks with every small kiss he peppers against your skin. 

Just when he gets close, he pulls back and kisses back down towards your knee. The teasing has you wound taut, feeling as if you’re almost on the edge without him ever properly touching you.

It feels like hours that he does it, kissing up and down your thighs. Occasionally, he nips at the skin there, swirling his tongue over the burning marks he leaves behind to soothe the sting. Finally, he moves his hand and you think he’s going to finally give you something but all he does is spread your folds apart with two fingers, exposing your hole and clit to the cool bedroom air. The action makes you whine but he pays you no mind. 

He carries on kissing your thighs and nipping at your skin. No matter how much you rut your hips, hoping to entice him into touching you and giving you what you really need, he ignores it. He ignores your whines and the cries of his name, ignores the way your cunt clenches and drools around nothing, clit twitching from how much teasing you’re enduring. 

The little bud aches, throbbing as it begs for anything – any little touch that he has to offer. He could blow air upon the nub right now and you’re sure you would explode in pure pleasure. 

When you sob his name, broken and needier than you’ve ever heard yourself, he finally looks up. His eyelids are heavy, concealing half of his iris and it makes him look positively fucked out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, licking his lips slowly, “Right in the eyes, let me see you properly.”

You force yourself to meet his penetrating gaze, almost struggling to compose yourself. You find yourself trapped in the eye contact, almost paralyzed under his intoxicating gaze. He holds you there for what feels like minutes but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

His fingers finally hone in on your clit, pressing against the twitching, hardened bud. You cum immediately, still locked in that intoxicating eye contact. You cry out, hands slapping against the bed as he draws the orgasm out of you with slow circles on the little bud, sticky clicking sounds filling the room and mixing with your wild cries of pleasure. It seems like the high never stops, more and more cum gushing from your cunt and dripping down to stain the comforter beneath you. 

Simon watches you with keen attention, taking in every expression you make as he makes you cum against his fingers, the bud throbbing wildly until the orgasm finally dissipates. 

When you finally sag against the bed, your thighs fall completely open as the post-orgasm exhaustion quickly hits. You’re left trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, pretty pussy still drooling with every clench of your walls.

Simon takes the opportunity of you coming down to strip himself. He tugs his shirt off over his head and lets his sweatpants drop the floor, carelessly kicking them away. His gaze never leaves you, never leaves that twitching little cunt between your legs.

There’s a slick film of your cum coating your folds and his mouth fucking waters. 

Your eyes fly open, not even realizing that you had closed them, when he suddenly cups the back of your thighs and pins you wide open for him.

“Simon…” you pathetically coo, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair when he comes within reach.

“So sweet for me,” he coos, kissing your thigh once again and you’re scared that he’s going to tease you all over again, “A good orgasm got you nice and sweet, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, dazedly looking at him as you feel his breath on your sensitive cunt. 

That alone makes you clench around nothing. You nearly whimper out loud when you see his tongue fall from his mouth, glistening with spit before he licks a slow, wide stripe between your folds. 

When he comes back up, he holds his tongue out and lets you see the creamy mess of your cum left behind. He makes a show of swallowing every drop in his mouth, making your cheeks flush in pure embarrassment at such a lewd display. 

You had no idea Simon would be so fucking filthy in bed but the way his eyes roll back at your taste tells you all that you need to know. 

He loudly slurps your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sloppy bud as he whines and groans into your cunt. You tug harshly at his hair at the overwhelming feeling of having your clit doted on so expertly. 

His hands keep you pinned open, allowing him to slip his tongue inside you, occasionally taking a moment to visibly swallow every drop of your slick so you can see the way he absolutely savors your taste.

He swirls that offending tongue around your clit again, slurping it back into his mouth before two fingers are prodding at your entrance. You clench against him, the excitement of finally being filled with something making you whimper. Just the sound of you so eager makes him almost want to cum completely untouched. 

Your cum generously coats his face and he absolutely loves it. He pulls away suddenly, dark eyes locking onto your face as he pants from how lost he was in eating you out. He slowly presses two fingers inside you, letting them slide in, hugged by the plushness of your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, love,” he coos, moaning sympathetically when you cry out from the feeling of being stretched on his fingers, “And so warm too, fuck.”

He decides, in that moment, that he doesn’t care if the world is ending outside, he feels nothing but bliss with you. He never wants this to end, he wants to get completely lost in the pure intoxication of you. 

He leans down, flattening his tongue against your clit once again. The feeling is heightened now that he’s got his thick fingers stuffed inside you. You clench around him at the feeling of his tongue on the sensitive bud once more. 

He suddenly crooks his fingers and your legs helplessly kick in the air at the overwhelming feeling of him pressing and prodding against that gooey little spot inside you. Your hips rabbit up and you practically wail at the overwhelming sensations he’s attacking you with. You squeal his name so sweetly before he finally backs off a bit, letting you sink back into the soft cushions of the bed.

He’s completely drunk off of you, off the creamy cum you gush out for him to lick up, off the lovely sounds you let out from how good he makes you feel. His cock is so painfully hard and he wants so badly to wrap his hand around himself but he knows he’ll blow his load the second he does, so he refrains. 

To distract himself from the ache in his cock, he doubles his focus on you and making you feel good. His fingers crook upwards again, prodding your g-spot again with renewed vigor. You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he sucks your clit into his mouth, the suction making your thighs tremble. 

“I-I wanna cum!” you cry out, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair. 

He groans against you but doesn’t dare to part from you, too focused on bringing you to your high to actually goad you into it. His fingers move inside you, fucking you nice and deep, making sure he’s working that sweet little spot inside you as he continues to suck on your clit. 

It doesn’t take long before your entire body stiffens and you toss your head back. The choked out cry is music to his ears and his own eyes roll back when he feels the way your walls tighten around him, soaking his fingers generously. Your clit throbs in his mouth before he releases his suction on it, instead choosing to lick the pulsing little bud with the flat of his tongue to gently ease you through the high. 

You’re pushing his head away long before he’s ready to part but he willingly backs off nonetheless. His chin is wet with your cum, even dripping down his neck and the sight makes you flush. There’s a loud, squishy noise when he slowly pulls his fingers from the hot clutch of your cunt. 

“Scoot back for me, darlin’,” he commands you, slurring a little before he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean of the mess you left behind. 

You do as he says, shakily pushing yourself back so you can lay your head in the pillows. With Simon standing at the foot of the bed, you finally get the chance to take a look at him. 

He’s obviously incredibly well built, broad and firm in all the right places. Most notably, he has numerous scars, some that looked like bullet wounds and others that were long and thin. 

“Are all those from the military?” you find yourself asking as he carefully crawls onto the bed, jostling you as the mattress moves under his weight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let him handle your body as he pleases, spreading your legs so he can comfortably situate himself between them. His cock, hard and heavy, rests against your folds and you find your eyes going wide at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he chuckles, like he can hear what you’re thinking. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze off the twitching, fat length of him.

“‘Course it will, love,” he breathes, pecking your lips again, letting his lips trail down over your jaw, “I worked you open real good, all you gotta do is relax and let me in.”

With a minute adjustment of his hips, the tip prods your entrance. He grips the base of his length, carefully pushing forward, mouth dropping open as he feels your hot, wet walls spread around the head of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts, “Jus’ let me do the work.”

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms, nails biting harder into the skin there the deeper he sinks into you. The middle of his cock is the fattest, giving you an almost painful stretch that makes your face pinch up in a way that Simon doesn’t like.

He brings one hand to his mouth, licking his thumb before carefully pressing the digit against that sensitive bud. You whimper at the feeling, cunt clutching tight around him, easing more of his length inside. He circles your clit a few more times, watching your face for any clear signs of discomfort. Before long, his hips meet yours, filling you absolutely full to the brim in a way no one ever had before. 

He plants both hands on either side of your head, abandoning your clit in favor of simply rutting his hips against yours. His large body hovers over you, shielding you from anything outside of him and you find yourself completely lost in everything that is him – how full he makes you feel, how nice he smells, how safe you feel trapped beneath him like you are. 

Your hands wind around his neck, pulling him down so his chest presses against yours. Your breasts squish against his chest and he finds his eyes flickering down just to look at them. The sight makes you smile despite yourself – it’s cute, you think.

Tangling your fingers in his soft curls once again, you bring him down for a kiss. He’s still slowly, carefully rutting his hips against yours, his lower abdomen sliding against your clit as his cock stirs inside you, stretching you and hitting every sweet little spot inside you. 

You whimper into his mouth, gasping at the way he makes you feel so full and good while he barely does anything. Your knees bracket against his ribs, squeezing him so tightly you wonder if it hurts but he just continues to kiss you and circle his hips. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me,” he whispers, barely parting from your lips to request it, “Just like this, cover my cock. Be good for me.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to disobey even if you wanted to. With the way he stirs you up and drags against every tender spot inside you all while grinding against your clit the way he is, you don’t stand a chance. Your third orgasm creeps up on you and your back arches just as it washes over you.

Simon groans at the feeling of you cumming around him for the first time – the tight, wet clutch of your cunt feeling better than he ever could have dreamed. As he watches you writhe in his bed, moaning and whimpering his name, he’s overcome with a plethora of feelings that just melt his heart. 

He can’t resist pulling you in for another kiss, cupping your jaw as he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock remains buried in your cunt. You’re still working on coming down from the orgasm he just gave you but he’s greedy – he wants to feel it again. He wants to fuck the orgasm out of you, make you ride it out and gush all over him.

He needs to show you how good he can be for you, hoping that this alone can get across just how much you mean to him. He’s never been the best with words, so he can only hope that this is enough for now.

Your hands press against his chest, aimlessly pushing at him from the overwhelming way he fucks you. You’re so sensitive, pushed into cumming more times than anyone had ever made you before. But he doesn’t show any signs of slowing or stopping. He’s a machine, built for stamina and he’s on a fucking mission now – to make you feel as good as he possibly can. 

You’re attempting to push him away, to give your poor, overstimulated body a chance to come down. But he’s having none of it. 

“Hands off, love,” he commands breathlessly. But you just stare up at him with dazed, teary eyes, panting and sweaty. He clicks his tongue, “You ignorin’ me, sweetheart?”

He grapples your wrists in his one hand, pulling yours away from his chest and pinning them above your head. He uses this new hold as leverage to really fuck you, pulling back and sinking back in as deep as he possibly can. His tip kisses your cervix, making your thighs tense up at the twinge of pain that comes with having him so deep. 

