#you're nothing but a silent catastrophe

[writingjourney]

Better Than Your Hands | Terzo x f!Reader

You try not to wake your Papa when you come home but he's ever so perceptive as to what you're up to.

Content: 1.1k words, f!reader, smut (mild dom!terzo, caught masturbating, biting, teasing, p in v, light manhandling, unprotected, coming inside) 18+, MDNI

In a shocking twist of events I wrote my first Terzo smut, more as a practice than to share it but I was convinced by my friends. This is for @leezlelatch ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The room is draped in deep shadows. A sliver of pale moonlight falls onto the sleeping man’s face, bare and soft without the edges of his paints, framed by his unkempt raven hair with silver streaks. He looks so peaceful like this, the reading glasses and his book safely resting on the nightstand. He sleeps in the same pose as always – on his back with one hand spread in the direction of your pillow. Only tonight his arms have nothing to curl around. 

For a moment you wish you would have come home earlier to see him reading. To have him read to you in Italian like most nights with your head on his pillowy chest. You have settled into a slower life these days and yet it is rare to see him so utterly relaxed. You’ve been wanting him all day, needing him, craving him, but you cannot bring yourself to wake him up so selfishly. 

Instead you tiptoe to the bathroom, tiptoe to your closet to find one of his shirts and then tiptoe over to your bed. You’re tired when you soundlessly slip beneath the blankets, exhausted after working so late tonight. You could fall asleep instantly, follow him into this peaceful state, if it weren’t for the persistent throbbing between your thighs.

You roll to your side, facing away from the sleeping man next to you. Your hand slides down your body, no time for gentle caresses as you shove it underneath the waistband of your panties. A soft sigh leaves your lips when you feel the wetness between your legs and you run your fingers through your folds, teasing your clit with every motion. As the friction finally provides some relief, your head falls back into the pillow. You start to rub slow but intense circles, heat slowly spreading in your body. It’s quick and messy but you think you can–

The mattress dips beneath you, a silent, unexpected quake that brings you to a stop as you try to make out any sounds that indicate whether he woke up or not. Before you can turn around a hand much broader than your own slides between your legs, cupping your own, and the strong forearm it’s attached to keeps you still.

“What do you think you are doing here, bella?” he purrs.

You shift uncomfortably, your cheeks heating up. “You were asleep when I got home.”

“Amore, you know you can always wake your Papa when you need him, eh?”

His second arm snakes underneath your body like a serpent, a firm hand spreading over your belly before he pulls you across the mattress and flush against him. One knee pushes between your legs until his thigh is pressed tightly against your wet cunt.

“Do you think I could ever be too tired to fuck you?” he asks. 

Encased by his warm body with his voice deep and his breath hot against your ear the only sound you can produce is a moan. Terzo pulls at your panties, pushing them down to your knees until he can line himself up from behind. His cock is already hard, like the mere sight of you pleasing yourself was enough to have him ready for you.

“Oh amore, not even the most vicious storm could keep me from you.” He pushes inside with a grunt, the tip of his cock sliding along your inner walls just so. “N-not even the most biblical of catastrophes.” Another inch, a slow, shallow roll of his hips. “No flood, no thunder, n-no hurricane.” He pulls back, then fills you up with one sharp thrust. “Not even Death himself.”

You keen, uselessly grabbing at the sheets. Terzo’s hand shoots up to grab your chin, angling it towards his mouth.

“Do you understand?” 

You nod as best as you can. His fingers dig into your jaw a little more tightly to keep it still. Words. “Yes, Papa.”

A soft kiss to your cheek. “Brava ragazza. Now I will show you what you almost missed.”

He rolls his hips again, letting go of your head to grab your thigh and use it for leverage. His pace picks up as he begins to fuck you, deep and precise thrusts that fill your whole body with pleasure. His own grunts echo in the quiet around you, intermingling with your desperate moans and whimpers.

“Did you think of me all day, bella?” he teases, slowing down as he rubs his nose along your shoulders. “Were you so desperate to have me that you couldn’t go to sleep without touching that sweet little pussy?”

You nod desperately, so fast your head bumps against his jaw.

“Words,” Terzo warns. “Tell your Papa how much you wanted him.”

“I wanted you all day,” you admit, squirming in his hold. “Thought about you in every meeting, even the one with Sister.”

You can feel him grinning against your shoulder blade before he gently bites the tender skin above. Still, he isn’t moving any faster, only gives you these slow, languid thrusts that drive you wild. Impatiently, you push back against him, fucking yourself against his cock, and his initial moan quickly turns into a distorted growl. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your hips before he loses his patience. With one swift roll he has you on your belly, teeth still stuck in your shoulder as he drives himself into you from behind again and again. Your cries are muffled by the pillow and the new angle brings you close to the edge within seconds. You can feel him so deep inside of you, his whole body weighing you down until all you can focus on is the heat in your lower belly. 

Terzo pushes his hand back between your bodies, leaning heavily on his other arm, and he hardly grazes your clit before you spasm around him. He groans when he feels you tightening, the orgasm a heavy crash of pleasure and relief. Terzo’s rhythm falters when he follows you, rolling his hips a few more times until he curses under his breath and eventually stills. His hair falls into his face until you can feel it tickling the skin of your neck and shoulder, all while his cock empties inside of you.

With two more lazy thrusts he prolongs both of your pleasure, fucking his come deeper into you while your body goes limp underneath him. He inhales sharply, humming against your ear before he pulls you both back onto your sides. His lips leave a soft trail of kisses over the bite on your shoulder, then up your neck until he can reach your jaw.

“Better than your hands, amore, hm?” he teases as his arms wrap tightly around you again.

You lean into his embrace, content and happy. “So much better.”

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[sant-riley]

Uhhh brain wracking brain wracking-

Imagine S/O surprising Ghost with their strength by picking him up and perhaps spinning him around

They insist that he's as light as a feather. They're visibly struggling while holding him up

Thank you anon for the food, I haven't written anything in AGES I'm sorry if I'm rusty but fuck it we ball, gonna do these as bullet points!

Warnings; nothing I can think of! But as always, lmk!

(Literally me and Simon)

Trying and somewhat achieving in picking up Simon!

The first time you bring it up, asking if you can attempt it, Simon looks at you like you're fucking stupid.

He's a big dude, bigger than most and will almost always be the biggest person in the room, he's built like a fucking mountain.

You throwing him pretty eyes and begging for his permission isn't gonna change the fact that you're smaller than him, you'll hurt yourself, he knows you will, so he says no.

This does nothing to ward you off, only fueling you to want to work out and gain upper arm and body strength to prove him wrong out of spite.

He'll ask Soap where you've been in the last few weeks,, noticing your slight absence when training hours are over, nowhere to be found an hour or so afterwards.

Soap only chuckles and throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the gym where the creaks of the workout gear can be heard still.

"They're still workin' wouldn't tell me why though."

Simon makes his way towards the gym, leaning on the doorway as he sees you huff and puff as you do sets of bicep curls.

He can't help but a small smirk run under his mask, you're so committed to this. It's so stupid, but he can't deny it makes him happy.

No one can just pick the man up, takes Price, Gaz and Soap usually to keep up right and that's with his arms thrown around their shoulders.

He still doubts you'll be able to, but he's flattered. You're trying (asshole)

Simon creeps silently to you, waiting til you set down the weights before whispering out a "boo", his shit eating grin when you yelp and whirl around, wide eyes staring oh so prettily up at him.

"What the fuck! Why would you do that?" "It's funny." "It is fucking not." "Mmm, sure is."

He moves to ruffle your hair, ignoring your hand swatting at his own.

"Why are you here afterhours? You're missing chunks of your dinner." He knows why, he just wants to hear you admit it.

"Is it a crime to work out some more? To stay in top shape for our job?" The eyebrow he raises is catastrophic, immediately calling you the fuck out without any words.

"Okay, fine. I've been working out so I can prove to you I can pick you up."

At this point, he figures he can humor you, you've been trying so hard.

"Y'know what? Why the hell not, cmon, try and lift me."

"Are you fucking with me or-" "hurry up before I change my mind." "Aye Aye sir."

He stands in front of you, arms loosely at his side, head tilted to the right as he watches you get into form.

The key to lift with your legs, the strength in them far outweighing anything else, wrapping your arms across his stomach (a feeling of electricity jumps up his spine at your touch, he hopes you don't notice.)

You take a deep breath, nuzzling your head into his chest and try your fucking damndest to lift this behemoth of a man up and to your and Simon's surprise, you DO manage to lift him up, at least an inch of the ground before your legs buckle and you shakily place him down.

A whoop leaves your mouth, jumping up and down as you giggle about lifting Ghost, "I did it! You weren't that heavy at all!" Simon can literally see the sweat on your brow, but he just rumbles out a laugh and moves to plant a masked kiss on your temple, congratulating you on your win over him.

You run out into the base, no doubt going to tell the others about your feat.

He sighs a gross lovesick sigh, and moves to grab your gym bag from the bench and follow after you.

[pedropascallme]

OH GIVE US SOME JEALOUS JIM!

Think He’d Do What I’ve Done?

Pairing: jealous!Jim x f!Reader

Summary: "He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what the two of you had was nothing short of intense, something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment surrounded by these people while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, creampie, cum play, praise kink, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics (dom!Jim x sub!Reader) (listen Jim FUCKS I do not make the rules), if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Your wish is my command! Sorry that this took so long, but good lord I had fun writing it. I will always be a slut for dom!possessive!Jim it's not even funny.

Jim was indebted to the people that surrounded him in the house he stood in; Hannah’s family, however distant they may be, had made an amazing effort to ensure you all had a fresh start in America. The cousins and aunts and uncles and whomever that stood around the living room, sharing well wishes and anecdotes, who had provided housing and employment opportunities, were all so kind. So he didn’t like the voice in the back of his head that told him otherwise when he looked over at you.

One of Hannah’s cousins had an arm around you while you admired the different pictures sitting on the mantle. Jim watched you laugh at whatever remark he was making and scoffed, disillusioned by the way your eyes shined up at the man when you spoke to him.

He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what he had with you was nothing short of intense; something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of humiliation surrounded by these people who bordered strangers while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him. After all that, it seemed as though every time you found yourself in a room with these relatives, this cousin found his way to you, and you to him. It had Jim silently fuming.

Jim left the gathering early, only muttering a goodbye to Hannah, who, for what it’s worth, rolled her eyes at his obvious melancholy.

“You’re not waiting for her?” In true fourteen-going-on-forty nature, Hannah pried.

Jim mumbled a noise of rejection, padding out of the house and heading for the apartment he shared with you.

~~~

“You left early!” You walked back into the apartment you shared with Jim, jokingly accosting him the moment you crossed the threshold. Jim didn’t look up from his spot on the couch, flicking through the TV channels and bouncing his leg.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.” He was dry, and you felt your heart somersault at his cadence—he felt his do the same. He knew he was acting like a child, but he didn’t know how to confront what in his mind was an issue.

“Course I noticed,” you shook off your jacket, dropping it on the coffee table in front of him, “you alright?” Jim shrugged, and you sat down on the couch next to him. You watched him continue to browse TV channels.

“Hannah’s cousin likes you.” It was blurted and came out as more of a shout than a statement; it caught you both off guard.

“No he doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say which one.” Jim was brooding, upset that you were further proving his point without even trying. He shut off the television and set the remote down next to your jacket on the table.

“You—you didn’t have to, I know who you're talking about,” you looked at your hands, folded on your lap, “but he doesn’t.”

“Do you like him?” Jim followed your line of sight, looking down at your hands. He felt a knot forming in his stomach; the concept of such strong feelings that had nothing to do with the need to survive made him anxious.

“Jim…” You looked up at him, brows knit and lips curving up at the edges, “are you jealous?”

“N—” he tried to protest before you cut him off.

“You are.” You grinned, and he could see the devious glint in your eye. “You think I want him.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“It was implied.” You crossed your arms, somewhat offended that he could think you would be able to look at any man the way you looked at him, but pleased by his possessive nature.

Jim reached around you and rubbed up and down the back of your neck, and you playfully turned your head away from him, hoping he would put in the work for whatever answer he wanted. When you moved your body away from his, you felt the hand resting on the back of your neck stop moving, taking hold of you in a gentle, haughty manner.

“Look at me,” he asked nicely, and so you did, “think he’d do what I’ve done?”

You smiled, enjoying the way he responded to your teasing, “I don’t know. Maybe.” You batted your lashes and Jim pouted. “Depends on what you think you’ve done.” You felt the hand he had on your neck tighten, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Think he’d kill for you?” The air felt thick around you, and you remembered how much you enjoyed Jim’s more domineering moments.

“No.” You whispered, tilting your head up in the hopes that he would give in.

“Do so much for you, don’t I?” He smiled, and you saw the Jim you fell in love with shine out from under the dominant exterior he had fashioned for himself tonight.

“Show me what you do for me.” Your pleading was acknowledged in seconds when Jim grabbed you by the waist and helped you find the proper footing to straddle him. You moaned into his mouth, and he made quick work of the top you were wearing, throwing it blindly onto the floor. You ground your hips down into his, and you could feel the gentle friction of his growing erection against your clothed core. The kisses were messy, teeth clacking gently against each other as you licked his tongue. You pulled away from Jim, who moved down to your neck and chest, marking you with love bites and licking gently at your pulse points. You pushed him back onto the couch, wordlessly lowering yourself to your knees and beginning to undo his zipper.

“Baby…” He smiled down at you, head resting on his arms as he leaned back into the cushion of the couch. He helped you remove his cock from the confines of his jeans, stroking himself. “Open.”

You opened your mouth wide, happy to let him take control, to prove that you were his and his alone. He watched as you placed a kiss on the head of his cock, taking his length in your hands and shooing his own hand, still loosely holding the base of himself, away. You moved your wrist up and down, steadily taking more of him in your mouth as you did, using the spit that dribbled down his shaft to lubricate the motion of your hand. Jim let out a breathy chuckle when you managed to fit most of him down your throat, running his fingers through your hair and pulling stray strands out of your face.

“God—yeah, like that.” His jaw was slack while he analyzed every move you made. “Just like that, sweetheart.” You tried to smile with his cock in your mouth, getting another huffed laugh from him, before you returned to your prior movements. You licked the tip of his cock in a circular motion, pumping up and down with your hand, before attempting to take as much as you could into your mouth. You repeated these gestures to Jim’s delight.

“Fuck, so good—fuck, that’s it, oh my god, baby.” He tugged on your hair in a half-hearted effort to remove you from his cock, but you allowed yourself a few more bobs up and down before listening to the message he was sending.

Jim cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb wandering over your swollen, saliva coated lips. “So good for me.”

“All for you.” You found a steady rhythm for your breathing.

“That’s right.” He pulled you in for a kiss, letting the spit on your face cover his own mouth and chin. “Do you like sucking me off, baby?” You nodded, eyes hooded and pupils blown out; you wanted to tell him that you could go down on him for hours, but the words wouldn’t come out, head too clouded with need. “Want me to show you more? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?” It was rare that Jim became this controlling, but you felt it go to your cunt every time he did. You nodded again, and Jim stood up, removing what remained of his clothes—and of yours—before easing you onto the couch and moving your legs to rest on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you.

“Say please.” Jim kissed your inner thigh.

You might’ve rolled your eyes under different circumstances, but something about his tone and the way he nipped at your leg turned you into the picture of obedience. “Please, Jim…”

“Please what?” He grinned, perfectly aware of how torturous his treatment was.

“Please,” you were getting impatient, and he knew it, you could see in his eyes how much he relished watching you squirm, “please fuck me, Jim—touch me, please, please.”

His smile turned into something more sinister when he heard you beg, and it was only then that he dove into you. You felt his tongue make contact with your clit and you yelped, the sudden and intense feeling making you jump under his hold on you. He tightened his grip on your legs, holding them firm against his shoulders so that your thighs all but engulfed his head. You could feel the vibrations of his moans travel through your body, and you wriggled underneath him when his tongue broke past your entrance and he licked gently into you. You couldn’t tell what was his spit and what was your wet, everything seemingly running together—and you didn’t really care, either. He suckled on your clit and teased a finger into you, looking at you intently while you came undone for him.

“Think he could do it better?” He moaned into your core, and you were broken out of your haze mostly by the shock that he still had the time to be jealous while he was buried between your legs —though not dissatisfied by the way he managed to show you who you belonged to while forcing you to acknowledge it.

“N—o!” You squeaked at him when his finger hit your sweet spot.

“Think anyone could do it better than me?” He continued to hound you between licks over your bud, fingers rubbing gently across the spongy spot inside of you.

“N—just—fuck, just you! Only you, Jim, only you.” You moaned, pleasing him immensely and motivating him to press down just a bit more on your g-spot while he sucked harder on your clit. Your legs, weak with gratification, shook in their spot on his shoulders, and you felt the fire that had started in your stomach spread across your body. He continued to lick stripes up and down your clit, finger still curling inside you while you rode out your climax.

“That’s right,” Jim kissed your dripping hole, noticing the way you flinched when his breath fanned the now sensitive area, “only me. All for me”

You moaned a pitiful confirmation, and he stood up. He rearranged you so that you were lying properly on the couch, head propped up by a pillow next to the cushioned arm.

“Gonna let me show you more, now, yeah?” You trailed a hand down his stomach, looking up at him from your spot underneath him as he straddled your legs. “Wanna let me fuck you into the couch?” You sighed dreamily, nodding with enthusiasm. “So good f’me.” He lined himself up with your entrance, continuing to whisper praises down at you, before pushing his cock into your desperate cunt little by little.

“Fuck, Jim!” You couldn’t help the expletive; no matter how many times he fucked you there was still so much joy in the way he filled you up to the very brim.

“Good, yeah? Feels good, sweetheart?” He bent forward and pushed your legs up more to allow him to fit deeper inside your cunt.

You whined, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he pressed his cock into you. You felt him bottom out, and he brushed his fingers over your cheek, kissing you gently across the face.

“Want—will you—will you fuck me?” You encouraged him, wanting—needing—him to move, to let you enjoy the way he pumped in and out of your pussy.

“You want me to move, baby?” He cooed, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, “Want me to fuck you nice?”

“Please!”

“Say it, then. Say my fucking name.” His breathing was labored, a product of the effort it was taking to hold himself back.

“Please, Jim, I need you to fuck me, I need it, Jim—I need it!” You felt like crying, the way he filled you up and mocked you was entirely too pleasurable. Hearing you beg as if you were on the verge of tears was all he needed, and he pulled out until the tip of his cock was just barely kissing your hole, before he thrusted deep and rough back into you. You cried out, feeling the friction from the way your back rubbed against the couch with each of his hard thrusts into you, and the way his hips rubbed against your own with every move.

“God, fuck,” Jim watched the way your eyes rolled back after a particularly deep plunge into you, “gonna fuck you like I own you.”

“Y—oh! You do—Jim! You do!” You were so far into your own pleasure, you weren’t even sure if the words had come out properly or if they had been reduced to gibberish between the time it took for them to travel from your brain to your mouth. But when you heard him growl in your ear you knew he had heard you, and it registered to you both what you had said.

“Yeah?” His voice was laced with care but was so outwardly assertive, “yeah, I own this fucking pussy.” He raised your legs to rest them on his shoulders as they had when he’d eaten you out, and he used them now as leverage to bend you backwards so his cock was seated as far as your body would allow him. His name fell from your lips continuously as he pounded into you with seemingly no regard; he managed to pick up the pace slightly and your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the sensation of being used to the fullest extent and absolutely loving that you had this effect on Jim.

“Gonna fucking cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly in sync with his thrusts, “tell me—tell me how you want it, sweetheart, tell me.”

You didn’t respond fast enough to satisfy him, and you whimpered when his hand came down to smack your clit, then gasped at the way he soothed you by rubbing tight circles on the bud.

“Tell me.” He grunted.

“Want—Jim!—please, please, want you to cum in me! Please—please, Jim, need—need it inside.” Your back arched up in response to his ministrations, and his hand that wasn’t massaging your clit came up to squeeze your leg to his cheek.

“Fucking—oh, hell, gimme one more, baby, please.” The mask of dominance slipped slightly when Jim began to beg for you to cum one more time, “cum on my cock, baby, I’ll give you what you need—all for you, fuck!—good girl, my good girl…” He placed kisses onto your calf, still holding it over his shoulder while he fucked you stupid. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you, every vein catching against your walls and the fat head of his cock nudging the spots that you could never reach on your own. He felt velvety inside you, and the way he spoke only heightened your pleasure, the promise of feeling him fill you up with his cum only spurring you on further to reach your peak.

“Ji—I—fuck!” You choked out a string of profanities, punctuating each with a gasp of his name as you came for him. He smiled into your leg, turning to look down at your face to watch your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open while you came on his length. He felt the way you clenched around him and the sheen that your cum added to his cock, his own head lolling back as he felt himself fall over the edge.

Still squirming under him, overcome with the strength of your second orgasm and the way he continued to use your spent cunt, you felt him paint your insides with his load. He moaned out your name, still shallowly thrusting in and out of you, admiring how your pussy milked him for every last drop he had to offer you. You whined, needy and messy and fucked out, and he gave your clit a final few swipes with his thumb, smirking sadistically at the way you cried out at the overstimulation. Jim began to pull out of you slowly, eyes glued to your hole to observe how the mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you and down over the curve of your ass, dripping over your asshole and thighs. He leaned down, pulling your legs open to lick and kiss at the mess the two of you had made.

“Jim!” You squeezed your legs together, thighs pressing against his ears. He came up from between your legs, licking his lips, before he brought himself up to your face to kiss you softly. You wrapped your arms around him, and you could feel the pressure of his chest against yours as he rested his weight onto you.

“Too much?” He whispered after a while of heavy breathing and fingertips tracing over one another.

“No…perfect.” You squeezed him closer to your body, lips grazing his ear. “You’re right, y’do so much for me.”

Jim laughed against you, and you shook with his chest, “I do two things for you—kill and cum.”

“Hope you only have to do one of those things from now on.”

“I plan on it,” he smiled, then deadpanned; “you mean cum, right?” You pushed him away playfully and he laughed. Scooping you up into his arms, he let you rest yourself against him, letting the liquid seeping out between your legs trickle down onto him. He hugged you to his chest, eyes suddenly heavy and body light with satisfaction. “I’d do anything for you.” He whispered, breath fanning the top of your head.

You pawed at his chest, eyes closed. “I know you would. Feeling is mutual.” He cradled your head in his hands, “He doesn’t like me—Hannah’s cousin—he doesn’t. He’s married. You’ve met his husband.”

Jim felt you smile into his skin, and he felt himself go red, embarrassed that he hadn’t made the connection, but too blissed out and used up to backtrack and claim he had known all along. “I love you,” he chuckled, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” You looked up at him, cozy and content with your position on his lap, “would’ve said something earlier, but I like when you get possessive.”

“Thanks for letting me prove a point.” He rubbed your back, head falling against the couch cushion behind him.

“Always happy to help.”

[bunny-dr34ms]

'i missed you. i've always missed you.' ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡

- g. satoru x f!reader

summary. satoru is away on a mission and you realize you can never get your mind off of him whenever he leaves...maybe it's time to do something about that w.c.1668

cw/ tw; fem!reader, satoru is just satoru, angst, confessions, i'm not sure what else ;;;

features; g.satoru, mentions g.suguru, f.megumi, f.toji

an; im having a writing session listening to the soundtrack of riko in the aquarium. it's so bittersweet :( comments, reblogs, and hearts are much appreciated<3