But the pain mixes so addictively with the pleasure that you find yourself getting completely lost in the slow, deep rhythm that he sets. Every time he sinks balls deep, his hips slap against yours and he rubs up deliciously against your clit. The pleasure on your bud doesn’t last long before he’s pulling back again, never allowing you to fully build up to another delicious high. 

Simon is lost in the way you whimper and whine. He can swear that he’s never heard anything as incredible as you being denied the pleasure he had been so generous with so far. He likes the desperate look in your eyes; it makes him feel amazing to know that you need him to make you feel good. He’s in charge of your pleasure in that moment and he finds himself relishing in that feeling of control over you. 

You look so sweet beneath him, pinned and helpless with teary eyes looking up at him. Your pupils are blown wide from the pleasure his cock brings you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep. 

Usually, Simon is a fast and rough kind of guy, but he finds himself thinking that he could definitely get used to a pace like this more often. As long as it’s you that’s underneath him. 

It doesn’t take you very long to break, those pretty tears falling down your cheeks as you breathlessly plead with him, “Please, Simon,” your voice cracks so cutely, “I want more!”

He chuckles under his breath and leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your temple before whispering, “What’s stoppin’ you from takin’ more?”

That seems to set you off. You’re bracing your feet on the bed, rutting your hips, rocking yourself against his cock. A moan rips from his chest at the sight of you using his cock like that. His heavy balls press against you and the feeling makes his cock throb, making him realize how badly he needs to cum. But he doesn’t want to give up this little show you’re putting on for him so soon. 

You’re so, so wet that he can feel how your messy little cunt squishes around him. You shamelessly soak every inch of him the more you work your own pussy on his fat cock. You tug your hands free from his grip and he’s left clenching the pillows in his fist when he watches your fingers descend.

He thinks you’re going to go for your clit, to push yourself over the edge like you so deserved for being so good for him. But instead, you reach for your own tits. The breath punches out of his lungs as the sight of you meanly pinching and tweaking your nipples as you continue to rock yourself against him.

Simon feels his balls tighten at the sight and he almost thinks he’s going to cum but he suddenly pulls his cock out. You wail in complete misery at the loss, tearfully watching him wrap his hand around the base of his cock, pinching off the impending orgasm.

You flop back down onto the bed, sniffling pathetically as you glare at him for ruining the orgasm you were so beautifully working yourself up to. He smiles crookedly at you, cupping the backs of your knees, crudely pinning them to your chest so your pretty, wet cunt is open and vulnerable to the way he suddenly stuffs himself back inside. 

With you completely pinned beneath him in a press, you can’t do anything except cry out and wail in pleasure as he finally fucks you fast and hard. His balls slap lewdly against your ass, your arousal dripping off of them. 

His eyes are locked on the way you’re stretched so wide around the girth of him. You’re creaming around him, a milky ring left in your wake every time he pulls out. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe or collect yours, simply fucking you with everything he has. It’s loud, wet, and fucking messy. 

“F-Fuck,” he chokes on the word, voice breaking as it comes out. He’s so close that it hurts, “Play with yourself for me, love, rub your clit.”

Your hand flies down to do as you’re told without a second thought. It only takes a few, quick circles around the hard little bud before you’re cumming with a cute little squeal. Your feet kick helplessly in the air, toes curling from how hard you cum around him. 

Simon groans at the sight and feeling of you losing yourself on his cock. You continue to swirl and tap at your clit, forcing yourself to cum harder and harder until you’re squirting around him with a choked off sob of his name. 

Simon’s hips never still or falter, fucking you fast and deep to work you through the orgasm. Your cum splatters across his hips, thighs, and chest. It makes his eyes roll up into his head before he lets his head fall back. His jaw opens and he moans, loud and deep as his own orgasm finally washes over him. 

His pace falters as you lay there twitching and crying, a few trembling thrusts of his hips as his cock spits rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums longer and harder than he has in a very long time. He continues with short, aborted little thrusts on his sensitive cock as he continues to cum.

Even when the orgasm dissipates, he finds himself fucking into the creamy mess drooling out of your twitching cunt. 

“S-Simon-!” you choke out, nails clawing down his shoulders, “S-Sensitive!”

“I know, love,” he pants, almost deliriously, “J-Just one more. G-Gotta fill you up again.”

You can’t do anything but lay back and let him use your cunt as he works to force another orgasm out of his overstimulated cock. He’s gasping and whining as he moves his hips, pulling his cock out only to stuff it back inside. A mixture of your cum and his drips down, soaking his cock, pelvis, and balls. It’s a heady, lewd mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about now but he knows it’ll be a pain to clean up later. 

You’re trembling and twitching with every one of his movements, tears dried and new on your cheeks. He feels a pang of remorse for you, you’re tired and overstimulated but he just needs to wring this one last orgasm out and then he’ll let you rest.

“You can be good for me, huh?” he coos sweetly, “Just be sweet and let me, fuck, use this pretty little cunt, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, nodding your head as your eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

Simon leans down, pressing his lips against yours. You both get lost in the kiss, with your arms wrapped around his neck. He loves how it feels to have you stuffed on his cock while your pretty, sweet body twitches and trembles beneath him. He knows it probably hurts by now and the fact you’re just laying there and letting him use you like this has him reaching his second high. 

He chokes on a moan, gasping as he cums for the final time. It’s much more lackluster than his first one but he still fills you up just like you both needed. His cock twitches almost painfully inside you as he slowly rocks his hips, wincing at the overstimulation. 

After a few, still moments, he pulls his length free from the soft plushness of your cunt and rolls off of you. You’re both panting, laying on your backs on the bed as you come back to yourselves.

You’re the first one to move, rolling onto your side and wrapping yourself around him. Simon finds himself smiling when he feels the sweet way you snuggle against him, seeking his comfort automatically. 

You start shivering, the mess of cum and sweat on your body causing you to become cold. He urges you to sit up despite your protests. 

“Let’s take a shower and sleep,” he offers sweetly, supporting your shaky body to the bathroom.

He continues to support you and hold you close through the shower. He finds himself grateful that there’s still hot water because you both certainly need it after such a messy tryst in his bed. 

You’re the first to fall asleep, tucked against his chest with your arms wrapped around him like a little koala. His hand strokes up and down your back, just staring into the inky blackness of his bedroom. 

Part of him feels like it’s all a dream, to have someone so sweet tucked against him, offering him comfort and feeling safe as they snooze peacefully. A sense of fierce protectiveness washes over him as he finds himself going through plans in his head – what the future may hold.

He’s torn from his thoughts when you shoot up from your deep sleep with a gasp. Your head wildly turns, looking around the room. His hand finds purchase on your back, making you jump before relaxing immediately in recognition.

“Bad dream?” he asks, tugging you gently to lay you back down against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I dreamt that I was trapped with them in that hallway again.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you to make sure you feel secure. You go still for a long time and he thinks you fell asleep again but then you ask him a question that surprises him.

“Who are those people in the photos?” you quietly question, “In your living room.”

He hums, rubbing a rough hand up and down your shoulder and arm, “My teammates. Friends, I guess.”

“You guess?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Task Force 141; Captain John Price, and Seargets John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.”

“Soap is a silly name,” you comment, grinning up at him, resting your chin against his chest, “What about you?”

“Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,” he responds with ease. 

“Do you know where they are?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest. If he were a weaker, less trained man, he may have felt tears pricking his eyes, “I don’t know,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I was in contact with Soap when everything started goin’ to shit. Lost contact with him though. He’s a tough bastard though, I’m sure he’s fine somewhere out there. I don’t know where the other two were or are.”

“If they’re even half as good as you, I’m sure they’re all fine,” you offer optimistically. 

Simon hums again, reaching a hand up to brush a stray flyaway off of your forehead. His big hand cups your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lips which you offer a gentle kiss against. 

“All I’m worried about now is you,” he confesses softly, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be happy. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you smile, laying back down to nuzzle against his chest, “I’m okay as long as you’re here.”

He wraps his arms around you again and closes his eyes, letting himself sleep peacefully with you held safe against him.

It’s not even a week later that you’re sitting on the couch with him, peacefully watching a movie with a full belly after cooking a quick dinner with him, that you hear a loud, mechanical thump and you’re plunged into complete silence and darkness. Your heart jumps and races in your chest, mindlessly grappling onto Simon’s arm as he sits still beside you.

“What happened?” you ask, whispering as if you’re scared to speak any louder.

“Power went out,” he responds, not sounding the least bit perturbed, “Knew it was comin’. Water’s probably out now too.”

“What do we do?” you ask, the tremor of fear in your voice practically breaking his heart. 

He stands up and you whimper in fear when he’s out of your reach. You can hear him moving around in the dark before a bright, blinding light lands on you. 

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” he responds, “We’ll have to move out and find somewhere with more resources.”

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask, getting to your feet to follow him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Ever since the news stopped reportin’,” he responds, grabbing a large backpack from the closet, “Let’s pack up.”

You linger beside him and he looks at you with a raised brow, “I’m scared, Simon.”

His gaze softens and he walks up to you, cupping your cheeks tenderly, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, “We’re goin’ to go out, find a small place to hunker down. We’ll look for a generator or a vehicle and get somewhere safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod your head, “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing your forehead, “Now take this backpack and fill it with what’s left of our canned food, alright? I’m goin’ to pack everything else we need, don’t worry about a thing.”

He offers you a flashlight, which you gratefully take and click on. You’re glad that he gives you an easy task to focus on. You take the smaller backpack he offers you and make your way to the kitchen. You only have about 5 cans of food left and you carefully place them inside the bag before opening the refrigerator to pack a few full bottles of water that you have stored in there. You make sure to toss in a can opener just in case before you place the backpack on the couch. 

Simon emerges from the room with the large, military backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You get it all?” he asks, taking a seat to shove his boots onto his feet.

“Yeah and a couple water bottles,” you respond, approaching him slowly.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, looking over at you, “You should go get dressed. Jeans and a hoodie. Put your sneakers on and make sure they’re tight, got it?”

You nervously do as you’re told, disappearing into the bedroom to quickly dress yourself under the flashlight. You can hear Simon moving around in the living room, heavy boots thumping against the floor with every step he takes. 

You toss the hoodie over your head and make your way back to Simon, who stands in the living room, looking out the window. The sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting a dim amount of sunlight to come through. 

He turns to look at you when he hears you approach. 

“There you go,” he hums, pulling the hoodie up over your head and tightening the strings, “Keep your neck covered. We’ll find you some better clothing somewhere along the way.”