Gojo Satoru is the strongest. This is a fact that's accepted by everyone in the jujutsu world. Week long missions is a day's work for a man like him. He is a man more god than human. He is the strongest. So why? Why is it that you are here on Jujutsu Tech's grounds on a day off? Why are you here worrying thinking doubting him, again? On your walk here, you kept reminding yourself that it's more likely that Satoru would stall on the mission to look for souvenirs and snacks than get a scratch. But even so, you needed to keep reminding yourself that Satoru is the strongest. And it's never enough and you always wind up on the same staircase waiting for him to come back. Gojo Satoru is the strongest but through your eyes he's just Satoru.

Satoru, your good friend from high school. Satoru, who always puts others before himself. Satoru, who has to stabilize the ground and hold up the sky on his own.

Satoru, whose gaze is lonely and lingering when no one is watching.

You wish you could help hold his burden. It must be heavy on his shoulders. With all that strength, he still bears it on mortal shoulders. He still has a human heart and human emotions. Satoru, as godlike as he is, is still human. On days he looks tired, you offer to take a mission but he says the same thing every time. "Aw ya worried or something? Whatcha worrying for? I'm the strongest after all!" And you hate it. You hate it when he says that--though it's more like you hate how the elders use Satoru like a tool. They work him to the bone and they think that's how it's supposed to be. There's always missions for him because ‘other people can't do it as efficiently' or it's tasks impossible for anyone but Satoru. Every time, Satoru takes the mission because he rather himself than another colleague. All that while chasing his dream to rebuild the jujutsu world through education and the new generation.

The thought of it makes you want to storm up to the elders and scream at them because why. Why him? Why just him? Satoru in your eyes is still too human, too mortal, too close to your heart, to be always fighting alone. Maybe you're paranoid after seeing all the signs in Suguru but not doing anything about it. That's what you tell yourself. But really, isn't it a bit much to wait on the stairs in front of his office, feeling around for his presence entering school grounds? For how long will you continue to lie to yourself that feelings will pass and just resorting to silently standing by him?

Ever since you laid eyes on this man--back when he was just a boy--you found your heart racing when he was near. The sound of his voice teasing you made you blush, the way he fights with a cocky grin, and his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were bright and blue and perfect. No one dared to stare in his eyes for too long but you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. They pulled you in and made you look past his strength to search for his vulnerabilities. There you found that he wanted nothing more than to protect those around him with the strength given to him by the heavens, even at his own expense. Since then, you were only able to love him deeper and then some more. When the catastrophe that was the mission to transport Riko--you didn't like to call her Star Plasma Vessel because she really was so much more than that--you saw how Satoru slowly pushed every one away. He became so much stronger that now he could shoulder the duty of each mission alone. Since then, you saw how Satoru began to take on more and more and more. It started with him taking in the son of the man that sent the mission into absolute chaos--Fushiguro Megumi. The little boy was a striking image of his father and to this day sometimes you see him and see the other, more traumatic Fushiguro. He started taking on new students and new missions and challenging the elders. He did it all in hope that he can nurture a new generation stronger than himself, strong enough to rewrite the jujutsu world. Ever since Suguru left and Shoko isolating to focus on her technique, it was just you and Satoru. How could you resist him when he's now so much more mature in ideals and how his eyes would sparkle when he tells you about the world he's working hard to achieve and how his students are becoming stronger each day to you. You couldn't. "I'll only add to his burden", you say to Shoko when she asks. You'd blush while you shake your head at her but you're genuine. You would hate to add to his worries. "It's okay Shoko. Just being by his side is enough." The sound of the door opening behind you makes you jump and you scramble to your feet to look behind you. Oh. It's Satoru. He has been in his office all this time. He's still in his Jujutsu Tech uniform but his blindfold has been opted out for sunglasses. He closes the door behind him and walks to you, standing so close that you can see his confused expression even in the night. "Y/n? What're you doing here? Don't ya have the day off?" Your eyes are round and blank as you stared at him. What are you supposed to say--I was waiting for you? I happened to pass by? I worried about you? I missed yo- "You missed me didn'tcha." Satoru breaks the silence created by you scurrying in your brain to find the right answer. This was nothing new and actually was a typical Gojo Satoru answer. However. Your thoughts were already swirling in your head. Your heart was already hammering in your chest. He was already grinning while he peered down at you through his sunglasses. You were already way too in love with him to let typical Gojo Satoru teases pass as a joke. Maybe other days your resolve was stronger and you'd roll your eyes and snap at him. Tonight was just too overwhelming for your heart and before you knew it, you were nodding. Your lips parted as you looked up at him with wide eyes that searched for his bright ones. Then softly, you whispered the words Satoru thought he could only dream of hearing.

"I did. I missed you. I've always missed you."

Satoru would be a liar if he said he didn't love you. He's loved you ever since you practically held his hand and rejuvenated him when Suguru first left. He knew it affected you badly too but nevertheless you checked up on him every day and night. He had mental time stamps of each time he pummeled deeper in love.

When you offered to help him take care of Megumi. When you helped him with his first batch of students. When you moved stood in favor for him against the elders. When you cried for him and cheered for him and laughed with him. And he notices when you're waiting for him to come back from each mission. Suddenly, he was so in love with you that he didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want you to have to carry even the smallest of his burdens and he didn't want you to be targeted. More than anything, he wanted you safe.

But now in this moment he thinks that his strength was given to him for a reason. It's to protect his loved ones right? Won't you be even more protected if you were his? He thinks yes. So his arms are already around you before you could truly process what you said. His body curved over yours as he held you closer to him. The two of you stood there silently save for the breathing and other nighty sounds of the wind. Satoru is..hugging you..right now. He is hugging you right now. Again you're searching for things to say but the words seemed to melt from your brain each time he pulled you closer. His body was warm around yours and even with no apparent danger around, you felt comfortably safe. Your arms found their way around him and you closed your eyes. All the feelings that were suppressed, all the words left unsaid found it's way back to the both of you. Satoru smiles now he's given time to think. You must've been waiting for him to come back from the mission. You thought he'd come back late at night so you didn't know he's been back and in his office since 3 hours before you arrived. You were worried about him and the thought alone warms his heart. He thinks you're adorable and so lovely. The cuteness aggression overtakes him and you're suddenly in the air as he pulls you up into a tight hug. "Wait- Satoru!?" You squeal as he squeezes you again tightly before setting you down next to him. Satoru thinks you're beautiful like this with a blush across your cheeks and the moonlight gracing your skin. He bends down and his sunglasses slide down his nose. Your eyes meet his your breath hitches. They're so different from just watching from afar but they're still so pretty. He notices your intense stare and smirks. In turn, you see his cocky smile and you pout a little. Was he going to make fun of you now? It'd be so Satoru if he did. To your surprise, he leans forward and kisses you. It was a short and sweet kiss and you were barely given the time to return it. When he pulls away, he tucks your hair behind your ears and smiles again. It's soft and gentle. The wind lulls into a soft breeze and the cicadas quiet down for this moment. Satoru breathes out words you didn't know you were holding your breath for. "I missed you too."

[yanderend]

All Yandere's reactions to you giving them the silent treatment!

Requested by an anon

— The Detective

Charlie is a rather cold-hearted yandere, if he upset you, he wouldn't care too much.

That being said, he wasn't actually aware he upset you this time— after all, you've never reacted like this before.

He's almost happy about it, getting to see a new reaction out of you. Interesting as always.

'Two can play at that game,' is his thought process, not talking to you or paying you much mind outside of his usual stalking activities.

The Detective really didn't expect you to keep ignoring him for this long, but now it's been a week, and his irritation is starting to show.

His work focus is starting to wane, which is rare for him, but his brain is taken up by intrusive thoughts of worry. He's fine with you being petty for now— but what if you never talk to him again?

What if you try to talk to someone else?!

No, Charlie couldn't handle all his work on you being undone. He'll have to do something.

You find yourself cornered in your home, his arms by your sides as he glares you up and down.

'What do I need to do for you to acknowledge me again, huh?'

You try to move your head away, but he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look at him.

'Just... I just want you to apologise,' you tell him.

'Fine.' He bites his tongue and swallows his pride, refusing to meet your eye. 'I'm sorry. Are you going to talk to me, now?'

'Are you going to let go of me?'

'Youre pushing your luck, sweetie.'

— The Childhood Friend

· She's completely paranoid from the second you start not answering her questions.

This is out of character for you, you wouldn't do this to the one person who's looking out for you, would you?

Eli knows her questioning can be invasive, but whatever hit a nerve with you was only essential knowledge for her! She couldn't live with herself if someone else knew something she didn't— but she's also struggling with the guilt she feels over pushing you on it.

'There's nothing to worry about, okay? There's nobody listening, so just talk to me, already!' She'll plead endlessly.

She doesn't want to blame herself— that would mean she's a bad friend, a bad lover! No, no, it has to be someone elses fault.

So that's what The Childhood Friend leads with, and goes out of her way to construct a fake narrative where someone is clearly manipulating you into not talking to her.

How could she have been so foolish as to let this happen? I guess that means she'll have to keep you on an even tighter leash, for now.

It's all for your protection, of course! No-one should treat you so awfully and lie about your best friend ever again...

'I'm sorry for this, love, but you understand how it is. After all we've been through, you shouldn't just go ignoring me for so long.'

— The Worshipper

At first, it takes a while for him to notice you're trying to give him the silent treatment. It's normal for him to not talk to you for a few days, and just watch from the shadows. He understands that you're a busy person...

It's when he actually makes an attempt at talking to you, and isn't met with the usual chipper response, his world immediately falls apart.

The Worshipper never thought he'd experience heartbreak this catastrophic— all he can think of to justify you not talking to him is that he's being punished by some higher force.

You're his everything, and now you're being taken away from his watchful eye. It's as if his life is crumbling around him.

All those times he told you he loved you, over and over and over, and like his anxieties told him, it was not enough to keep you.

(In reality, you just needed a short break from his advances, but your lack of clarification made him immediately assume that you never wanted to see him again.)

So he makes himself scarce— if his darling doesn't want to see him, he simply won't be seen! Whether that means confining himself to complete solitude, or keeping an even further distance and keeping himself from looking directly at you.

The only way to get him to stop avoiding you is to seek him out, and have a long talk about it all.

The majority of his side will be apologies, and asking how he can repent for acting so overzealous with you— but it's a conversation nonetheless.

— The Queen Bee

• The Queen Bee's starting to regret letting you into her friend group— sure, it may have been an efficient way of raising your status, but now you have people to talk to when you're avoiding her!

'That's just not right at all,' Anya thinks, 'I'm flawless! Even if I slipped up on something, I always make sure to make it charming...'

Above all else, the silent treatment makes her frustrated. Nobody's ever been able to keep it up for long, not her parents, not her friends, nobody! So why were you heing so difficult?

There's no way she'll let her plan be derailed by you not talking to her, she'll try her hardest to find other ways to communicate and make out that the two of you are still together.

Your phone gets blown up on your social media one morning, only for it to be something a little concerning. You knew Anya was rather manipulative when she wanted to be, but this was next level...

People throughout the school had found your personal account and were messaging you with flurries of questions— you didn't even know half these people by name!

What she had orchestrated was a rumour that you had cheated on her, and that's why you were acting strange— but always playing the angel, Anya 'forgave you' for it and you're still in a relationship.

The both of you knew it was completely false, but it was either swallow your pride and talk to her again as if everything was normal, or deal with harassment from all the people who were already jealous of your unearned idol-like status.

The Queen Bee is terrifyingly smart sometimes, but her ecstatic smile when you speak to her again is genuine.

— The Fanclub

★ The moment you don't respond to a text from one of them it's panic— so you can imagine the chaos that ensues when you stop talking to BOTH of them.

You're meant to be! They're meant to be with you! What's gone wrong? What have they done?!

One awful group panic attack later Aurora's managed to get Fortuna in a more comfortable state, but she's not responding outside of nodding or shaking of her head.

Aurora gets angry, and Fortuna gets analytical— a bad combination for you, to say the least.

Borderline kidnappings were common, but Fortuna's got your schedule down to a T, so it's not at all difficult for them to actually stage a full abduction this time.

Aurora has you tied up tight while the other waits patiently in another room, trusting her partner to take care of the situation.

'Why are you doing this to us?' She asks, straightforward with tears brimming in her eyes. She just wants answers.

After you explain that their most recent endeavours were a push a bit too far and made you uncomfortable, Aurora's violent demeanour dampens a bit. She's still a bit aggravated about it all, though; your silence did hurt her girlfriend as well as her.

'You've got to forgive us, you- you have to! You're going to eventually, one way or another so... Just do it, already!'

You can see they've gotten a bit desperate— maybe your silent treatment was a bit too harsh for them.

They were right though, you'd forgive them eventually.

— The Deity

∞ Nitai is already clingy as all hell, so he simply refuses to let you go until you aknowledge him again.

Whatever he did to annoy you, he knew he could make it better— if only you'd let him!

It occurs to him that it might not even be him annoying you. That it might be a build-up of several stresses, and his possessive nature was the breaking point.

If that's the case then... He has to get rid of all those little stresses, so you can go back to focusing all your energy on him!

He's never felt so anxious about anything before, so until you start praising him again he needs an outlet... Murder is an outlet of sorts, yes?

He'll return to your home in the middle of the night, blood soaking his favourite comfy shirt, and cozy up to your sleeping body in some sort of messed-up ritual dedicated to you.

He'll be gone by the time you wake up.

The Deity's main form of coping will come in reminding you of his power— he'll shower you in gifts until you can't ignore him at all!

He can't lose his angel to such a petty disagreement, he refuses.

'My beloved, please, you know how much I need your sweet voice to soothe me. Don't be selfish, now...'

— The Anomaly

As per the agreement, you have to spend time with them. This makes things even more awkward.

The Anomaly does not show empathy to anyone but you, his assignment, so they don't understand why you're so upset over the latest incident.

The silent treatment won't effect them at all; Yvetan knows you don't have a choice but to stay at the facility with them.

As long as they can keep watch of you, and keep you away from the other creatures in the building, they're happy watching you in uncanny silence.

Hours upon hours spent in that room in quiet would drive any normal person mad, so Yvetan tries their best to entertain you, knowing that you won't respond.

'You know, human, it's rather nice having you in here so frequently. You are so much more fun to look after when you're not talking about your work— we should do this more often, yes?'

You'll likely end up more frustrated than they are, so the argument passes quickly.

— The Idol

## The Idol is a bit dense about these things, but picks up on your attitude immediately. You're not the first person to pull this on him.

Jamie being Jamie, he's still going to ignore your personal space and sidle up beside you any chance he gets; but now it's more out of hoping you'll talk to him again than embarrassing you.

Even if you scolded him, that would be good enough to relieve him.

As per usual, he'll abuse his power so that you're not allowed out of whatever filming location you're at. That way you're stuck with him, no matter how you act.

He knows he did something to cause this but... He does a lot of stuff you take issue with, so The Idol isn't sure which one he should apologise for— or if he should even be apologising at all.

'Babyyyyy....' He whines, resting his head on your shoulder, 'What was it this time? C'mon, pleeeaaase?'

You being unable to leave Jamison's vicinity makes it difficult to fully ignore him, but you can at least keep up not talking to him as much.

You're legally his assistant, so he uses that to his advantage as well, making you escort him short distances just to keep touching you and asking you questions.

'What's up next? Oh, a dress rehearsal? You don't mind helping me get dressed again, do you? You know how difficult all those little pieces are...'

It doesn't bother him too much, but he does miss the sound of your voice, and what he hates most is the little noises you make when frustrated or embarrassed by him.

If you keep it up for long enough (more than two days, really) he might get annoyed and be a bit more forceful.

'What's your problem, out with it.' He speaks, pinning your wrists to the walls of his dressing room. 'Was it when I fired that guy for talking to you? You know that was just cause he's a creepy old dude, right? No? Was it the time when I-'

He's trying his best to figure out what caused your silence, but he just ends up digging himself a deeper hole by listing all his crimes against you.

When you do start talking to him again, he acts like it's no big deal, but the days afterwards are filled with him drawing out all of his conversations with you and near-constant toying with you.

[courtofcrescent]

In a Eurydice and Orpheus situation, who'd look back and who wouldnt?

Good day, Tragic Tale Anon! Ahh... one of tumblr classic asks that I love 🩶

MALLORY knows that a deal is dangerous, especially a deal with such powerful beings. He knows not to mess with such a volatile arrangement, any misstep could have catastrophic consequences. He recognizes that turning back or second-guessing could unravel everything he has worked for, so his eyes are fixed firmly ahead. Whatever happens won't falter his steps. Mallory won't lose in this perilous deal of life. You'll soon be back in his embrace. And back you are.

VIVIAN marches down with the intent of dragging you up. If the condition is not to look back, then she'll obey until the very end. Every step she takes is deliberate and measured as she moves forward with a single purpose—to end this journey as she meticulously planned. Your deafening silence only strengthens her resolve, she will definitely solve this challenge. And as the journey reaches its climax, it'll conclude just as she intended, with you safely back in her care.

ELLIS is resolute, determined to follow the path laid out before him. But, just like in the tragic tale, he succumbs to temptation—the fear of losing you again, of never knowing if you're still there. In a moment of weakness, just a few paces before his goal, he turns his gaze, desperate to catch a fleeting glimpse... and seeing you gone from his sight hits him with crushing force. His fate is sealed. Soon, he'll join you in those bleak world. Soon, even death itself can't keep you both apart.

SORIN tries desperately to not look back. But it becomes harder and harder as she hears nothing behind her. Doubt gnaws at her, a treacherous whisper that grows louder with every silent moment. The silence behind her grows too deafening... and she freezes in horror when she accidentally makes the fatal mistake. She screams, beg, and cry, pleading for a way to undo her mistake. Over and over, she will blame herself, again and again and again and again—

E̴N̵I̶G̵M̸A̷ wo̷n̵'̵t̷ ̴wa̴n̸t̴ to̴ ̷p̴l̴ay̸ ̵by̵ ̷t̵h̵is̶ ru̵le.̵ ̶

Thank you for the ask! 🩶

[melit0n]

Delicate Is The Flesh - Prologue

- Synopsis: On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit mummified after a chemical outbreak in the 70s, leaving the city uninhabitable.

Over the years however, the place has become a hotspot for urban explorers and crime junkies alike. Whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worm their way into your friend's ears and, having nothing to do on your Winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

- Chapters ->

Prologue (You're already here!)

Chapter 1: For Whom the Bell tolls

Chapter 2: Corvus and Krater

Chapter 3: Belly of the Beast

Chapter 4: Something Forgotten

Chapter 5: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter 6: Mumbling Conscious

- Obsessive! Demon OC/Reader

- Word Count (for chp): 3.4k

- Warnings for chp: None.

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/140685856

A ray of light illuminates your inky room.

Bzz bzz. 

It only beams from your phone, innocently charging on your bedside table, but it feels more like a floodlight.

Comfortably, you lie under your covers, feet firmly planted in the land of dreams. In spite of this, being a light sleeper–something picked up somewhere in your late childhood–you’re easily awoken, one foot now stretched, tautly, in reality. Dragged away from whatever dream you were having, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter, as if the thin skin would block out the artificial glow of your phone. 

Who even texts this late at night?

Semi-patiently, you wait for the noise–the light–to stop. With each notification, your phone buzzes and hums against the wood of your nightstand, echoing against your four walls like stalactites crashing and falling in a cave. Much to your chagrin, the consistent noise pulls you, like ocean currents, back to the waking scene of your dim room.

Still, you can't bring yourself to move out of your covers. 

Bzz bzz…bzz bzz…

Considering the time, or, at least, what you think to be the time, you guess the culprit would be your friends. It was either them, or every new station and online personality were talking about some catastrophic event that was occurring outside. 

Practically still half asleep, you can’t bring yourself to care much. You were having such a peaceful rest: why did they have to wake you? Blearily, you damn yourself for not turning your phone to silent. 

Even so, as much as you mentally grumble about being awoken, something nags at you. An annoying voice that’s more worried about ‘missing out’ than it is sleeping. Tangled in the arms of Sleep, she whispers–whispers in dulcet tones and soothing words–for you to relent. Relent, ignore, and go back to sleep. 

Turning over, you hide yourself away from the light beneath your sheets.

…Bzz bzz…bzz bzz…

As much as you try to ignore it, the sound reverberates. You know it isn’t that loud, but it's enough to keep you from going back to restful darkness.

…Well, one peak wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Although, the moment you begin to turn again–put in at least some effort–the notifications suddenly cease. Your room quickly returns to its dark, comfortable state. 

Happily, you return to your previous position. And, as you cosy yourself further under the covers, a small, pleased grin graces your face as you slowly drift back into the warm hold of Sleep.

Bzz bzz…bzz bzz…bzz bzz 

But, much to your dismay, the notifications begin once again. 

It sounds as loud as ever. 

“Oh, shut up…” you mumble. You’re half sure it comes out less than words, and more like a scratchy garble grumbled into your warm pillow. Your eyes crack open to stare hazily at the underside of your covers before rubbing your face and closing them again.

Bzz bzz…bzz bzz…bzz bzz

Each damning notification wakes you up further. While you were still mostly hidden from the light–the piercing beams managing to cut through your covers–the noise still got to you. Slowly but surely, you become uncomfortably aware of how warm you are, too. Aware of the sheen of sweat on your face. Aware of the liquid trickling down each notch in your spine. Aware of the way your muscles and bones ache and groan with the odd, twisted position you’ve managed to find yourself in.

“Alright! Okay…fine…” Groaning loudly, you unfurl yourself and turn back towards your phone; grasping fruitlessly at the air next to your bed-stand. With a tired sigh, you accept your fate. Finally, you open your eyes fully, managing to find your illusive phone. The first thing you see are the numbers 2:29am, then, underneath it, a slew of notifications, all from a very familiar group chat named ‘The Loggers’–some stupid name one of you came up with while you were drunk.

With a grimace, you recoil at the blazing light now scorching your eyes and face. Yawning, you frown at the time–just as late in the evening as you expected–and turn down the brightness. Haltingly, you begin attempting to decipher the messages that your half-awake mind can barely compute. 

Tapping on one of the notifications, you’re speedily brought to the group chat, messages still rapidly appearing. Blinking sluggishly, you scroll up and skim-read whatever conversation they had begun. You find that your friends, well, two of them, were obsessing over some abandoned site that they’d ‘found’. By ‘found’, you learn that one of them had just stumbled upon a local monthly news article documenting it, of which had led them down a long-winded spiral of other articles, a somewhat surprisingly abundance of videos and at least four separate threads of it on some random urban exploration forums. You can’t be bothered to properly read through any of them. 

You wouldn’t remember jackshit of it in the morning, anyway. 

Shoulders falling, you realise it was nothing important at all, just another proposed site to add to the ever growing list of ‘places to explore’. You’d been woken up for practically nothing. 

As you’re about to put your phone back down–on silent this time–and attempt to get back to your dearly needed sleep, a message directly addresses you: 

Jeanne: @Y/N @Helen read this;

It’s followed by a long link which, after clicking on it with a tired exhale, you’re half sure may or may not be a virus from the number of pop-up ads crammed into the site. You shuffle yourself upright on your bed, back cracking with the movement. Carefully, you eye the small text on the newsletter, reading:

On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit almost mummified after being deserted for so many years.

Neuhaven, a rebuilt mining town founded in the 1950s, sits unoccupied after a factory break out of, at the time, unknown, harmful toxins released into the air that made it uninhabitable for human and animal life alike on the 11th of June, 1972. Researchers noted that the toxins caused irreversible harm to the human respiratory system, leading to almost plague-like symptoms including coughing up blood, extreme drowsiness, bluish discoloration on the fingertips, as well as auditory and visual hallucinations…

Below the paragraph lies a series of photographs, some in colour–washed with a recognisable reddish seventies hue that makes it look like a distant memory–and others edited into black and white for effect. Your eyes graze over CT scans of blackened lungs, grainy images of hands with missing fingers and photos of bedridden children. It felt like the stuff they’d show in flashes on the news–swift mentions of some foreign war–that they would never mention again. 

Scrolling further, you’re greeted with more disturbing photos. Instead of limbs, organs, and sheet-hidden children, its faces. Faces with eyes that have no eyelids that stare dead into the camera. 

It’s the definition of a thousand-yard stare. Even through the pixels of your phone, you can see the utter terror and grief somehow contained inside their bloodshot pupils. 

In short terms, it’s horrifying. All caused by a leak of some chemical. 

A drop of sweat rolls down your back.

...Unfortunately, the town's residents were not informed of the harmful chemical breakout as it had occurred, partially due to the plant’s manager attempting to cover up the detrimental mistake. The full extent of the damage done only became fully clear when many of the aforementioned citizens became chronically ill, exhibiting signs of mental hysteria. Continuous hallucinations, paired with a debilitating illness no one seemed to be able to figure out the cause of, led many of the people of the town to believe that this plague was a punishment from God. Or, perhaps, something more malevolent. 

Now more awake, you gradually began to understand why your friends were intrigued. They’ve always had an interest in the morbid and macabre, you were no different. All of you grew up practically inhaling creepypastas, off-putting ARGs and gory LiveLeak videos like they were Oxygen. It was safe to say you were all desensitised. 

At least, to an extent. 

Still, your mind can’t help but draw you back to those photos. The ones with the missing eyelids. While you could recognise the intrigue in a large abandoned site, you couldn't grasp why they would be so fascinated by a place scourged by a man-made plague.  

It seemed less of an abandoned city and more of a mass cemetery. 

Growing unnerved by the town’s nightmarish history, you scroll down further into the newsletter, hoping to skip any more grisly photos. 

After the official closing of the town in late June of the same year, the old town quickly became a hotspot for violent crime and drug dealings.

Oh.

Bodies of missing persons from across the country found their way down the river that flows between Rosholt and Newhaven, almost like souls travelling down the river Styx, along with what morticians noted as ‘perfectly preserved’ corpses appearing and disappearing in the series of apartment blocks that Neuhaven houses and is, to this date, now most famous for.

Brilliant. Not worrying or terrifying at all. 

However, in recent years, it has become a hub for urban explorers and true crime junkies alike. As well as this, the old town has begun to gain traction across social media because of its supposed ghost sightings. 