You nod your head and take a glance over his shoulder out the window. You can barely see the ground from your position but you can see people shuffling around on the streets below. A pang of fear goes through you as you realize that they’re most definitely not normal people – the streets are crawling with those undead freaks. 

Simon leads you to the door and unsheaths a weapon for you – a machete he had taught you to wield with relative ease. You grip it in your hands, nervously twirling it around until you find a comfortable position. Simon nods his head and pulls out a combat knife, holding it low at his side before opening the door. 

The descent to the lobby is relatively easy, you walk over the undead that have already been taken care of in the stairwell.

“I took care of these already,” he explains without you even having to ask, helping you jump over a pile of 3 zombies at the foot of the stairs. 

“You got more kills under your belt than me,” you comment, mostly in jest to lighten your mood.

Simon huffs under his breath, slowly pushing open the door to the lobby, “You have no idea.”

You squint and turn off your flashlight when you step into the well lit lobby. The sun is now above the horizon, allowing you to see with ease once again. 

Simon remains in front of you, making your way to the double front doors. You peek around him, heart racing in your chest as your grip on your weapon tightens.

“Are you ready?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“No…” you confess, shuffling closer to him.

“Everything will be okay,” he promises firmly and you actually believe him. 

When he pushes open the door, the groans of the undead fill your ears and you find your eyes darting frantically around the streets that you can now see with terrifying clarity. 

Hundreds of undead swarm the streets, stumbling and groaning as they shuffle around aimlessly in search of food. Simon reaches down and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You know it’s going to be the fight of your life but with Simon by your side, you have faith that you’re going to make it through and find somewhere safe together.

 property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

[padawansuggest]

Real take: I like Star Wars. I like the prequels because they have more fleshed out world building than the originals. I like the originals because it has a compelling storyline and character building. I like the cartoons because they do things that live action cannot. I like the children’s show Young Jedi Adventures and I think it’s both cute, extremely full of world building, and it’s designed to bring back the cartoon storyline of learning a lesson every episode that young children can relate to. I like the Mandalorian because it took a species with exactly two known people from it, and added a third, but made them a baby, and they were cute, and it shows the morals of Mandalorian adoption and love for children. I love Ahsoka because it took a favorite cartoon series and not only brought it to life, but also it’s funny and very full of world building for both the New Republic Rebellion scene, as well as more Dathomirian nightsister lore. I love a lot of other Star Wars off-shoots because they gave good storylines, they try to bridge plotholes, and a lot of amazing characters and new places to play with. I adore, fucking love, would give my life for Star Wars Visions; the lore and new concepts alone have captivated me and I can and HAVE made posts about things Visions did that no other SW series has touched and I’m so obsessed with the force and it’s aspects as well as just species and such you have no idea I would sell any of you for SW Visions. In fact, I would sell any of you for Young Jedi Adventures too. The worldbuilding alone for those two series is enough to have me vibrating with excitement with every episode. Sometimes I rewatch episodes of them just for random juicy facts that I can use for fics.

But you know why I don’t tell people I like Star Wars in real life? People always lookin at something they hate, and the most incel take on it is that it’s got too many women now. But irl non-fandom people who just want to ‘enjoy the ambiance of the original trilogy’ and me do not get along because they actually hate Star Wars. They genuinely hate Star Wars.

I can give you 50 plot lines in various sections of canon and legends that boiled my blood (tho not that one time Anakin at 12 literally boiled a man’s blood inside his body, that was hilarious his eyes turned black like a demons I’m so obsessed with him), but I’m not gonna talk about those.

Aren’t you exhausted? Wouldn’t it be nicer to gush about how amazing a certain costume design was? How the implications of a certain species makes you so excited you could burst? Wouldn’t you like to talk about how that one character just doesn’t get enough love and it wasn’t because they were fridged it was just because they didn’t get enough love from the fans for being black or female or disabled or something?

I am going to tell you this now, and you’re gonna hate me for it but I’m right: if you didn’t like Mortis because you think the force Doesn’t Work Like That? You don’t like Star Wars.

I’m tired of interacting with comments on commercials because it’s full of idiots crying about more women, a black character, the fact that ‘oh that wouldn’t happen’ as if the High Republic era didn’t literally have some sort of fucked up midichlorian vampire roaming the outer rim killing anyone force sensitive. Obviously they def would have acolytes set before the prequels shove it up your ass.

Anyways. Stop talking about what you hate. Yes, I get it. We are tired of rote pumped stories, but that doesn’t change the fact that there will ALWAYS be someone who hates the story you love, and loves the story you hate. You cannot please everyone, and I for one have found just about all off-shoot SW series individualized and compelling in some way or another.

You know what I did when I starting hating about 90% of all new Marvel movies? I stopped watching them. If I want back in the fandom I have older ones I can watch or simply only interact with fics.

Because Marvel, as much as they Need To Calm Their Shit, isn’t about me, and it isn’t for me anymore.

But I think a lot of you hate so much Star Wars content that you truly need to stop interacting with the series. It’s not for you anymore. And just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean it’s not real SW. Not sorry, but this ain’t your scene anymore and you need to find a new one.

[blakbonnet]

[graphic by @ofmdlovelyletters]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK @xoxoemynn

I've loved featuring some of the most incredible artists in the fandom for the AOTWs, and thanks to Connie's (@spirker) big brain, this week is dedicated to some of the most beloved fandom authors. I hope everyone will go and check out their fics, maybe discover some new works or give extra love to older beloved fics. There will be 3 authors featured this weekend, please give it up 🥁 for the first one: Emy who we all love.

When I think of an author whose writing feels like a warm, lovingly prepared bowl of soup by someone who wants you to eat and eat well: I think of Em's fics. It's impossible to imagine this fandom without her - not just her words but everything she is and does for her friends. I also strongarmed her into answering a few questions for me (kidding, she was very gracious, I kept harassing her to send the answers over 😌 I have no shame):

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

First comes the idea, which usually presents itself as “haha, wouldn’t it be funny/weird/wild if XYZ… wait a minute. I think I might be serious about that.” Once I’m pretty confident I’m actually going to write the story, I make a channel for it in the private Discord I created to keep myself organized. I’ll start jotting ideas down — doesn’t have to be in any particular order, just tone, beats I want to hit, any particular detail that’s pushing its way to the surface that’s demanding the story be told, and also grab any links, images, music, whatever, and stash them away for inspo later. I almost always have to create an outline for myself, even if it’s just a few bullet points, because otherwise I tend to just sit there spinning my wheels. If it’s a longer story, I’ll create a pretty fleshed out outline, and may also supplement it with an emotions matrix to keep track of the characters’ evolving mindset throughout the story. Tragically, I’m very much someone who needs to write in order. I’ve tried skipping around before, but inevitably I start feeling the tension of “well, how can I possibly write Scene 10 if I don’t know exactly what happened in Scene 5?” But if there are some scenes that feel more vivid to me in the brainstorming phase, I may write a few sentences just so I don’t lose that energy.

One Ed/Stede headcanon that's very dear to you and you love to explore it when you write.

I don’t know if I have one specific one. I generally treat them as my all you can eat buffet and like to play with different ones all the time, depending on my mood. But I’d say my “tell,” if you will, is taking some kind of ridiculous concept (being horny for clocks, running a sleepaway camp for singles, tooth fairies) and sussing out the Big Emotions, which often do circle around learning to be vulnerable in front of the one you love.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

When I first started writing OFMD fic after S1, I would have said Ed. There was something about that vulnerability and raw heartbreak that I found really accessible, perhaps because I was finally coming out of the fog of my own recent traumatic breakup. But as I spent more time writing and in the characters’ heads, I realized it’s actually Stede. I see a lot of myself in him, and have discovered getting his voice right is a rather cyclical process: the more I understand him, the more I understand myself, and the more I understand myself, the more I understand him.

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

I’m going to cheat and list two. The first is The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary, which is my heart story. It’s not the first thing I wrote for this fandom, but it feels like it. I wanted to write a fic with a setting that felt to all the characters the way so many of us felt about the show itself — a place of hope, where everyone is loved and accepted and celebrated for exactly who they are. The second, which is definitely a harder sell due to the subject matter, is All Of These Lines Across My Face, which is the most personal thing I’ve ever written that I think has taken on a new, more meta meaning since the cancellation. Love is eternal; it changes everything it touches for the better. Ed and Stede’s world was forever changed because they loved each other; our world was forever changed because we loved OFMD.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

Exquisite. But it’s NOT MY FAULT. They ARE exquisite!!! What am I supposed to do, just call them pretty? They are EXQUISITE!

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

YES! My beloved Hugo (@monksofthescrew/offsammich), who I’ve been working with since Merry Strays. I used to say I’d only use a beta if there was something I was particularly worried about in the story, but honestly Hugo makes everything I write SO much better that I don’t consider a story complete until her eyes are on it. Brainstorming the initial idea, helping me get unstuck in writing, pushing me to look at a scene from a different perspective, fixing all my verb tenses… truly could not do it without her.

Why OFMD?🥹

I found OFMD at a very transitional point in my life, when I finally started to feel healed from a few big traumatic events but didn’t know what to do now that I’d emerged from the fog. I experienced some panic that I had wasted too much time and the world had moved on without me while I was still struggling. OFMD showed me that it’s never too late, that you can always have a second (or third, or 300th) chance, that you deserve to be loved for exactly who you are, and, most importantly, that there’s always hope. It was like someone gently took my hand and said “I don’t care what your brain/society is telling you, there is a beautiful future in store for you, and you deserve all that it brings you.” These days it’s rare to find something with a message like that, that’s equal parts fierce and earnest. It’s something beautiful and precious, and I’ll be holding onto it forever. ❤️

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters and send your love for Emy and all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[c1tr1z1ne]

omg wow another idea in the span of a month maybe school hasn’t fried my brain (I should not be doing this instead of studying it is FINALS WEEK)

I’ve been reading a lot of vex!scar fics recently where he just goes like. insane or something. lots of angst. idk how to describe this any further. ANYWAYS.