At the word ‘ghost’, you perk up, shifting further upright in your bed. The covers rustle loudly in the light silence of your room.

Popular Urban Exploration videos turn into ghost-hunting documentaries that garner thousands of views. Despite this, many people believe that the ‘ghost’ sightings are simply hallucinations from leftover chemicals. Although, multiple studies of the area’s air, soil and aquifers by the local council in worries of this show no anomalies to suggest such a thing. 

Further, the few that are caught on camera are thought to be a result of electromagnetic waves coming from the radiation plant that provides power to Rosholt, possibly causing issues with the recording gear used.

Or, quite simply, many videos are believed to be faked: edited. They still make their rounds on social media all the same. 

Even with its recent boom of popularity, the city lies cornered off to the public most months due to continued police investigation over drug dealing, as well as by order of the aforementioned local council due to plans to further expand Rosholt and demolish Neuhaven. 

Nonetheless, people still find a way to get in.

Another notification hangs over the top of your phone screen. Having seemingly finished the article–no more photos covering your screen–you tap on it, only to see one of your friends sending links to miscellaneous videos. All have similar thumbnails with titles in all caps along the lines of ‘Ghost caught on camera!’ or ‘Dead body found!’. 

For the sake of your sanity, you go against watching any of them. 

Jeanne: Thoughts @Y/N @Helen? We’re on break and we need something to do

Helen: It looks fun, but the drug dealing, dead bodies and the whole ‘being patrolled by the local council and police’ is a bit of a no-go for me. Has Noah already said yes?

Noah: Yeahh, it looks interesting from what I’ve seen. It isn’t every day you get the chance to see an abandoned city anyways. Plus, I’d rather Jeanne didn’t go alone and get done in by cops again lmao

Jeanne is typing…

Jeanne: Id be just fine on myself asshat <3

She sends a quick-fire response to Noah’s ‘insult’, before returning to trying to convince Helen to join them again.

Jeanne: @Helen I get u, but when are we ever gonna be able to explore a whole abandoned city? Even if we only do so many buildings per night

Helen: There are so many other abandoned towns that are not patrolled by half a city’s police force. Besides, didn’t one of the other articles mention that the town was exposed to radiation from a leak at the power plant in the nearby city too? Getting radiated so I can not go out in the sun ever again is putting me off a bit.

Like usual, Helen is careful and rational. And, like usual, you agree with her.

Someone sends over a video–a screen-recorded one instead of a lengthy link–that shows a man walking around what you assume to be the town of interest. Looking closer, you spot something in his hand, bobbing in and out of the shot with his footsteps. Quickly, you realise it’s a very damaged Geiger counter.

He mumbles something you can’t hear. You don’t bother to turn the sound up.

From what you can see, not a single bit of ‘dangerous’ radiation was being picked up; nothing over the typical twenty counts per minute.

Noah: That fix your worries? Lololol

Helen: It is still picking up something?

Noah: I know I help you out with Science, but were you MIA when we did radiation or something? That’s just natural radiation, same amount you probably give off

Helen: Is that meant to be an insult? Lol.

Noah: No?? Of course not

Jeanne: @Y/N, what do u think? Stop looming over the convo Batman I can see ure online

Shit. You completely forgot they could see that.

For a few minutes, you go back and forth trying to type a digestible response that didn’t sound too crude. Or didn’t look like you keyboard smashed, for that matter. While you do so, you tiredly contemplate if you really do want to go see an abandoned town and run the risk of getting some sort of chemical poisoning, let alone seeing a corpse. Or, even worse, get tied up in watching someone become one. 

You: Looks cool, but the dead body thing definitely isn’t. Plus, if people are talking about there still being chemicals in the air, I’d rather not take the chance on getting whatever the fuck those people back in the 70s got

Helen: Thank you.

Jeanne: U two are such pussies!

“Jeeze, thanks…” you mumble, rolling your eyes. 

Jeanne: U know how articles like that like to blow stuff out of proportion. And anyways that stuff with all the dead bodies was ages ago, nothings happened for years

You frown at the response. Dead bodies are still dead bodies, even if they did appear years ago.

You: I’m still not too on board with walking around in what is basically a massive grave site

Noah: It’s only an hour and a half’s road trip away, closer than anything like Pripyat or Pentedattilo, and they said they plan to demolish it soon as well

He sends another lengthy article with the cut-off title of ‘Rosholt’s expansion plans for…’ that you don't bother to click on.

Jeanne: by the time our break has ended that shit might be gone and we’d never be able to explore it. And its so fucking close to us as well!! Would be a shame if we didnt get to see it

You scoff. Your break was only two weeks long, so you’re sure that an entire city wouldn’t disappear in that time. At the most, they’d probably just increase security around it.

A few seconds of silence permeate the group chat.

Helen is typing…

Helen: I still don’t know about this.

You take another moment to think it over, staring at the wall opposite you in bleary contemplation. Admittedly, your plans for the break had consisted of sleeping, bingeing films, rotting in bed and maybe going out to see a movie if anything interesting came out. That, or going shopping if one of your friends tried hard enough to convince you. 

Your group had been going urban exploring ever since you had, well, become a group. Jeanne had started young, easily dragging you into her shenanigans; Helen and Noah followed along. If you were honest, you were half sure it was only because it’s one of the few meetups you’d almost always easily agree to, but either way, it was your ‘thing’, so to speak. Abandoned malls, broken down farmhouses, dilapidated chapels; anything you could explore, you had been there. 

However, an abandoned town was new. Even with the threat of dead bodies and chemical poisoning, you were, quite frankly, intrigued. Maybe your friends would even let you off having to go somewhere with them for the rest of the break if you did this with them.

Don’t get it wrong, you didn’t hate your friends, not in the slightest; why would you stick around people you hated? Quite simply, you just weren’t one for extensive social interaction, especially when it meant leaving the comfort of your apartment. Your friend Jeanne called you a homebody for it, Noah called you a ‘shut in with unaddressed social interaction issues’, which, way to hit you in the gut, and your other friend, Helen, simply called you reserved. 

So, maybe, going here could get them off your back for a bit.

You: What date are you thinking?

Jeanne: I was thinking tomorrow? That sound good for everyone?

Another message is quickly sent.

Jeanne: I mean later today lmao, didnt realise it was that late, everyone good w/ that?

You let out a tired sigh. No rest for the wicked, you suppose.

Noah: Good 4 me

Jeanne: Nice! Helen?

Helen: I think I will be sitting this one out.

Jeanne: come onnnnn we gotta do it with the whole group! Won’t be the same without uuuu

A few seconds pass with radio silence from Helen, and you watch with an odd amount of anticipation as the words ‘Helen is typing…’ disappear and reappear on your screen.

Helen: Fine.

Jeanne: WOOOOO

Noah: YESSSS

Smiling widely at your friend's reactions, and typing a response of your own, you put your focus back on the date. Tomorrow. You glance over at your alarm clock; 2:50am. Tomorrow as in…today. Tomorrow as in today, where you’ve been woken up at half two in the morning after getting only a few hours of sleep. Like a balloon, you feel your whole body deflate at the thought of having to spend part of your afternoon, and most likely all of your evening, in this abandoned town while running on a few hours of sleep...with one of the most energetic extroverts you've ever met; Jeanne. 

You: Can we do it any other day? How about next week?

Noah: My brother and I are going on holiday with our parents after this week. We’ll be gone for the rest of the break :’((

Damn it.

Helen: I am sorry; I have to go back and forth to school for final coursework. I do not know when I’ll be completely free other than tomorrow and the day after that.

Jeanne: So it’s set, tomorrow yeah? That good with everyone?

Helen: Yes.

Noah: Yup

Sighing dramatically, you type out your answer.

You: Okay :D

A few more images pop up on your screen. You don’t bother to read them. Glancing yet again at your clock with a groan, and looking back at your phone for some sort of sleepy confirmation, you pray they don’t decade they want to go at the crack of dawn. Unlike you, your friends were all morning people. Noah was a night owl who could run on three hours of sleep, down a shot of caffeine, wake up at five thirty and spend the rest of his day fine. Helen naturally woke up early, body still half stuck in a different time-zone, and Jeanne liked having every minute of sunlight that she possibly could.

You, on the other hand, suffered through never having just enough sleep: encouraged partly by insomnia and partly by a mind that refused to let go of the past, nightmares tending to follow you into the depths of sleep each night.

Plus, you certainly didn’t have the money for a psychiatrist to prescribe you melatonin, let alone the prescription itself. The sleep tests you went to never gave them enough to prescribe you anything anyway. 

With a parting glare at your alarm clock, you gently turn your phone onto silent and place it back to charge on your nightstand. 

Plans can wait; you’re too damn tired for all this. Two weeks off from school promised you at least a better chance at getting a full eight hours of sleep, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get it. 

Grumbling nonsense to yourself, you wrap yourself back into a warm blanket cocoon, already knowing you’ll regret how warm and sweaty you’ll be by the morning, and steadily fall back into the wisp-like arms of sleep. Hopefully, with no nightmares. 

In the least, you’ve now got one official plan for Winter break. And hey, what could go wrong, right? 

--------------------------------

This one has been a long time in the making! I remember saying in one of my other oneshots that this would be out by February; look where we are now lmao. Even so, I'm really excited for this! 

Also, for anyone confused with the reader's gender, they are completely gender neutral. Like with most of my oneshots, I've worked this so there is the least amount of references to gender and pronouns as possible, so, in the end, the reader can be easily applicable as male or female as well. 

I apologise for the long A/N, and I hope you enjoy reading <33

[puppyguppy]

"Okay everyone, in your seats and settle down."

They weren't particularly rambunctious today. They, as in the class. It was the middle of the week, and thus far, nothing notably catastrophic or dramatic had happened. Not that Hitoshi often added to the noise in the classroom or anything; not outside of the occasional, quiet quip when a conversation was just too hard to resist. Today however, he sat silently in his seat, ready for whatever fresh sort of hell their sensei had planned for them. It was always something.

He considered this class his special class, therefore, treated them as such. Which...wasn't always a good thing.

"Shinsou."

Hitoshi blinked and lifted his gaze up from where it'd drifting, somewhere between his desk and the floor. Caught off guard from being called out, he subconsciously sat up a little straighter.

"Sir?"

"You know the rules," Aizawa sighed, with the weight of a thousand lives and previously uttered reprimands. "No support gear or costumes in the classroom."

Fuck.

Hitoshi glanced down at the capture weapon weaved snuggly around his neck. "But sir, isn't part of being a hero always being prepared?" He hoped he sounded innocent enough, and not too suspicious. Or catty. Or sarcastic, like was often his default.

At the front of the classroom, Aizawa shifted his weight in a way that somehow translated perfectly into 'unimpressed'.

"Though correct," He started, tone strained and clipped. "None of you are heroes yet. And there's no reason, nor enough space, for costumes and support gear in this room. Could you imagine if Bakugou had to take notes with his gauntlets on?" Some of his classmates laughed, and Hitoshi heard Bakugou click his tongue off to the side of him. "So, if you'd please, take it off."

Fuck, fuck.

"You're wearing yours, Sensei."

Oh, fuck.

The air between them snapped like a pencil.

"Yes. Because I am a hero. And it is my duty to protect all of you if something were to happen. And in no way is my own capture weapon impeding my ability to learn. I already know everything that I am teaching. So. I won't ask again."

Hitoshi was starting to sweat. And not because it was hot in the classroom, or because he was wearing layers or anything, but between the glare his teacher was giving him, and the eyes he could feel on him from all around the room, and the eyes he could feel on him from right beside him, challenging him --

"Mr. Aizawa, please. Don't you and I have training after class? Can't I just keep it on for -"

"Won't have to worry about training if I send you to the principal's office."

Hitoshi winced. Flinched.

Closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Well...this sucked.

This was embarrassing.

But, it wasn't worth risking expulsion.

So, with his eyes still closed, he reached his hands up under his capture weapon and quickly shoved it over his head, only opening his eyes to make sure he didn't miss when shucking it down into his bag.

There was about two beats of silence before the classroom exploded.

There were hoots from one end of the room, and hollers from the other. A wolf whistle here and there, amidst various forms of laughter and raunchy comments, questions. Hitoshi wanted to brainwash the whole room. He wanted to run.

He wanted to turn around and flip off the smug bastard sitting beside him -- the smug bastard that'd caused this. The state of the classroom. The state of his neck.

Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Sure, maybe things wouldn't be so bad if it was just a hickey. Or maybe even two. Hell, even a single handprint could be explained as a sparring session gone too far. But his neck looked like a fucking nebula. Bruised and burned and swollen all around, in a way that Hitoshi had maybe asked for, because he'd been dumb enough to think he at least had his capture weapon to hide it.

"Enough."

Aizawa had a hand on his face, fingers switching between rubbing his eyes and pinching his nose. Gods, he was screwed. At least everyone seemed to listen to him well....enough. As well as they could, considering the scene that'd just unfolded in front of them. Hell, Hitoshi couldn't blame any of them. It wasn't like he'd be able to keep his mouth shut over something like that.

He just hoped Aizawa wouldn't bring it back up again later during training. He could handle his classmates, just barely. But sensei?

--

"Shinsou, a moment, please."

For the second time during today's lesson, Hitoshi flinched.

No dice.

Everyone else had more or less left, just a couple of stragglers still stuffing their bags and waiting around for friends. Bakugou hadn't even bothered to wait for him, the bastard.

Aizawa didn't bother saying anything more until they were completely alone, and when he did, he leaned heavily back into his chair with a sigh.

"He's got a mouth on him, doesn't he?"

Hitoshi blinked.

There was no way he knew who -- they weren't even really a thing -- they couldn't be that obvious --

"Sir?"

Aizawa chuckled and then smirked; the expression tired and lopsided and full of things Hitoshi didn't yet know. It was the kind of expression he wished he could brainwash himself into forgetting every time.