I’ve seen a few of them throw in a detail about scar using his vex magic in order to breathe life into his builds (which I am EATING UP btw) and I was wondering if there were any vex!scar angst fics out there where the author takes this and runs

like imagine the fic opens up (I apologize for the odd writing from here on out)

someone is looking for scar and they find his base TOO ALIVE—animals run amok and mutating/binary fissuring or whatever the progressive form of binary fission is, buildings becoming actually alive and moving around, things growing out of the ground, all that pizazz

and they’re like what the diddly darn happened here and they can’t find scar anywhere (end scene)

a few days later they find a similar sort of occurrence at say, one of his shops, or just at a random place on the server if you wanted to tie in more plot

yada yada things happen, angst and shenanigans, I didn’t really think this through any further than that, this was a shower thought

BUT JUST THINK ABOUT THE VIBES

like you can take the too alive-ness in any direction based on the plot you desire (ex. an eerie vibe for more eldritch horror type fics, whimsical if you decide to tie the alive-ness to his emotions in a 5+1 or whatever, threatening if it’s a lashing out type situation, the world’s your oyster) and you can vary the intensity of it depending on if you’re going for a longer form/shorter form fic and how important to the plot it is

this was a throwaway idea why am I actually thinking about this more MY BRAIN KEEPS FLESHING THINGS OUT

but anyways if anyone knows any fics with this extended detail (? I guess that’s how you’d phrase it?) please send them my way!! or I might write something related over the summer if I care enough idk I can never speak for what future me will decide to do

[impala-dreamer]

~ Rebekah Jordan's Commission Info for 2024 ~

Have you ever had a dream that you wish you could save and relive over and over again? A story idea that you simply cannot flesh out or find anything that comes close to your idea already written? Have you always wanted to see Yourself Actually in a story? Have you searched and searched for a good story focused around your out-of-the-way kink and it just does not exist? - I can help.

Come chat with me and I will help your fictional dream come true! Or, at the very least, committed to paper in an amazingly written story that you will adore.

Read on for more info, and please reblog to spread the word :)

How does it work?

You send me a message and we discuss what type of story you’d like. If I think I can do it properly for you- it’s a go!

You provide details about the character (you, someone else, multiples). Stories can be OFC, Actual People, or Reader Insert.

You leave me alone for a little while and when I return, you’ll get a PDF file of your fic (usually including custom art) emailed right to you!

What fandoms are you writing for lately?

Any fandom can be negotiated provided I am familiar with it and feel like I would do the details justice. Ex: I’ve watched football, but I’m not going write a great football story because I just don’t get it. ;)

Fandoms I have written for and am comfy with:

Supernatural, Supernatural RPF (Mostly all ships and characters/actors)

The Boys, The Boys RPF

The Walking Dead, TWD RPF (Rick, Negan, Daryl)

Marvel (Cap, Bucky, Sam Wilson), Marvel RPF (Evans & Stan)

Criminal Minds

The Hunger Games

The Magicians (All Characters and Ships)

The Winchesters, The Winchesters RPF

Daisy Jones & The Six (Billy Dunne)

Random RPF Actors/Singers

What Kind of Story Can You Do?

Anything. No, wait. I’m afraid you don’t believe me. I mean… ANY T H I N G. You want hardcore smut that boarders on problematic? I’m in. You want the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed and would make Hallmark movies cringe? I got you. Angst? Dark stuff? General? Literally Anything you want. I only have one or two things I’m not comfortable with but that can all be discussed in private, and honestly, after 8 years doing this, no one’s ever come close to asking for them so you’re 1000% good to ask for whatever.

What’s the bottom line here?

Well, your story, which will be anywhere from 1,000 - 10,000 words depending on how wordy I get, will be a flat rate of $25. This includes my full attention to your story from start to finish, accompanying art, specific detail inclusion, and an emailed PDF file that you can print out or delete, or whatever you want. It’s yours.

I do not write for word counts, only for the story. If your complete story can be told in 1k words, that’s great. If it takes another 40,000 and we end up with a novel, we can discuss a little extra depending on how far we go! If you'd like a series... let's start at $30 and see what happens! I’m more worried about giving you the best story I can than worrying about word counts.

Commissions are not limited to type or fandom. It costs nothing to ask, and the worst I can say is "sorry, I can't write that".

If you'd like to discuss an idea that is NOT specifically fandom related, I'm open to that as well!

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I’m not scary.

You can also check out my Tumblr Masterlist for examples of my work incase you’re unsure. And… just a reminder, Patrons get a discount!

[johnslittlespoon]

okay but you know what. i too would edge john to hear his noises. the sound he makes when the polish lady sits on his dick will never not get to me. i’d sit on his cock just to hear that. i don’t care.

but also. buck allowing john and curt to mess around just because he definitely wants to hear the sounds john makes when he has someone on his dick. i’m fucking weak. cheers ✌️

NO, NO, SAY IT WITH YOUR WHOLE CHEST. you're so real (for both thoughts. if john truly was fruity– and not just in a bucksexual way– i'd be on him so fast.)

i have so many thoughts/have seen so many great ideas in regards to how curt and john/the three of them met (since we know gale and john met years prior at flight school– i've actually had fun fleshing this out in my dog coded fic teehee) and this is a lovely thought to add to the list.

gale sees john eyeing curt in a less than platonic way as time goes on, and he'd maybe be a little bit jealous if he wasn't so fond of him as well, starts thinking about how curt would look with his back arched all pretty while he rides john, thinking about how john would sound with each roll of curt's hips, if he'd sound different than when it's gale sinking down on his cock.

and john might be the fixated, borderline obsessive one when it comes to getting ideas in his head, but gale can't get this one out of his own, and john is all too eager to help it come to fruition. the first time the three of them hook up, gale can't even focus for half of it because he keeps getting distracted just staring at these two beautiful boys in front of him, barely even cares about getting off because all he wants to do is drink up not only john's noises, but now curt's too, who gale is quickly discovering is also the prettiest fucking thing in bed.

and maybe curt gets a little shy with all this attention on him, and gale notices him pressing his face into john's neck or biting the inside of his cheek to muffle his noises. gale's been a bit quiet up until that point, but he murmurs "you sound so pretty, let us hear you, curt" and curt flushes and preens so sweetly with his words and so obediently refrains from quieting his sounds, letting little gasps and moans fall from his lips every time he rocks down onto john's cock.

it ruins john too, hearing gale direct gentle demands like that at someone other than him, and seeing the way curt reacts so immediately, so eager to please the two of them, and both gale and john know before the night is even over that they want to do it again.

[athena-xox]

Okay I forgot about my Anastacia au and I was just listening to the soundtrack so here’s my updated poll

Rewrite:

So far I have three and a half ish chapters rewritten and a few beta readers/editors. The plot/backstories are pretty fleshed out so it would be actually writing the chapters.

It’s basically a more mature eah with my personal ships + hcs

Dizzie:

A extremely canon compliant fic (going off of my timeline) which basically just focus’s on Lizzie and Daring.

I’m planning on trying to emulate the style of Shannon Hale and have it feel like it’s written by her.

I would work on cleaning up their timeline + writing the prologues from their childhood’s

(Also Daring depth!! Because that’s seriously lacking in this fandom) and yes epic winter will happen but they end up together.

Farrah:

Would coexist with the dizzie fic. Farrah just has SO MUCH angst potential istg.

Rn I would be doing the same thing as the dizzie fic, cleaning up the timeline surrounding her.

Anastasia au:

Based off the broadway musical, and I was talking to someone in one of 200 eah servers I’m in about Anastacia a while ago and it made me want to write this au (even tho I’m already including Anastacia as the school musical in my rewrite).

Anastacia - Lizzie

Dmitri - Kitty

Gleb - Daring

Those who know me are going to be so confused when I say kitzie is endgame lmao. There will very much be dizzie angst tho.

I do have most of the characters planned who they are going to be in this au and right now I’ll mostly be panning out the background of the romanovs/wonderland royalty.

Also every song in the musical is going to be a chapter so I already know exactly how many chapters / what’s happening in each chapter is going to be. 

If anyone wants to talk to me about some of these please!!! I’m dying to spill my ideas/ get input. Also if you want to help beta read/edit I would love that

(Especially for the au, if anyone has watched the musical / knows lots about the romanovs please please please dm me if you want to talk)

[hardly-an-escape]

fic talk! tagged by @cliophilyra!

How many wips do you have currently?

oh god, please don't ask me. at least two BuckTommy fics (which may end up converging into one because they seem increasingly related). a half dozen or so Dreamling stories. a random Witcher fic and a random Stranger Things fic. a long-neglected Clintasha fic. I refuse to do this math.

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

it's hard to say. I'm a slow writer to begin with, and I (obviously) have the tendency to start new things without having finished previous projects. I definitely struggle more with longer/multichapter fics, and more complex stories in general. would you go along with someone like me? and The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough both fit into those categories, and those are the two that have probably given me the most trouble over the past year.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

it usually starts with a single short scene, or sometimes even a single line, that's basically just a vivid daydream until I get it actually written down and expand on it. often someone's tumblr post or headcanon will spark something for me, or a piece of fanart, or some other show/movie I've watched recently will make me think of an AU idea. but it's like pulling teeth to get whatever it is out of the daydream and into a document.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

I've never really gotten into this, but I think it's such a cool idea. I know folks who have particular playlists to get them into the headspace to write certain stories, and I love that concept. but for whatever reason, my brain doesn't really connect stories I'm writing to music in quite that fashion. I do like to have some kind of background noise while I'm writing, but it has to be instrumental (I'll get distracted by lyrics) and fairly unobtrusive.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

mostly balls to the wall, but I have found it rewarding recently to outline a little bit more. I do it very simply, basically a series of bullet points describing key events or conversations, or sometimes even just a character's reaction or attitude. I do tend to jump around and write non-chronologically, so it can help me visualize what's still left to write and what order it comes in. sometimes I'll go back and drop in a bullet point because I realize I want to expand on a scene or add in a reference, so I can quickly pencil in that note before I lose my train of thought and then flesh it out later. but yeah, mostly I'm just pantsing it!

no pressure tags: @cuubism @valeriianz @peppermintquartz @tryan-a-bex @beatnikfreakiswriting

[incorrectringsofpower]

Season 2 First 3 episodes thoughts (spoilers below the cut, DO NOT click the cut if you do not want to be spoiled!)

Episode 1

The dimples are a bit disarming ngl.

The chorals Bear added are interesting. Someone translate them please and thank you.

Ewwwww bug!Sauron nope nope nope.

Why hallo there handsome asshole :D

What's in the pouuuuch? (I don't think we're ever gonna find out tbh)

O shit are these the raft redshirts? Oh nooo.

I support horse girl rights and wrongs.

Mooom, Galadriel is a lying liar who lies.

Gil-galad looks so done lmfao. "Great-auntie whyyyy."

Elrond about to pull an Elwing.

I want to see my little boy (Isildur). (Where is heeeee?)

Hello Glüg, you SDCC photo gem.

Ah Waldreg you fucker. Guess you figured out between seasons that he ain't Sauron.