Aizawa then reached up to his own capture weapon, where he weaved a few fingers between the lengths of the cloth, separated the folds, and then tugged down. The action exposed his neck, a few inches of what should have been fairly pale skin; but instead, the skin there pink. Pink, and purple, and a little yellow around the edges, and almost black in spots that looked like perfectly straight, perfectly placed teeth and -- oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

What the fuck.

A hundred questions flew though his mind. A hundred images, a hundred fantasies. But, he shook them from his head as best he could, and swallowed them down with saliva suddenly thick with want. He wanted to know. Wanted to see. Wanted to feel. Wanted to taste.

"You --" He started, swallowed again, then stopped. "He --" Again, he stopped, because he could no longer control whatever the fuck came out of his mouth. Jealousy was taking over his cognitive skills, while curiosity was taking over his motor controls.

"Mm," Aizawa hummed, as if he understood any of Hitoshi's aborted accusations. "Sometimes, when he earns it."

How do I earn it?

Aizawa then stood up and made to leave the classroom, but stopped to rest a hot, hot hand on Hitoshi's shoulder.

"I'll see you later for training, Shinsou."

[ask-umbra-au]

Hi, I'm hyperfocused so here's more of whatever I'm writing for this au.

Currently writing this like it's the camera following behind Lunar because it's the easiest way to do this, I'm going to do the same for Bloodmoon at some point.

Eclipse has been dead for a week. Lunar was the cause Earth had been there but she didn't hear what Eclipse had said to Lunar in his passing. It rightfully shook him to his core. So here he was running .

He swore he heard Eclipse behind him. The taunting call of his name is distant and taunting but within earshot. His attention diverted momentarily so he could focus on his surroundings. He brushed past a tree nearly tripping over himself. He wasn't expecting something to grab him, certainly not something to the side of him. He landed harshly against the ground, a hand over his mouth and pain in his arm.

Fear ran through him as he looked up expecting to see Eclipse ready with the promise of his death, but it wasn't him. He was met with red eyes, a red pentagram in the right and the other a pinkish white. A snarl left the other as the hand was lifted off of his mouth.

“Brother this one's useless! No blood to be found, only tar and oil!” He hissed speaking aloud to no one? Lunar had almost gone to speak before a slightly shriller voice sounded out. The pentagram shifted switching eyes. “Oh it's fine a kill is a kill, we should take it and leave..”

Lunar was quick to shove the other clearly insane animatronic away. “Please don't kill me! I'm not a threat, I swear I’m just looking for a place to hide!” The now closer yet still distant call of his name rang out . He noticed the other perk before huffing at the voice before turning to walk away.

He was quick to stand his breathing uneasy but they'd left him alive. He glanced behind him then back at the red animatronic leaving before running up to them, hoping he could follow behind.

The red one continued on approaching a bunker, reinforced but well hidden. They pushed the door open with ease and Lunar followed behind nothing said between them until the door was shut.

Reddish brown stains dirtied the concrete floor of the bunker, and the couch looked like it had been through hell, though otherwise it was well furnished, looking around Lunar could assume it was one of Moons. From the way tech was scattered about to the security measures clearly put in place though they seemed torn to shreds.

The red animatronic dropped to all fours growling at Lunar after his very brief look around from the entrance. “Why did you follow us?!” They snap, pointing an accusatory claw at Lunar.

“Listen I just need to hide, I promise, it's just Eclipse is after me-” He was cut off before he could even finish.

“And now you've brought him to us! We should tear you asunder for your catastrophic blunder!” They seethed, pushing themselves up to stand before wincing and dropping back down, pulling a hand to their torso with a hiss.

“I didn't mean to, we can stay hidden together or something, I'm sure I can help somehow!” He attempted to plead. Watching as the other animatronic turned away from him, sitting as they brought up their hands. Honestly a little weird in his opinion, but it could be worse.

“Fine! You can stay, but if you get in our way we'll rip and tear till nothing is left”

“Yes, you'll be nothing but a black tar stain once you're slain.”

The sudden speaking had genuinely caught him off guard and made him jump, but it was confirmation he could stay and that's all he needed. Silently he nodded, stepping away from the entrance as he took a breath. “Thanks?.. I'm Lunar by the way , and you are ?”

“We are Bloodmoon.” They nodded in silent approval before they made their way to the once nice looking couch, though now it served as a bed and scratching post to the Bloodmoon twins. At least they had someone they could throw to the wolves if everything goes wrong.

Lunar looked at them watching as they cozied up on the couch. He knew that was going to get confusing, two of them.. he'd have to find different ways to address the two voices , but for now he was safe. He just needed to find a charging station and a bed..

Once he'd gotten situated he sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he brought his hands up to his face. Lightning faintly crackled over them and he winced. He's really fucked up this time, killing Eclipse was probably the worst thing he could've done at least he's hidden for now.

━━━━━━━ •✯• ━━━━━━━

Earth has been searching for hours, Lunar simply up and disappeared without a word. She's searched the entire Pizzaplex just to be safe but there's nothing, she's tried calling and there's still nothing, she simply can't get a hold of him. Dejected and worried, she makes her way to the daycare, pushing the doors open and turning to the security desk where Solar usually sat.

When she enters she was met with her older brothers and Monty in a standoff. Sun stood on top of one of the slides, Moon on the other with two barrels, Solar held two plush balls In his hands and Monty held two water guns; one pointed at Sun and the other pointed at Solar. Sun made the first move opting to climb the play structure. Immediately he was bombarded ,a barrel, a ball, and water hit him in succession.

Solar then turned his attention to Monty throwing a ball at her then turning to face Earth, however turning away he was also hit with water and the remaining barrel. He sputtered, turning back to the three with a lighthearted glare. Returning his attention to Earth he noticed her expression, his lighthearted smile dropped to a frown.

“Earth? What's up?” He asked, walking up worriedly , catching the others' attention as he offered her a hand.

“Lunar’s gone.. I don't know where he went- he was here yesterday, but I've searched the whole PizzaPlex. I've tried calling him. nothing.” She held back tears trying to keep herself together. She truly hasn't felt this worried since Eclipse had shown up.

“What do you mean he's just gone?” Sun asked , partially down from his previous spot. Once he'd climbed down he made his way over, nearly tripping after his initial landing . He looked up at earth tilting his head, his rays drooping.

“He just disappeared!” She lets go of solars hand bringing hers up to her chest as she begins fumbling with her apron.

Moon slides over to the computer pulling up several programs, a worried look on his face as he starts looking for Lunar's signal. “Someone try calling him again, something's got to come up.”

Monty reached for Earth's hands gently bringing them down as she pulled her in for a hug. “It's alright darlin’ we'll find him, you sure he ain't just off training with them stars?”

Solar had taken up the task of calling lunar pulling sun over to the security desk, so they could both try and not be in Monty's way.

“I already checked with Pollux… she hasn't seen him in a little over a week or two.” Earth states pulling her partner into a tighter hug. “I don't think we're upset with each other.. I mean Eclipse happend maybe a week ago, but he seemed fine if not nervous.. he didn't ask for or respond to me offering help”

Solar sighs as he sits down taking up the second computer. “Earth, we're gonna find him, it's only been a day, Things will be fine. Why don't you and Monty head to one of her places? Y'know one of those residences they have up on Airbnb”

Monty nods, laying a gentle hand on her back. He smiled seeing her nod . Slowly he led Earth out of the daycare sparing the other three a look of concern as the doors closed behind them.

Moon sighed pulling up another program approximately the fifth since he's sat down. A frustrated sigh left him as he found nothing, no power signal.No star power, nothing! Lunar was completely off the grid..

━━━━━━━ •✯• ━━━━━━━

Lunar awoke briefly to a figure in his peripheral, sitting up with a yelp he nearly fell out of the bed. Heavy breathing as they looked around only spotting a plate of food on the desk. Too unsettled he decided against it, looking around the room again as lightning crackled at his fingertips.

The door pushed open and there standing with a rather unamused look on their face was Bloodmoon. They patrolled the room for a moment , finding nothing, then glared at Lunar. The silent staring contest continued for a moment before Bloodmoon turned to walked away.

“Wait!” Lunar quickly called out, scrambling from their position on the bed to follow after them. “Let me just stay with you for a while.. something was here I swear.”

Bloodmoon rolled their eyes and continued walking back to the torn couch settling back where they were, all while allowing Lunar to follow. They allowed Lunar to sit on the couch but the moment the shorter even tried getting closer than arms reach, snarling started.

“Okay, okay.. I'll stay here.” Lunar quickly informed as they settled. Their attention turned to Bloodmoon. Then to the TV that remained off. “So, are you also hiding from Eclipse ?”

“Dumb question, coming from someone who's lead the Sun man here.“ The first snarled to turning away.

“Yes we hide from him, him and his Star .. We wish to be far, far from that horrid thing, he also wants us dead for who we are.”

Lunar notes how both voices seem to come together with a frightening snarl to sethe out the word star. Slowly he nods as Bloodmoon glares. “Maybe we can help each other out then? You already know he's after me, but we can maybe help defend each other ?”

Bloodmoon looked over lunar scoffing as they curled up, the pentagram swapping eyes violently before stopping in the right. “You couldn't defend more than a wet blanket, but we will accept your offer. Three is clearly better than two ..”

That last bit left Lunar confused, but they at least had a mutual-ish agreement that eclipse was bad for both of their health. With that they settled leaning back against the couch cushion gathering his nerves so he can grow comfortable and attempt to sleep again.

[yooils]

CHRISTMAS EVE . nagi seishiro x gn! reader / fluff / established relationship (domestic nagi agenda mm)

☆彡– it’s cute how seishiro tries to escape your silent wrath by using affection to his advantage.

despite his unparalleled talent for football and many other things, NAGI SEISHIRO is absolutely dreadful at baking.

(– and cooking, at that. you've seen him blow up the microwave one too many times and burn things that weren't even combustible in the first place.)

"you're not self-destructing right before christmas, are you?"

nagi flinches, half-heartedly attempting to shuffle in front of the disheveled kitchen counter, stained and stripped from its original glory. you can spot the messily cut-out dough on the baking tray somewhat resembling a christmas decoration, stuck to a ginger-bread man with a limb missing and abnormal proportions.

"mm... i practiced on cooking mama, but it was more of a pain than i thought it would be."

his gaze bestows nothing but melted pools of ashen roses upon you, no longer under the unintentional guise of indifference and biting coolness. there's flour on his (your) undersized apron, and his sweats are crumpled with how many times he's wiped his smudged hands with them.

in spite of that, you take his hands in yours and guide his fingers around the whisker, murmuring out precise instructions to him because you know how massively prone your seishiro is to kitchen disasters.

(nagi can't control the sudden race of his heart. he can hear it thumping against his ribcage, akin to the feeling he experiences when football starts becoming like breathing to him in an exciting match. he thinks that he probably can't live without you either, physically and emotionally.)

your amused grin reveals that you've caught on to his devastating train of thoughts. "what're you thinking about, loverboy? your ears are all red."

he melts into you at the mention of that nickname, sighing with drowsy exasperation.

seishiro’s face is warm against the crook of your neck, his weight rested onto your body comfortably– with the bowl of dough laid out forgotten on the table.

that is, until nagi reaches for your hand amid his languorous state and accidentally knocks it over.

flour tumbles out as a dust cloud. the dough is nothing short of parched, with neither an even distribution of ingredients nor proper hydration. it looks as desolate as the ginger-bread man, immensely malnourished despite nagi's genuine (read: half-hearted) methods to make it look edible.

you don't bother turning your head around to look at the culprit of the catastrophe, knowing he probably had been startled by the loud clang of metal against marble rather than the sorry state of the dough.

"seishiro."

nagi shivers at the sound of his full given name, rubbing his flushed nose with an arm as the other instinctively wraps around your waist. you finally meet his doe-like eyes as he attempts to sway you with his warm embrace and lull you away from the horrors that reality (nagi seishiro) had brought upon the kitchen.

it’s cute, really, how seishiro tries to escape your silent wrath by using affection to his advantage.

(because it usually works in his favour. he knows better than anyone that your icy resentment is nothing short of deadly, especially when you decide to act on your threats.)

“you forgot to add the eggs, didn’t you?”

–and he knows that he’s in big trouble.

12.25.22

[nelapanela94]

Alright, how about one more request for your 1k event? Let's go one of each list! How about 15 and 34? Thank you!

Of course!!!

15 “What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.” 34. “Why do you keep pushing people away?”.

TW: Hurt/comfort, a bit angsty.

WC: 1.2k

You clutch at your cloak, shivering, the night chilly breeze swooshes down the spiral staircase, ruffling the unmoored strands of your hair like wild tendrils lashing on your face. Great! Someone must've left a window open. Your breath condensates in little clouds before you.

The nippy air was biting your skin you couldn't sleep. Even under three layers of wool, your bones ached, and you couldn't stop moving around on your creaky bed. The fire in your room was smoldering to a weak crackle, so you venture to the kitchen to retrieve more firewood and kindling.

The torches perched on the walls are quiet and still once you take the last turn — the sneaky wind whistles in the opposite direction — and a sluggish warmth consoles you. The acrid smell of musk peels off the cobblestone and the floor, coated in dew, feels slippery under the soles of your boots. Despite the solitude and the merciless night, your spirits are unaltered. Time served you well to patch up your beaten heart after he wrenched it out and squeezed it in his hand. You misunderstood. That’s what he said, and then, unruffled by the catastrophe he had elicited, he put the empty cup down and walked out. It’s been weeks, and yet you don’t feel ready to face him; whenever his face sneaks in your head, you can’t help but feel a twinge in the chest.

Your hum falters when you reach the communal kitchen. the door is ajar, and a slice of dancing light seeps through the gap.

As you push the door, you notice the cracks and the flaking paint that have been there for years. The door is old and heavy, and the screaming hinges make him turn around. You see the expression on his face change as he realizes that he's not alone anymore.