Lmao not Sauron pulling a Moses on Adar. Wtf are you doing buddy?

Nori my beloved

Wow The Stranger has so much vocabulary now. I still think he swallowed a Harfoot dictionary.

Ok additional Harfoot food note: Beetles (scarab beetles?)

Oh yeah some fic writers are reaaaaally gonna enjoy the scenes of Halron chained and collared. Here comes another fic deluge!

Sauron, don't you remember what happened with Huan in the FA?

BEN DANIELS TIME LET'S GOOOOO.

RIP to this random elf messenger bc I don't think he's gonna make it.

Ben Daniels has the raaaaange.

Eärendil mentionnnn. And Beleriand mention! I wonder why the Mariana Trench option wasn't considered in the TA. Update: Ok nvm Círdan will answer that for us.

Poppy! Hopefully the others can still travel without the maps she took.

The music is so prettyyyy.

"Your people have been set free." #doubt (show me the proof! also why did Sauron want that? He needed slaves to work the fields in Mordor, right?)

Ah Waldreg did die in the exact episode we predicted.

More elf nuns!

Elf costumes! I need an analysis post!

Lmao Elrond's face. "Grunkle Círdan, you betrayed meeee!"

Galadriel: How 'bout I do anyway?

Elrond: Thanks I hate it.

Galadriel: Please don't jump off waterfalls again.

Mirdania! Aw shit Halron got there before the nameless doomed Lindon elf.

Ominous ending music, Bear.

Episode 2

DWARVES MY BELOVED

I love the terrace farming so much.

Dwarf food note: Mole-tail stew, Large mushroom (chanterelle-like) that is very valuable, smaller mushrooms, gourds!

ilu Disa

This scene was exactly what I needed for dwarves and dwarvish food reasons.

Oh shit not my dwarves :(((

Alfirin seeds!

Ooh creepy!

New elf characters! Do they have names? Please give them names!

"Crush two spiders with one boot." Ooh I hate the foreshadowing of that metaphor. Hates it, hates it.

More foreshadowiiiing.

Mirror of Galadriel foreshadowing specifically!

Eregion is so beautiful and majestic (thanks, Season 2 budget!). Sure do hope nothing bad happens to it! (sobbing)

Yup, RIP Lindon messenger elves.

I looove this music.

Skeletor! (By the power of Grayskull!)

Ooh cultists.

The Dweller is back!

"curse upon our flesh" wut

I have a bad feeling about this. (Wait, wrong fandom)

Where is Narviiii.

Do Disa's friends have naaames? Wait x-ray actually was helpful for once. Rachel Payne as Brenna and Laura Jane Matthewson as Revna! I'm so happy she has named friends who even gossip!

Hi Narvi!

King Durin: But do I still have grandparent's rights?

"Stubborn as a root-bound parsnip!" Hah.

Oh my god he's working on ships. I love that so much.

Ooh shit a flashback to the woods scene from Udûn.

Why are you shaving, sir? Sir.

Ahhhh poetry mentions from the FA! How nerdy.

The bell seems bad.

Eye of Sauron?

Uh-oh. Is this how he learns how squishy hobbits are on adventures?

Ooh he's developing door ideas. Fun!

I get the feeling Mirdania ain't gonna last the season, either.

Fuuuck tower foreshadowing.

Ooh elf umbrella!

Oh you little weasel!

"I'm going to open a First Age bottle." Love that detail.

"Are you my friend?" Hoo boi.

Ominous thunderclap. Ooooh.

Is he gonna larp as an Istar? Lmao.

"Soon every realm will fall." Because of you, asshole!

Title drop!

Wow. Okay. Playing on his insecurities and also calling him the "Lord of the Rings". Overdoing it a bit much there, Ronnie?

"I am your partner." screech

Pope-galad says you need babysitter, Gal. I'm sure this will go splendidly!

Episode 3

Bronwyn ;_;

Berek best boi my beloved

Sad Elendil and Valandil :(((

YESSS OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING. EVERYONE STAY CALM. IT'S HAPPENING!

ISILDUR SAVE YOUR HORSE FOR THE LOVE OF ERU.

Pls don't kill Berek. I couldn't stand it 😭

ISILDUR BEST HORSE GIRL

THEY'D BOTH BETTER LIVE OR SO HELP ME

FUCKING RUN ISILDUR FFS

(GOD I HATE LARGE FANTASY SPIDERS AND THIS IS WHY)

Ooh the shells funerary detail!

Eärien girrrrl your evil phase alarms me.

This ship is so saddd :(

More ominous tower shit.

Pharazôn, you weasel 2.0.

Fucking foreshadowiiiing.

Valandil my beloved! Oooh tension with Kemen.

A baby orc! Fascinating!

Damrod has arrived!

More title dropping!

"--a friend." The emphasis was so funny.

Durin is suspicious. Love it.

Celebrimbor: Well if I start a Catholic schism then so be it.

It is your moment, Holly-boy, but also your doom. You're being Anakined into Vader by Palpannatar.

Isildur has discovered the DnD means of equipment acquisition.

Noooo more dead horsies :(

Estrid :D (please don't be evil)

Lmao at least he knows proper wound procedures lol.

DO NOT HURT BEREK

Potato food spotted!

ARONDIR YASSS

THEY STOLE BEREK NOOOOO

Arondir sir you are low on arrows.

Arondir ;_;

Bronwyn :(((( fuck I'm so sad about this

I will never recover from the Aronwyn ship, I fear :(

Theo, buddy, need someone to talk to?

Sad version of Aronwyn theme nooooo :(

Really not liking how much King Durin's crown sorta resembles Sauron's this season.

Theo taking over his mother's skills :(

Yup, poisoned orc arrow theory confirmed.

Stepparenting with foreshadowing for Numenor, delightfulll.

Please don't be foreshadowing.

Who is his dad? Oh no hurtful, Theo. Buddy :(

My Garden Fam is broken and I'm deeply unwell about it.

Theo-Isildur friendship time?

BEREK HEIST BEREK HEIST

Isildur really is so relieved to be alive and not eaten by spiders that he's gone friend mode. How very like his Grunkle Elrond!

Oh no Isildur mom backstory :(

Don't cry Isildur and Theo bc then I'm gonna cry ;;_;;

Also now this is a narrative parallel!

Ah good gift discussion next to the word "precious" is throwing my brain. Oh lordy.

Please don't be evil, Estrid! I'm already suffering without Bronwyn and both Disa and Míriel are doomed af.

Theo wtf are you doing?

ENTS.

No don't lose the sword Galadriel gave you!

Míriel in white, Elendil in blue and gold, Pharazôn in red. Totally Kate Hawley doing some fascinating storytelling here.

Oh no my quote about Elendil and his daughter in a courtroom is suddenly very apt. Oh dear.

What did Elendil see?

Huh the unrest happened sooner than I thought.

EAGLE TIME LET'S GOOOO!

Eagle: Y'all are gonna die!

Elendil: Top 10 anime betrayals and by my own daughter. Wtf.

Annatar gets his own cute lil forging outfit :D

More symbolism!

Oh god what a way to end the first 3 episodes. Send help.

[licncourt]

begin again COOKED as a post-qotd fix-it (fave fic! <3) but i need to know your thoughts on prince lestat/how you would re-do it in the correct way. to this day i still think LESTAT becoming prince monarch of all the vampires is one of the craziest decisions made during the novels. to me lestat is a prince in the same way that jack skellington was king of halloween (that includes the running away to cause delusional hijinks that ultimately jeapordize everyone)

Aaahhh thank you!! That fic is my child that I birthed so I appreciate it more than you know! It's actually BA's one year finished-iversary next week, my baby's all grown up.

I've talked about that before actually in this post about how I would rewrite the whole series, but I can expand a little here!

Firstly, this could've been two books instead of three. There was nothing going on in there that required three entire novels

Things that have to go entirely: aliens, test tube clone baby Viktor, Atlantis. Sorry, not salvageable

I think rather than the Amel thing, it would have been cool if the sacred core had started corrupting Lestat and altering his behavior as host, maybe changing him gradually into a animalistic, violent folklore-like vampire, making him slowly lose his mind like Mekare, or erasing his sense of self to become a blank host. Then it's a race against the clock and vampire magical biology to save him. This could be the first PL book

Ideally, I think this book should be narrated by Louis and focus a lot on his growth as a character as he finishes his personal. It would bring some happy ending closure to the IWTV version of him without being a jarring change. I also think having his POV for the best of his and Lestat's relationship would be a nice full circle moment from seeing him describe their worst. The idea of Lestat losing himself to the core and them potentially coming together too late would add good drama as well. Maybe this is Louis' follow-up memoir describing how they fixed things

The Rhoshamandes conflict can stay for the second PL and final VC book, but I think it could've been less boring if the drama between him and Lestat had been better fleshed out. They have a lot of similarities that weren't used to their full advantage. It would really highlight Lestat's growth to have him defeat what he could've become

When Lestat reunites with Louis, they would actually have some long, hard conversations about their past, ones that continue throughout the PL trilogy

Hopefully an explanation for why Lestat has made this 180 is included, even if it's just the crushing realization of his own loneliness and longing reaching critical mass after twenty years of who the fuck knows what

The cast is pared down to the strongest written and most interesting characters so the story isn't spread so thin, probably Lestat, Louis, Armand, Gabrielle, Marius, Pandora, and maybe a small handful of new characters with significance in the story. I think Seth, Fareed, Sevraine had the most potential to be good additions to the primary roster if she wanted to add on

Cool characters from the original like trilogy like Maharet and Khayman are expanded on rather than killed offscreen to make room for more Anne Rice NPCs. If we're going to kill someone from the trilogy, please God let it be David Talbot

This goes without saying I think, especially from me, but Louis would be restored to his former glory as a true main character alongside Lestat instead of relegated to lobotomized housewife. There was so much potential for him in an active consort role. We also don't get to see how he got to such a peaceful place at the end of PL, so I would like to see him work through some stuff on the page

I would either cut the Rhoshamandes/Benedict storyline because of how redundant it is with how it mirrors the Marius/Armand dynamic or do something to differentiate it as its own relationship. At the very least, maybe the similarity could be highlighted to become a character beat for Armand

As far as Armand in general, I would make him a much more prominent player. I think he's a great fit for a court setting and could create a lot of intrigue as well as adding coolness factor. I'm always torn about whether I like the reveal of his romantic feelings for Lestat, but in the interest of keeping SOME things intact, I would just play it differently. Primarily, I think he becomes way too agreeable (similar to Louis) in how he submits to and idolizes Lestat, so I would love to see him come into more conflict with Lestat in spite of those feelings. Maybe we can see him make some peace with their history and let go of that intense emotion for something healthier

If we're going to keep the sex injections (IVs, whatever), I think we should do more with it than have Lestat prematurely ejaculate into a random woman. I think there's potential for a very interesting new dynamic with Louis and Lestat. It would be cathartic and maybe an interesting part of their healing process and of becoming a real couple for the first time

That's what I can think of for now, but I might update later!