Your heartbeat quickens at the sight of him. You clear your throat and fiddle with a frayed thread of your cloak, avoiding his fervid gaze. "I didn't know you'd be here," you say, trying to sound casual while your mind races with thoughts of how to escape. You'd rather freeze to death than be in the same room with him, but you can't leave now. You're trapped.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, those gray eyes that seize you under their spell, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking.

There’s nothing much left between the two but an empty space and the air dense with millions of misunderstandings. Blood rushes about like untied chains flogging in your head. “Good night”, you breathe, but his voice refrains you from turning around.

“Hold on.” He says, tearing from the counter, and your vanquished body is impelled. Your muscles and nerves and every fiber ignore the commands from your brain and plug to your heart. Because no matter how much you’ve told yourself you hate him, nothing can deceive it.

A piercing shrill bursts through the night, and you drag your eyes to the feverish stove, the wall behind mottled with years of soot. Levi reaches out for two pewters. Then swerves around the island and fetches the kettle. The spicy aroma is inviting, filling every corner. The smell impregnated on him. The scalding water hisses against the walls of steel as he pours it, deliberately crafting his art.

You swallow your pride and pad toward him. “Thanks,” your eyes scoot around as you moisten your lips. “I wasn’t planning to stay, though. I need woods for my fire.”

“When will you stop avoiding me?”

“When you stop being a jerk.” You snap, but he only grins, making your blood sizzle with fury.

For a while you remain silent as the nature sounds drown your mesh of thoughts. Bare tree branches scratch the walls like claws on a chalkboard, the windows rattle against the fluting wind. You both rest against the counter; a chasm splits you apart.

“You hurt me, Levi.” You finally parse it. You gaze down to your feet, blushing. “At least you could’ve said something, I don’t know, like you only liked me as a friend or that you didn’t like me at all. You’re right, and my brain threaded the cues in the wrong way, blinded.”

“You didn’t misunderstand.” Levi scrambles in his head while his chest tightens into a knot that snatches his breath. Suddenly the air is heavy and stuffy. His fingertips twitch, so close to yours yet so far. He himself had built the wall between the two, and now, he doesn't know how to knock it down.

“Then why?” Your eyes sting with tears. “Why do you keep pushing people away? What are you so scared of? I’d never hurt you, Levi.” Your lips fumble and tears stream down your cheeks, joining paths at your chin before they splash on your cloak. "I would never."

“You’ll never get it, Y/N.” His voice crackles, but you don’t want to see his face. “You don't know what it's like to lose everything you love the most.” His arms ache to hold you. His lips yearn to feel yours pressed against his. But more than that, Levi wanted to be. Be with you. Be next to you. Feel the peacefulness of your nearness wash over him and settle his soul. But keeping you away is for your own good, and for his too.

“It’s a mechanism of protection. I see.” You mull over his philosophy. How much pain do they have to inflict on you to make you scared of love?

Levi blinks away his tears and closes his eyes. And those scenes he fears the most flash inside his head, so lively the panic of losing you courses through his veins. He swallows the lump in his throat and opens his eyes. His hand rest dangerously close, and little by little it gravitates toward yours.

“What is your biggest fear, Levi?” you delve while your eyes are still riveted to the floor. Your knees feel weak, in the brink of collapsing.

The steam has waned, and you know Levi hates his tea cold.

 “What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.” He confesses in a shaky whisper, as if his own voice burned his throat and he were ashamed to admit his true feelings.

A spool of sobs and wails break your shell, and your legs give up. But his reflexes are faster. He grabs your hand and pulls you toward him, holding you so tight in an embrace that puts your pieces together. Your heart beating against his. It would be so easy to melt together, sink his lips against yours, and seal the night with a feeling that would make pain disappear. He knew it would disappear. But a little voice inside of him warns him of everything that can go wrong, and he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the ground from the tightrope.

He mutes the voice and goes for it.

Your lips taste like salt.

He was right, you hold the power to make pain go away.

Tag List: @stygianoir @lamees004 @svftackerman @apolloshaiku @luvjiro @roralore @mikakayyyy @noctemys @lovolee3

Want to join the tag list? Click here.

[unforgivablego]

It amazes me how people still can't get over the ending of season 2. How they come up with incredible things and analyze any fly in the frame. Like: “Every detail definitely means something, I can feel it. Here he raised an eyebrow in this direction, and usually he doesn’t do that.” And they build all sorts of theories to calm themselves. «The coffee theory» is a clear example of this.

It also amazes me how quickly and simply I came to terms with the ending. I already let go and I switched to the active mode of “patiently waiting and watching what is happening.” With all these theories, I have long accepted everything as it is.

Just think about what if season 1 had ended with a quarrel in a bandstand. We would also be very broken, but we have a continuation. We have two more episodes in season 1 after that fight. It's the same here. We just finished a little before the story gets to the end.

What do I think now that I was able to survive the ending? They just have another quarrel, which of course will be resolved in the first episode, maybe at the end, or maybe at the beginning of the next one. I'm sure Neil will delay «talking about feelings» until the very end, and he will do it in the same way that he did in season 1. There will be something so massive and catastrophic that our idiots simply will not have the right moment to decide everything among themselves. They will joke a lot in action or intense scenes like:

“We’re about to die, so it’s time for you to admit that you love me too.”

“I never said I didn't love you.”

“Then why have you been silent all this time?”

“Well, you didn't ask.”

“Angel, you're just... *hisses indignantly* …unbearable.”

They will bicker again like old married couple. And it will happen at the most inopportune moments. They will look at each other in love from behind. They will protect each other when someone says something caustic and rude in their direction. They will joke and argue over trifles. They will quarrel more than once, disperse and converge again. They will tease each other, but will return to each other again.

And only in the last episode they will come to that conversation at the end of season 2 and discuss everything. Because it's quite in the style of the both seasons.

So, I want to reassure you all. They will all be ok. We have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Calm down already and start writing fluff fanfiction, because I'm already tired of drama at every story I open.

Thank you🙏

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU II | [20] THE END

Daryl Dixon x oc!Charlie

Summary: The group has to deliver Maggie to the Hilltop, but the sudden encounter on the road makes it difficult.

Words: 8.597

Warnings: violence, guns, death, language, thinking about death

A/N: THE END! So, I have a feeling it’s off let me know of you liked the chapter. Soon we’re entering another era full of surprises and plot twists!

The next day, the sun was bright, and the air was crisp as Charlie pushed Judith's stroller along the path through Alexandria. It was as if the tragedy of the previous day hadn't left a permanent scar. The world seemed strangely normal, as if trying to lull them all into a false sense of security. The baby gurgled happily, her chubby hands reaching up, trying to grasp at the patches of sunlight that filtered through the swaying leaves above them. Charlie's heart filled with warmth at the sight. Judith's innocence was a rare, precious moment of peace in a life that felt like it was constantly teetering on the edge of chaos.

As they continued walking, the familiar roar of a motorcycle engine echoed through the air, shattering the illusion of calm.

Her heart lurched in her chest. She quickened her pace, pushing the stroller down the path towards the noise, dread pooling in her stomach. Rounding the corner, she spotted Daryl at the gate, straddling his bike. His face was set in a determined, almost defiant expression. She could tell immediately—he was heading out.

Rosita, standing nearby on watch, was the first to confront him. "Where are you going?" she asked sharply, suspicion lacing her voice.

"Out," Daryl replied, his tone clipped and short, barely sparing her a glance as he pushed the gate open.

Rosita wasn't letting it go that easily. She stepped closer, her expression hardening. "No shit. You got specifics?"

Daryl's jaw tightened, his eyes darkened. He said nothing, his focus entirely on the road ahead. As he revved his engine, preparing to take off, Charlie hurried over, her pulse racing.

"What the hell are you doing, Daryl?" she demanded, her voice tinged with fear and frustration. She knew his stubbornness too well, but this time, it felt like a line was being crossed—one that could lead to something catastrophic.

"Not your business," Daryl shot back, his voice cold, eyes blazing with barely-contained anger.

"It is my business!" Charlie shouted, her hand latching onto his arm before he could pull away. The desperation in her voice cut through the tension. "What are you even going to do out there? You can't do this alone!"

He yanked his arm free from her grasp, his expression hardened, but his eyes flickered with something—pain, guilt, something she couldn't quite place.

Glenn and Michonne, who had been lingering nearby, exchanged a quick glance. They knew what was coming; they'd seen it before—Daryl was about to spiral, and someone needed to stop him before he did something reckless.

"We're not letting him go out there alone," Glenn said, his voice low but decisive. He opened the car door parked nearby, the sound of the engine clicking to life as Michonne nodded in silent agreement, sliding into the passenger seat.

Charlie, her heart thudding in her chest, wasn't about to be left behind. "I'm coming with you," she insisted, moving to follow them. Her resolve was clear—she wasn't going to sit back while the people she cared about ran headfirst into danger.

Before she could reach the car, Rosita stepped in front of her, blocking her path with a firm hand on her chest. "No, you're not," she said, her tone sharp, eyes burning with authority.

Charlie glared at her, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I can't just sit here and do nothing! I have to help!"

Rosita's expression softened, but only slightly. She shook her head, her voice gentler this time, though still firm. "You need to stay here. Take care of Judith. If something happens... if something goes wrong out there, we need you here. She needs you."

Charlie clenched her jaw, knowing Rosita was right, but hating every second of it. The thought of being left behind while the others faced whatever was out there gnawed at her. But Rosita's words struck home—Judith needed her. They needed her.

With a sigh, Charlie stepped back, resigned. Rosita gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the car. Glenn and Michonne nodded at her, a silent promise in their eyes that they'd bring Daryl back. They were family—whether they said it aloud or not.

The car's engine roared to life, tires crunching against the gravel as it sped off through the gates, disappearing down the road in pursuit of Daryl.

The gates groaned shut behind them, and the silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive. Charlie stood there for a long moment, watching the dust settle in the car's wake, her heart still racing despite the calm.

With a soft sigh, she turned back to Judith, the baby now babbling contentedly in the stroller, completely unaware of the danger her world was steeped in. Charlie knelt beside her, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face

Her mind raced as she handed Judith to Carl. Her hands shook slightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The sun was bright, but it did nothing to ease the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach. Daryl was stubborn, and when he set his mind on something, there was little anyone could do to stop him. The thought of him riding off into danger alone twisted her insides.

"Take care of her, Carl," she said, her voice steady but filled with an urgency that belied her calm exterior. Carl nodded, his expression serious as he adjusted Judith in his arms.

"You going after him?" Carl asked, sensing her unease.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Charlie admitted, her gaze fixed on the direction Daryl had gone. Her feet itched to follow, but Rosita's words echoed in her mind: Judith needs you.

But Daryl needed her too, didn't he? Or at least someone to keep him from throwing himself into a fight he couldn't win.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she ran through the community, searching for Rick. She knew that if anyone could help bring Daryl back, it was Rick. She hoped fervently that he would understand the gravity of the situation and join her in the pursuit.

As she rounded a corner, she spotted Rick talking with Tobin near one of the construction sites. Without slowing down, she continued running, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. "Rick!" she called out, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Desperation coated her voice, but before she could even reach him, she heard another voice.

"Charlie!" Andy's voice cut through the air, and when she looked back, he was running after her, his brows knitted in concern. "What's going on?!"

But Charlie didn't stop. She couldn't. Without answering, she broke into another sprint, the panic bubbling in her chest. She had to find a way to help. She had to reach Rick before it was too late.

"Rick, I took over at 12, I was on till 6," Charlie heard Sasha as she was coming closer. "I never saw anything."

"Front's been quiet since the others left," Abraham said.

"What? Who?" Rick furrowed his eyebrows.

"Daryl," Charlie gasped, her chest heaving as she skidded to a stop behind Rick and Tobin. "He's going after the Saviors from yesterday. Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita—they all went to stop him."

"Wait, Rosita?" Andy's voice cracked with panic, his eyes widening in shock. He caught up to her, his breaths ragged from running. The fear in his voice was palpable, sending a jolt of anxiety through Charlie. His concern for Rosita mirrored her own for Daryl.

Rick's face hardened, his jaw clenched as he processed the information. But before he could speak, Tobin stepped in, trying to focus on the logistics. "Where's the car? We added two more between the houses, right?"

"You can barely see them," Charlie replied automatically, her mind racing. "Especially at night."

She felt a wave of confusion wash over her. Why was Tobin talking about cars all of a sudden? The urgency of Daryl's situation seemed far more pressing. She glanced back at Rick, whose focus was now split between Tobin and the not expected crisis.

"Can I see the note?" Morgan asked, startling Charlie with his mysterious presence.

"What note?" she furrowed her eyebrows.

"You haven't seen any highlights? She's smart enough to cover her tracks," Rick said.

"She must have left during the shift change."

"Who?" she asked again.

"Where are you going?" Rick asked Morgan.

The group turned to look at Morgan, who was striding purposefully towards another parked car. His face was set in a determined expression, his staff gripped tightly in his hand."I'm gonna go find her!"

"Rick!" Charlie yelled in frustration, felling confused because clearly they weren't talking about the same situation.

"Carol's gone," he explained briefly, and looked at Morgan once again. "Wait for me!"

Charlie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The sudden revelation added another layer of urgency and complexity to their already fraught situation. She exchanged a quick glance with Sasha and Abraham, their shared concern reflected in their expressions.