[kimpossibly]

DON'T LOOK DOWN -> the last of us

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi...so I'm absolutely losing my mind over this show. I have some friends who have played the game that are head over heels for it as well, but as someone who's never played, I'm SOLD. I'm in love with the world, with the characters, with the set design, EVERYTHING. Ever since I saw episode one I've had an idea rattling around in my head for an OC, so I did what I always do — come to Tumblr to flesh them out! I hope you enjoy this and please let me know if you do through comments or reblogs!! Remember that if you like a fic or any post for that matter, you should like and REBLOG it, because likes mean next to nothing. Support your fellow artists and spread the love!! Enjoy, my lovely readers &lt;3

PAIRING: PLATONIC joel miller x fem!reader (I'm talking some SERIOUS found family stuff here) WARNINGS: Heavy use of guns and weapons, mentions of the apocalypse, DETAILED descriptions of violence, trauma, and death. Family member death. I definitely sobbed while writing this SUMMARY: After losing her family and getting found by the Fireflies, Y/n goes with Ellie and Joel on a treacherous journey to Salt Lake City.

"I spy with my little eye...something blue."

"Is it the sky?"

"No, dipshit, that's too obvious." Ellie said with an eye roll.

Y/n just scoffed, shaking her head. "Joel, you got any ideas?"

"How 'bout we start with making this the last round of this game?" he said gruffly. Ellie just gave him a glare and muttered something about him being a killjoy underneath her breath. Joel cleared his throat, looking around them — the open field to the left, the forest to the right. "You got me."

Ellie groaned, her head dropping. "It was Y/n's backpack, duh." she said. "Which, I'd like to add, has two guns in it. Not one. Two."

"Cause I actually know how to use them, genius." Y/n replied. "I'm kind of shit at aiming, but I can't point and shoot until the cows come home. If there's one good thing about the apocalypse, it's that it taught me some basic life skills really damn fast.

"Aren't you from Arizona? Hunting season's pretty much year-round down there. Didn't your dad take you out hunting or something?" Joel asked.

At those words, something in Y/n's eyes glazed over. "No. No he didn't." she said, her voice flat. After a moment, she sniffed and rubbed at her nose, turning her head away so as not to let them notice. But Joel saw. She coughed. "Come on, we should pick up the pace if we want to make it to Bill's by sundown."

With that, she sped up until she was walking a good ten feet in front of them. Joel watched her with confusion, which Ellie noted.

"She does that when she doesn't want anyone to see her cry," she explained quietly. "She's got some rough family stories."

"We all do." Joel replied.

But Ellie just shook her head, glancing back at Y/n. "Not like hers."

Ellie and Y/n huddled behind the hole in the wall, listening to the sounds of gunfire come and go. Pop, pop. Silence. Pop. Y/n could barely stand it. She flinched at the familiar sound of gunfire now.

Y/n popped out above from hers and Ellie's hideout and fired a few times into the open, not sticking around to see if she'd actually hit one of their attackers. She always figured it was better if she didn't know. Based on the number of shots coming from their end, she could tell that Joel was wildly outnumbered. They weren't FEDRA or Fireflies, but they had a big enough group to overwhelm one man. Glass shattered as a bullet from the other side shattered through the truck's windshield. Y/n peeked out as glass rained down on Joel. He was alone as the enemy approached. And Y/n couldn't let that happen.

Joel carefully made his way to the other side of the truck as someone stepped in through the obliterated doorway of the laundromat. Glass crunched under his feet. Every step he took brought him closer and closer to discovering Joel. They were running out of time.

Y/n turned to Ellie suddenly, startling her. She put her hands on either sides of Ellie's face, looking at her with an expression so serious that she knew it was in her own best interest to shut the hell up. "Listen to me, you need to stay here. Don't get up. Don't move. Don't even think about it. Don't get a bright idea and try to play hero, alright?"

Ellie gave a quick nod and Y/n stooped down, unzipping her backpack as quietly as she could and pulling out one of her pistols. She began to creep to the hole in the wall, but Ellie grabbed her sleeve before she could come into view. "What are you doing?"

Y/n turned back, trying not to let the fear coursing through her show to the younger girl. "I got a bright idea."

Y/n crept carefully through the hole in the wall as the man stepped closer towards Joel's hiding place. She held her breath, both hands wrapped around the pistol, her pointer finger on the trigger.

Crunch.

The man wheeled around, and Y/n, caught off-guard, abandoned the gun, placing a strong kick to the man's stomach. He stumbled back and the gunfire resumed, stronger now than ever. Joel used this moment to leap out of his hiding spot, jamming the butt of his rifle into the back of the man's head. He crumpled on the spot, blood pouring from the point of impact.

"I told you to stay there." Joel said angrily.

"I don't listen." Y/n said. A single gunshot whizzed past them and they crouched down to avoid it.

"If you go leaping into open fire, what's to stop Ellie from doing the same, huh?"

"She wouldn't follow me out here."

"How do you know?"

"Because I told her not to."

"I told you not to. And you didn't listen." Joel said, reaching up to fire. There was a yell as his bullet met its target, and the gunfire ceased instantly. He went to reload, but found the barrel had jammed.

Y/n stood up, glaring at Joel. "She listens to me. She trusts me." she said. "You're just the guy in charge of taking us from Point A to Point B."

"Trust isn't the point here, okay?" Joel replied, standing. "You're not setting a good example for her."

"You're not my dad, Joel!" Y/n replied, her tone low and harsh. "Ellie is the closest thing I've got to family. Once we reach Salt Lake City, I'm going to be the only one she has, and I'll be damned if I take that away from her. I can protect myself. So worry about yourself."

Joel had no answer for that. Suddenly the silence they were surrounded by seemed impossibly loud. Either they had killed their attackers or frightened them enough to make them turn around and run. Y/n wasn't sure which she'd prefer.

"Are you guys done arguing so I can come out now?" Ellie's voice came out muffled.

Y/n gave Joel one last pissed off look and turned around. "Hang on, I'm coming to get ya!" she said, heading back to the hole in the wall. "Here, hand me your stuff and I'll—"

The sudden sound of the back door to the laundromat bursting open silenced her. There was a gunshot and a yell — whether it was from Joel or his attacker, she couldn't tell. Y/n didn't wait to see what was happening before she practically shoved Ellie back into the hiding spot to keep her out of harm's way.

Y/n turned as someone in dark clothing knocked Joel to the ground, scrambling on top of him pressing his rifle to his neck to choke him. "Now you're gonna fucking pay! What you fucking did, you fucking killed yourself, motherfucker!" the guy shouted, his voice filled with rage. Joel struggled against him, but his grip stayed firm, pressing harder and harder down on his throat. His shoes squeaked against the floor as he tried desperately to move away, but it was useless.

The gun weighed heavy as Y/n lifted it. Arms straight out, finger over the trigger. Joel's struggling was becoming weaker and weaker with every passing second. Beads of sweat collected on Y/n brow. This was no time for indecision. No time for fear. She grit her teeth and gripped the gun even tighter.

Bang.

The man let out a yell as he fell to the side, slumped against the wall. Joel immediately began to gasp and wheeze, taking in heaving breaths of air. Y/n stepped closer, the gun still held out, and she saw that she hadn't killed the man.

He was leaning against the wall, his chest heaving violently. When he removed his hands from under him, they were slick, coated with blood. He struggled to get himself up, grimacing at the pain, and Y/n realized with horror that he couldn't have been much older than she was.

He was just a kid.

"No, no, no, no, no! It's okay! It's okay. It's over. We're not fighting anymore." he shouted frantically, holding a bloodstained hand out to stop her. His voice had completely changed from before. What had been violent rage was now desperate pleading. "I'm gonna go home. I'll tell everyone you're good." he said, his voice choked with tears.

Y/n swallowed, refusing to lower her weapon as a lump in her throat began to form.

Suddenly he sobbed, his voice becoming high-pitched in distraught terror. "I don't know what to do. My legs don't work."

She had shot him in the spine. She must've paralyzed him.

"My mom isn't far, if you could get me to her." he cried.

Joel slowly began to get up, but Y/n was frozen in fear. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All she could do was watch this terrified kid beg for his life.

"We could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didn't know!" he said, panting through tears. "I'm Bryan! I'm Bryan. What's your name?"

Y/n's throat constricted. Tears rushed to her eyes and she didn't stop them, but her body knew better. Tears were weakness. She pushed them away almost as an instinct, but something was still weighing heavy in her chest. Bryan.

Joel's hand suddenly reached out, grabbing the pistol from the top. Y/n suddenly became aware, her eyes darting to Joel's. He said nothing, but the look on his face said all she needed to know: You know what I have to do.

Slowly, she let go of the pistol and found that her hands were shaking violently. He turned back around, causing Bryan to panic. "Wait, wait, wait!" he shouted, doing his best to drag himself further away. all he was doing was backing himself further into a corner. Suddenly he reached into a holster and pulled out a large hunting knife, dropping it to the ground. "You can have it...It's a good knife." he said, his voice becoming even more ragged.

Joel bent down and took the knife from him. Y/n was feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time. Not since the time she watched her mother's eyes close for the last time.

Joel turned to her. "Get back behind the wall." he said.

"No, no, no, no! I'm sorry! Please, please. We could just talk! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Bryan shouted, holding his hand out as if to shield himself from them.

Y/n tried to speak, but choked on her words. She paused, not sure what to say. "Joel," she said finally, her voice coming out as nothing more than a rough whisper.

Joel's expression hardened. "Y/n. Get back."

But she couldn't leave. Bryan was crying out to her, apologizing to her, begging for help. There was nothing they could do to help him, and there was nothing he could do to hurt them. But he had seen their faces, and now he knew their names. And that kind of information was deadly.

Y/n just shook her head, her eyes glazing over just as they had earlier. Joel realized then that there was no convincing her. The damage had already been done. So he turned away from her and cocked the pistol.

"No, please! Please! I'm sorry!" Bryan's cries became even more frantic. "Please! You don't have to! No, no, no! We can just talk!"

He was babbling now. Y/n couldn't move. She looked at Bryan, and for and for one fleeting instant, she saw herself that one December night seven years ago. The night she lost everything but her life.

"Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Bang.

Two days. It had been two days since Y/n had said a word to Joel or Ellie. It had also been two days since Joel had put a bullet in Bryan's head.

She walked like someone possessed, eyes staring blankly ahead, face frozen with no expression.

Ellie did her best to goad her into conversation, but she may as well have been talking to a brick wall. Y/n never replied to her questions or laughed at her jokes. Ellie didn't scare easily, but now she was terrified. Nothing quite like this had ever happened.

The only time they ever heard a sound from her was late into the night, when she thought they were both asleep. That was when she allowed herself to cry.

Joel awoke on the third night to complete silence. As the forest floor came into focus around him, he saw Y/n sleeping bag laying flat on the ground, empty.

He sat up, images of the worst immediately coming to mind. He looked to his other side and saw Ellie, fast asleep in her bedroll. `That calmed some of his nerves, but left a lot of his questions unanswered.

The sun was just barely beginning to rise in the east when he got up, looking around himself for any sign of Y/n. There were none. So, after glancing back one more time to make sure Ellie was safe, he picked a direction and began to walk, hoping to find the elder Pain in His Ass.

He wasn't sure how long he had walked before he found her. She was sitting on the forest floor with her back against the thick trunk of a tree, her knees tucked up to her chest with Joel's jacket draped over them. She looked up when he came around, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, merely accepting the others' presence.

"I'm sorry I took your jacket." Y/n said. Her voice was rough and gravelly, and Joel discovered with surprise that he had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

"Don't worry about it." he replied. "Mind if I sit?"

She said nothing, giving a small nod and turning back to stare off into the distance. Joel moved to sit down next to her, grimacing at the pain in his joints as he did so. Y/n continued to sit like there was no one else there, her blank gaze focused on the horizon.

Joel had a pretty good idea what was bothering her. She had shot someone. And what was worse, she'd left them in pain. He almost thought it would've been better if she'd have killed him with the first bullet.

"Y/n—"

"He was crying for his mom." she said suddenly, cutting him off. "He was crying for his mom and you shot him."

Joel went silent for a moment. He'd had to do things he never imagined himself doing — that had been one of them. "I couldn't take the risk."

She knew what he meant, of course. She understood why he'd done it. And, most of all, she was almost sure that if she'd been in his position, she'd have done the same thing. But seeing firsthand what it looked like to beg for your life reminded her of things she'd rather leave in the past.

"My father was a smuggler." Y/n said, her voice hollow. "We never asked what he did; we just knew that, because of what he did, we lived a lot better than a lot of other people. I'm not really sure what he did — if he had made a bad deal, or double crossed someone that shouldn't be crossed, but I woke up on Christmas morning to gunshots coming from my living room. I should've stayed in my room, I know. But I couldn't just sit there and wait. My whole family was down there. So, I went to see if my dad was okay. He was dead before I got down the stairs. My mom grabbed me and my sister as these three guys pointed guns at our faces. She was screaming at them, begging them not to take her children, begging them to take mercy on us. All three of them shot at once."

Her voice stayed firm and toneless as she spoke. "By the time the bullet hit, I had accepted that I was going to die. My eyes shut and I never once thought they'd open again. But..." Y/n pulled down the hemline of her shirt an inch to reveal a thick white scar just below her collarbone, "fate took pity on me that day. Marlene found me just before I bled out. She kept me alive. And when I woke up, I was in the worst pain I'd ever experienced. All I could do was scream for my mom, ask if she was okay. I never got a straight answer, but I already knew what had happened. I just didn't want to believe it."

Joel listened carefully, his and Ellie's conversation echoing in his mind:

"She's got some rough family stories."

"We all do."

"Not like hers."

She was only seventeen years old — he knew that from the beginning. But now that truly seemed to sink in as he looked at her, sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, huddled under his blanket like it was a coat of armor.

"You shouldn't have had to see that," he said. "No one should."

Y/n nodded in agreement. She knew that it wasn't fair. That none of this was fair. But that didn't change that it had happened, or that she'd have to carry it with her wherever she went. It never really got lighter — that was the thing. All the memories did was get harder and harder to hold.

Her glass expression shattered then as she turned to him, tears falling out of her eyes before she could stop them. "I'm trying so hard to hang on, Joel, I really am," she said, her voice finally breaking. She all but collapsed, leaning her head on his shoulder as hers began to shake with sobs.

It had taken Joel years not to see Sarah in every kid he met — but things always fell through the cracks. When he'd least expect it, a sudden laugh or sarcastic comment would take him back to Austin, back to his daughter, and for a moment he'd almost forget that she was gone.

This was one of those times.

"Oh, Y/n," Joel said quietly, wrapping an arm around her. This girl was not Sarah. No one would ever be Sarah. But right then, Joel was almost sure that she was the closest he was ever going to get at a second chance.

"I'm sorry I don't listen," Y/n said through tears. "I know I need to set a good example for Ellie, but if we lose you...I can't be sure I can get her to the Fireflies by myself. We need you. I..."

She stopped herself just short of saying I need you.

"Hey, it's alright. It's okay. You're not gonna lose me." Joel said. "And sometimes...sometimes you just can't listen. You can't take unnecessary risks, but sometimes the situation demands them. You have the sense to know when that is. The world needs more people like that. Like you.

"Don't even think about losing anyone, okay? You just can't. This whole thing, it's like walking on a tight rope. You look down, that's where you're going. So don't look down."

Y/n was coming back to her senses by now, her shoulders stilling and her tears coming to a steady stop. She nodded, wiping away at the last few stray tears and sitting up. "Don't look down," she repeated. "Is that why you're so grumpy all the time? Because you're always looking down?"

She sort of half-smiled in a way that reminded him so starkly of Sarah that he almost forgot to breathe. But he recovered, giving her a wry grin in return. "It's questions like that that make me want to throw you in a lake."

"Please, with your balance, you'd throw yourself in before anyone else."

[fandoms-x-reader]

Hii!! I’m so hyped to see you posting again!!

I’ve had this concept on my mind because I’ve processed there’s not a lot of platonic ships, clearly because obey me in general is very romance heavy. But I would love to see a fic with a teenage Mc! So the relationships just turn to kinship and mc just being a little siblings that the brothers just adore.

They’re still very kind, they use ‘please” and “thank you”, they do their homework, they’re respectful, but. They are also still a teen who was suddenly pulled away from their life, they most likely miss their friends, their parents, everything. So they have a bit of an attitude at times. And since Lucifer is practically the mother of the HOL, he probably gets a lot of it. And I think it would be just hilarious if Mc just spoke their mind when upset. Like for example, everyone’s eating breakfast, Mc may already be cranky, but then Lucifer turns and tells them “Mc you need to clean your bedroom after you get home from RAD today.” Already irritated at the demand they reply with a straight face, not looking up from their plate, “and you and Lord Diavolo need to kiss already but neither of those things are going to happen so let’s not talk about it at 6 am.” You know, creative sass, the type that makes someone dramatically spit out their drink and gasp because “did they seriously just say that???”

But everyone’s probably been sassed like this at least once, with mammon maybe there’s been moments where he’s trying to be an assertive older brother as per usual, but is only met with a “your whole thing is being a crow in a flesh suit. I really don’t want to listen to someone who would stop everything that’s happening in their life to pick up something shiny from off the ground.” Or even satan being smart about something and Mc ends up just going “ok, love you man, but I hardly remember the difference between a verb and a noun so I have no idea what the actual fck you are saying with your mouth and your face right now.” And they have probably started useless arguments with Lucifer once or twice, like, Lucifer is upset with them for calling lord diavolo ‘dude’, and the only thing that they can muster up through the confusion as to why they need to ALWAYS be formal with this fun loving guy, is “what else does the D in Diavolo stand for apart from Dude?”

So all in all it’s just a teenage Mc that can’t help but be blunt with their adoptive family when frustrated,

(Also sorry if you had already gotten a request from me with this same thing but different wording, my tumbler refreshed when writing and I have no idea if it sent you my rough draft of this😬✌️)

I love this idea! It's a concept that I don't see often so it'll be interesting to write the new take on their relationship. Thank you so much for requesting again and for always being so nice!

I'll add it to the list and work on it as soon as possible!

[sunpinktulip]

okay you said sent bkdk ideas & BET

1. The climax of she-ra w/ catra’s “dont you get it? I love you, i always have! So please, just this once, STAY!” speech and I actually can’t decide if it’s katsuki begging an unconscious deku to wake up or izuku begging an unconscious kacchan to wake up. But either way.

2. Bakusquad singing She’s In Love from the little mermaid stage show — again can’t decide if it’s about katsuki or deku (with the other one as flounder who is Most Upset about Ariel being in love w someone) (only this time it’s themself that is the love interest) (I have both sets of lyrics divided up and available upon request)

3. Say the Word from the mad ones (sorry yes I’m a theatre kid mb). That’s all. I’m tentatively working on an animatic but I can’t draw

4. Bksquad singing fixer upper from frozen. Bakugou is Kristoff & Deku is Anna obviously. I haven’t thought any further at all so just spitballing here but kirishima sven todoroki Elsa (obviously) aaaaand idk for hans. I feel like shindo yo would be the popular pick for a fake love interest?

5. Bakugou singing Granger Danger from a very potter musical.

6. Okay this is actually kiribaku but you by dodie, bkdk were fwb but deku caught feelings & bakugou starts dating kirishima

7. Atalanta (Greek myth) au — bk was raised by wolves/bears/dragons probably, then gets hunted by a king (mitsuki) who recognises him as his (her) son and takes him back to be prince. Tells him he has to get married, he says okay but Only someone who can beat me in a fight (in the myth it’s a foot race) and if they lose they die. Deku gets help from all might and wins (in the myth aphrodite gives the winner golden apples which distract atalanta, not sure how this would play out in this ver)

8. Howl’s Moving Castle au (book ver). Controversially, I have deku as howl, katsuki as Sophie & sentient OFA as calcifer. I can and Will back this up. (Kaminari as Martha/youngest sister who wants to marry rich and be a mom) & Uraraka as Lettie (middle sister who wants to be rich off her own hard work) (I actually have the whole cast planned out)

9. I’m currently writing a Carrie au. Deku is Carrie obvs. Katsuki is both Sue and Tommy, w Kiri coming in for some of Tommy’s advice giving moments. Decided Toga can be Chris and originally I had aged down!Dabi as Billy at a friend’s request but not 100% sure. Considered switching to mustard but like. We know nothing about him.

10. Barely fleshed out but I’ve seen a bunch of parallel universe swapping quirk fics where fantasy!bkdk or future!bkdk get swapped to the canon verse, including at least one w pregnant izuku and. Pregnant katsuki gets swapped to the canon verse because I think it’s WAY funnier

Okay I’m done now sorry

These were A LOT and as a uni student I don't have the time to do all/organise all in one post (but I will draw if more people insist on the asks (please submit your ideas separetly, it's a lot easier for my little pea brain)

BUT, i will give my piece about the songs, since I included them in my BKDK playlist

2. She's in Love - I see it as bkdk friends talking about Deku's (Ariel) clear crush while an oblivious Bakugou (Flounder) has barely been able to tell Izuku is in love and it's annoyed about it because he thinks it's not him (it is tho)

3. Say the Word - This is such a Katsuki-coded song about his feelings, it actually hurts me inside

4. Fixer Upper - Submitter's suggestion is good, BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED: Fantasy AU BKDK, where Kiri is the weredragon and Shouto is a prince and I would suggest Toga Himiko (my daughter) for Hans (would change some more of the story tbh, but that's the OG plan)

5. Granger Danger - COUNTERPOINT: Fem!BKDK in a ball, bkg is Draco, dk is Ron and they're talking about each other

6. What if She from Dodie but it's Izuku's POV cause he is enamoured by Katsuki buthas no clue what the other feels

Anyway, feel free to send more asks now !! I'll promise I'll get back to them, I just took a long break because of personal shit, but I'm back stronger than ever

[annonniiiiieeeee]

So I'm looking at your fics and I got an idea about Leo being an actual god

Like imagine Leo was sent to the world of the mortals to learn and find some followers he had a limited time set before he gets home and his first one is Usagi.

Throughout their interactions Leo is starting to stray away from getting more followers and wants to hang around the mortals and maybe fall in love after learning more about it thanks to Mifune or someone else

(This idea is still in beta)

Honestly

I love it.

I had the villagers start making up different myths and legends about Leo and people really like them.

Honestly the rise family being gods is such a fun concept to play with. The show really gave us a whole pantheon to play with

Splinter is obviously the head of the pantheon

Raph is the god of protection, strength, and warriors.

Leo is the god of strategy and travel

Donnie is the god of knowledge and inventions/technology

Mikey a the god of food and the harvest,

April is the goddess of truth and families (she sees both sides of New York and is always the one to call the brothers out)

Cassandra is the goddess of war and violence

Casey is the god of peace and victory

Draxum is the god of magic and plants (he’s the one responsible for the mutations or transformations of man into beast)

These are just some loose ideas.

You can also give Leo and Donnie a sun and moon theme. Maybe make Raph the god of animals. Maybe Leo gear love and beauty as well tiring back to the Eros myth.

I would love to hear other peoples ideas on their godly abilities.

But yes the idea of Leo and his brothers sneaking down to earth and disguising themselves (ninja treachery) is so fun.

And of course this is how Leo meets Usagi. Usagi a samurai that can slay man and beasts a brutal warrior that is also kind and good.

Leo falls hard.

Maybe it ends with them separated as god and mortal stories often do. Or maybe Usagi takes up a position in the pantheon as some mythologies allow hero’s to do.

I love this idea. Give me more ideas to play with or tell me y’all’s thoughts. I’d love more of this.

This is very much a beta idea. The pantheon needs to be fleshed out and many other pieces but it would be very fun. Please do more with this.

[pioneer-10]

Can I Exist?

@lackablazeical​‘s addams family au has a chokehold on me, so I wrote a fic about Usagi for it.

Content warnings: Unreliable narrator, cognitive dissonance, manipulation, [perceived] physical abuse, and gaslighting. Please let me know if I missed anything and I’ll add it as well.

His room is not how he left it. 

Usagi knows this because he’s checked the closet seven times now, and his kimono is just as missing from its place as it was the first time he looked. 

“No,” he murmurs to himself. “No no no nonono no, it can’t be.” 

Except it is. 

His last piece of his family, of his life before this never-ending nightmare that’s become his existence since, gone. Gone without a trace, without any idea of…

Usagi’s stomach twists as a cold chill of realization settles over his shoulders. He does know who stole the kimono, because there’s only one yokai that could…

Him. 

Leo. His stalker - no, his tormentor, who’s been messing with him for several months now - leaving notes in blood on his desk, sliding skin-crawling letters under his door, spray painting the entire building outside his window with horrifying declarations of his "love." Nobody else could have known about the kimono's importance - even Leo shouldn’t have known, but Usagi’s more or less gotten used to that bastard’s ability to find out about things he has no goddamn business knowing. 

It has to have been him.

Usagi’s running before he can stop himself, adrenaline turning his veins electric as he flings open his apartment door and bolts outside. Leo had written instructions on how to get to his home on the back of one of his many letters, instructions that Usagi had never in a million years thought he’d actually be following. 

But he is, because he can’t just lose that kimono, not after everything he’s been through. It’s the one thing he has left of home and goddammit, he won’t lose that too. He tries not to let his mind rest on the chilling thought of Leo stealing it from his room while he was asleep, either. 

The Hidden City's streets are as alive as ever, but Usagi hardly notices the crowded alleys or the smell of smoke as he winds his way towards the human world and what lies just beneath it.

The sewers.

His heart is pounding, and his throat feels like sandpaper by the time he finally reaches the sewer tunnels. The smell alone is nearly enough to make him turn back, nose turning up at the awful stench as he gingerly takes a step into the dank air. He’s never been up here before - it’s not safe being this close to the human realm, not to mention…well, everything about the sewers, really. Usagi hates everything about them already - the smell alone is enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin, and the fact that he didn’t think to bring a flashlight in his mad dash to the surface hasn’t helped matters at all. The shadows feel like they're watching him, and he can feel hidden eyes on his back with every step he takes.

A sound like a muffled shout echoes toward him, and Usagi freezes with a jolt of fear that briefly roots him in place. He doesn’t know that voice, and his mind screams danger danger danger when he forces himself to move again, pressing against the tunnel wall with a shaking breath. 

Of course Leo’s not alone up here, he thinks. Of course there’s more of them. Usagi slinks forward, even more cautious than before as he feels his way along the wall, listening to the shouting grow louder and louder…

He turns a corner, and the scene he finds himself witness to is one of the most horrifying things he’s seen since…

Since…

Kenichi’s screams echo in his head, and Usagi’s skull throbs like someone’s hitting it with a hammer as his back burns and burns and burns and his brother’s blood drips onto the cold stone floor before his eyes. The knife digs through flesh and then bone, and his brother's screams turn to whimpers as the blood flows more freely, and all Usagi can do is - 

Watch.

Three other turtle yokai are gathered around Leo, who’s been strung up by his arms like some kind of horrifying pinata as they take turns swinging at him with a metal bat. He’s unconscious, eyes closed and body limp as it swings from the ropes tying him to the ceiling. 

“It’s Raph’s turn!” the biggest of the three tears the bat away from the hands of the smallest, and before Usagi can stop himself he bolts forward. Leo’s sword is laying haphazardly on the ground and he reaches for it, grasping the handle and swiping it upwards in a single swift motion. 

“Get away from him!” The other yokai stumble back, blinking in surprise as Leo’s limp body drops to the ground - Usagi reaches out to catch him before the concrete can, mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. 

But there isn’t time to think, as the smallest of the brothers swings a fist at him with a snarled curse. Usagi lurches backward, struggling with Leo’s awkward weight in one arm as he lashes out with the sword he still grips in the other. To his surprise, he’s answered not by the howls of the yokai brothers, but by a whoosh of glowing blue. Usagi’s eyes go wide, and in a panic he stumbles through the open portal as the largest brother reaches after him. It snaps shut behind him with a pop, and then he’s…

Where is he?

It looks like he's back in the sewer tunnels somehow, and he's far enough away from Leo's brothers that he can't hear the echo of their voices anymore. Usagi sinks to his knees, tearing away the last of Leo’s bindings and carefully adjusting his hold on his shell as his head lolls against his chest. 

I did it, he thinks, equally horrified and proud as he carefully gets back to his feet. I saved him. I saved him. He half-expects Leo to snap his eyes open and laugh at him; tease him for being so gullible and funny - but he doesn’t, just as still as he’d been when Usagi first found him. 

And he hadn't even found his kimono…Usagi’s heart sinks as he begins making his way back to the Hidden City, stopping every so often to readjust his grip on Leo. Maybe that was why Leo had stolen it, he reasons with himself - maybe he was the way he was because his brothers were so horrible to him that he knew nothing else. Maybe, if he could get him away from that, maybe…

Maybe he wasn’t a monster, not really, not beneath the surface. Maybe Usagi could help him, maybe he could fix this and do something good, something right. He’d already failed his own family, but maybe…maybe this could make up for it, in some small way. 

Maybe helping Leo could make the pain of leaving his family hurt a little less, a part of him thinks, desperately.  Maybe he can prove to himself that he isn’t completely useless after all if he can help someone, anyone, even…

Even him. 

His mind is made up. Usagi is careful to support the turtle’s head as he carries him back through the Hidden City, ignoring the stares he gets from other Yokai and the kaleidoscope of neon assaulting him from all directions. He’ll have to take the next couple of days off work, he thinks tiredly, as his apartment building reveals itself in the smoke. He'll have to make sure Leo is okay after…

After…

Usagi remembers the sound of the bat hitting his plastron and shudders. How long had Leo been strung up like that? Why were his brothers hurting him? Did it have something to do with his kimono, somehow? Had they made him steal it?

Usagi has far too many questions, and not nearly enough answers. 

His apartment is exactly how he left it when he returns, and Usagi hates that he can’t stop himself from checking everything anyways, from the items on his nightstand to the drawers in his kitchen just in case something moved even though Leo’s right here, there’s no way he could’ve possibly done anything while he was gone - 

He carefully lays Leo down on the small sofa in his living room, locating a soft blanket to cover him with so he doesn’t get too cold. He feels on edge even though the turtle is still clearly unconscious, as if he could at any second jump up and make his life hell all over again.

And what if he does? a terrified part of him asks. Usagi stands in silence for a long time, staring in silence at the stalker-reduced-to-

Reduced to what? A victim? A reasonable person twisted into unrecognizability by circumstance? 

Usagi hesitates, then takes a seat on the chair across from Leo. 

It’s going to be a long night.