"I'm going with you!" she offered.

"No," Rick shook his head. "Tell Carl I'll be back soon. No one else leaves."

"Rick!"

"Everyone else stays ready for a fight."

Charlie bit her lip, torn between her desire to support Rick's decision and her concern for Carol and Morgan. Sasha stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"We'll find them," he reassured her, his voice steady and confident.

Charlie took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She knew Rick was right—they couldn't afford to split their efforts any further. Daryl's safety depended on their united focus.

The faint sound of scissors clipping through hair echoed softly in the small space. Charlie quietly entered the room, her footsteps muffled against the wooden floor. She found Enid standing behind Maggie, carefully trimming her hair, their faces serious with concentration.

Maggie glanced up as Charlie approached, offering a faint smile of acknowledgment before returning her gaze to the small mirror in front of her. Charlie leaned against the doorway, watching silently as Enid continued her task with meticulous care.

Girl's dark hair fell neatly around her face, framing piercing eyes that held a hint of guardedness, a reflection perhaps of the hardships she had endured.

"How do I look?"Maggie asked, turning to face Charlie, her new hair framing her face in a way that reminded Charlie of the days back on the farm.

A pang of nostalgia mixed with concern crossed Charlie's face as she frowned slightly, memories of the farm flooding back.

"You don't like it."

"I like it," she said immediately. "You look like the day we met...But why?"

"I have to keep going," Maggie answered, looking at her. "And I don't want anything getting in my way."

Suddenly, Maggie screamed in pain, doubling over as a sharp cry escaped her lips. The sound pierced the calm atmosphere, sending a jolt of alarm through Charlie and Enid.

"Maggie?" Charlie frowned.

"Did I get it too short?" Enid asked, suspecting hormones of a pregnant woman for the sudden outburst.

"No, it's not that," Maggie groaned.

"Maggie!" Charlie rushed forward, her heart racing with fear. She grabbed Maggie's shoulders, trying to steady her friend. "What's wrong? What is it?"

Her face contorted in agony, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. "The baby...something's wrong," she managed to say between breaths, her voice trembling with fear and pain.

"Hey. Hey," she kneeled in front of her as she fell from the chair. "Enid go tell somebody we need help!"

Enid hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide with fear, but quickly turned and sprinted out of the room. Maggie's screams of pain filled the air, echoing off the walls and heightening the sense of urgency.

"Hang in there, Maggie," Charlie pleaded, her hands trembling as she tried to support her friend.

The urgency of Maggie's condition had forced Rick - who just returned to Alexandria - to make a swift decision. The best and only chance for Maggie and her baby lay at the Hilltop, where they had access to a more established medical facility and the expertise of Dr. Carson.

"You got room for more people," said Abraham approaching the RV with Sasha and Eugene. "They're put there, so I'm gonna be there with you...We are."

"Package deal," Sasha nodded.

Rick sighed heavily, knowing very well that there was no way of convincing them to stay.

"Uh, what she said," Eugene said.

Rick looked at Charlie, who met his gaze with a shrug of her shoulders. He offered a reassuring smile and shook his head, a gesture of both amusement and understanding at the tension around them.

"You're not stopping me!" yelled Andy, who approached the RV with his small backpack. "Even Carl is going!" he said, glancing at the young boy who was entering the van with a determined look.

Carl gave Andy a cold, dismissive but in a friendly way, glance before shutting the van door behind him.

"Any problems?" Rick interrupted, noticing Andy's agitation.

"I don't want to stay," Andy said, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's pointless."

"Look, it's not up for discussion. It's not a school trip."Rick remained firm.

Andy, clearly resolved, shot back, "Then you're just gonna have to punch me in the face and tie me up, because that's what it's gonna take to stop me."

"It's a bad idea," Charlie stepped in, her tone both serious and sardonic. "He's going only because he thinks we will find Rosita."

Rick raised an eyebrow, glancing between Andy and Charlie. "So you want to argue with him?"

"No," Charlie said, her voice resolute. "I want to punch him in the face and tie him up."

Rick chuckled, a brief moment of levity amidst the tension. As if it wasn't enough, right after Andy entered RV, Gabe approached to the two of them.

"We have 24-hour shifts set up on each of the watchtowers, each one fully supplied and ready," he reported. "In the case that we are incurred upon, we have drivers assigned, evacuation and distraction plans, and the rendezvous points we discussed. In the event of any emergency, my first priority is Judith. I will not fail you."

"You better not," Charlie said, her voice steady but filled with underlying concern.

He gave her small smile as an answer, but turned to the leader. "Are you comfortable leaving me in charge of Alexandria's defense?"

"Absolutely not," Charlie replied, her tone reflecting her deep-seated anxiety.

Rick chuckled softly. "Yes."

After collecting necessary supplies, weapon, and people who barely fit the car, they were finally ready to go. In the moment she thought it's the moment they would drive off, Spencer called out, "Hey, Rick! If Saviors do show up... I'm thinking, if it's not too late, should we try and make some kind of deal?"

"You're not making any deals with murderers." Rick's face hardened.

Spencer's expression shifted, confusion and frustration evident. "We did with you."

"What did you say?" Charlie snapped back, ready to jump out of the RV and talk with Spencer in the only way he understood. Violence.

Rick then cut off any further discussion, holding her arm. "Tell them to wait for me. I have a deal for them."

Charlie shot a glance at Spencer, her eyes reflecting her own frustration with the situation, giving him a sign that she will end him when the right moment comes. She then turned back to Rick.

"Let's go!"

With that, the group prepared to head out, the weight of their decisions and the looming danger pressing heavily on them all.

Time seemed to blur as they continued their journey in the van, the rhythmic hum of the engine mingling with the occasional groans of pain from Maggie. Charlie stayed by her side, her hand clasping Maggie's in a show of silent support. The interior of the van was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced across their faces as the vehicle bumped along the road.

Maggie's face was still pale, her brow damp with sweat. Her breathing had stabilized somewhat, but the worry etched into her features remained. Charlie squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort she could.

"We're gonna get there and Carson is going to make things better."

"How do you know?" Maggie asked with a weak voice.

"We did impossible things together. Everything what we’ve done, we did together," she answered. "We got here together and we're still here. Things have happened, but it's always worked out for us. As long as it's all of us, we can do anything."

Charlie was with Maggie all the time, not stepping away from her, as her promise to Glenn still lingered at the back of her head. She tried to comfort the pregnant woman, caressing her hair, squeezing hand, and humming a lullaby, so she could relax just a bit.

The van suddenly came to a stop, jostling them slightly. Charlie felt her heart rate spike as she glanced towards the front. Rick and the others were already out and on high alert, scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.

"Why did we stop?" Maggie asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"I don't know," Charlie shook her head, trying to reassure Maggie beside her. "But don't worry."

Maggie nodded weakly, her face pale with pain and anxiety.

The cold air hit her as she stepped outside, making her skin prickle. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she walked toward the front of the RV, her senses on high alert. She slowly approached her group, standing next to Andy who was squeezing his hand around a gun.

A group of people stood at the end of the road in a save distance, where they couldn’t reach each other but heard every word. They were quiet, unnervingly so, and standing among them was a man—on his back, his face battered, dirt clinging to his clothes. He wasn’t even bounded or tied, they just let him lay there, like a carpet.

"We can make a deal," Rick called, his hands up in a peaceful gesture."Right here, right now."

“That’s right! We can!” the man said. “Give us all your stuff. We’ll probably have to kill one of you. That’s just the way it is, but then we can start moving forward on business. Just listen.”

“Yeah…” Rick sighed, slowly lowering his arms. “That deal’s not gonna work for us. Fact is, I was about to ask for all of your stuff, only I’m thinking I don’t have to kill any of you,” he said confidently. “Any more of you.”

Rick’s voice dripped with confidence, maybe too much confidence. Charlie could sense the tension mounting in the air as his words hung between them, challenging the group standing in front of them. The silence that followed his declaration was thick, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through.

Something about the way these men stood, their calm, deliberate movements—it was unsettling, like they weren’t rattled by Rick’s bravado at all.

Then, one of the men stepped forward. He didn’t rush, didn’t flinch, just calmly approached the man on the ground. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a spray can.

The man knelt beside the beaten figure, who barely stirred, too weak or too terrified to move. With a cold, almost mechanical precision, the man shook the can, the soft rattle of the spray echoing in the stillness. And then, without hesitation, he began to write something on the man’s bare belly.

“Sorry, my deal is the only deal,” the voice of the group said. “We don’t negotiate.”

At that, Rick signed to his group and everyone started backing out to come back to the RV.

“Me and my people, we’re leaving.”

“Okay, friend,” the man raised his hand. “Plenty of ways to get to where you’re going.”

The words he spoke were casual, almost friendly, but the undertone was chilling. Charlie’s throat tightened, her palms growing slick with sweat as she watched the exchange.

She glanced at Rick, trying to read his expression, but his face was hard, unreadable. Charlie’s legs felt like they were moving through quicksand as she made her way toward the RV. Her heart raced, and the edges of her vision blurred as adrenaline surged through her veins.

The tension was thick, and the earlier ordeal had only amplified everyone's anxiety. Charlie, clearly drained and filled with worry, walked past Andy on her way to check on Maggie. Noticing her exhaustion, his concern was evident as he reached out to her.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice filled with empathy. "I can go watch over Maggie. You look like you could use a break."

Charlie managed a faint smile, grateful for Andy’s offer but unable to shake off the weight of her concerns. "Thank you, Andy," she replied softly, her voice tinged with weariness.

As the young man passed her with a small smile, she sat down on a bench next to Carl. She sighed heavily.

"Everything will be alright," he said, his words intended to comfort her.

Charlie's expression faltered momentarily, memories flashing through her mind. "The last time we were with a pregnant woman..." she started, her voice trailing off as she glanced at Carl.

Carl's gaze dropped to the ground, understanding the weight of Charlie's unspoken words. The mention of Lori, his mother who died tragically during childbirth, hung heavy in the air between them.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said quickly, regret coloring her voice. She hadn't meant to bring up such a painful memory for Carl.

"It's okay," Carl replied quietly, his tone gentle. "I know what you meant."

Charlie nodded, a wave of guilt and gratitude washing over her at Carl's quiet understanding. She appreciated his steady presence and the maturity he exuded. Resting her head on his shoulder, she found a brief sense of comfort. Carl gave her a small, reassuring smile before shifting his focus to Maggie. Charlie took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment to gather her thoughts, her eyes closing for a second of peace.

"You think we could do it?" It was Abraham's voice that brought her back to reality, and Charlie frowned in confusion but soon realized he wasn't talking to her - he asked Sasha. "What they did. Glenn and Maggie."

Her confusion melted into quiet excitement as she realized what he was asking Sasha. A wave of warmth spread through her, and despite the fear and exhaustion of the day, hope flickered to life.

Before she could process Abraham's words fully, the van abruptly came to another halt, jolting her out of her thoughts. Instinctively, she looked out the front window, her breath catching in her throat as she saw a group of Saviors on bikes blocking their path.

The sight of the Saviors sent a chill down Charlie's spine. She realized that whatever they started, wasn't done. They didn't forget.

"We making our stand?" asked Carl, who was probably sent by Maggie.

"Yeah, we end it."

"No, not now." Rick shook his head, examining situation ahead. "They've been waiting, they're ready. With one of us behind the wheel, that's five on sixteen."

"Rick, what the hell is going on?" asked Charlie with anxiety hitting her hard.

"We're gonna play it the way we want it." he ignored her. "All right, go slow."

The van began to move forward cautiously, inching closer to the group of armed Saviors blocking their path. Charlie gripped the edge of her seat, her heart pounding in her chest as they approached the tense standoff.

Outside, the Saviors watched them with cold, calculating eyes. Charlie could feel their hostility and the threat they posed, but Rick's calm demeanor offered a sliver of reassurance.

Time passed as the group continued their journey towards the Hilltop. Charlie sat near Maggie, her thoughts consumed by worry over the Saviors and the fate of Glenn, Daryl, and Rosita.

As the van rumbled along the road, Charlie's mind raced with questions. Where were Glenn and the others? Were they safe? Did they encounter the same group of Saviors, or were they facing a different threat altogether?

Beside her, Maggie stirred restlessly, a reminder of the urgent need to reach the Hilltop for medical assistance. The uncertainty gnawed at Charlie, but she pushed aside her fears, focusing on the task at hand—supporting Maggie and staying vigilant for any signs of danger on the road ahead.

The landscape passed by in a blur as they traveled through the post-apocalyptic countryside. Charlie kept her eyes peeled for any familiar landmarks or signs of trouble, her senses on high alert.

The van jolted to an abrupt stop, throwing Charlie forward slightly in her seat. Her heart skipped a beat as she gripped the edge of the seat, instinctively bracing herself for what might come next. Around her, the others in the van also reacted with surprise and concern.

"Why are we stopping again."

"I don't know," she whispered scared. "But don't worry. We got this."

"Where are you going?" Maggie asked weakly.

"I'll be right back."

Charlie's footsteps echoed softly on the van's floor as she made her way to the front where Rick sat, his expression grim and focused. The terse exchange had left her with more questions than answers, but the word "Saviors" sent a chill down her spine.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Charlie demanded, her voice edged with urgency as she reached Rick's side.

Rick glanced at her briefly, his gaze serious. "They're tracking us," he explained tersely. "The Saviors. They're trying to intercept us before we reach the Hilltop."

Charlie's stomach churned with unease. Encountering the Saviors once again on the road was a scenario she had hoped to avoid, but now they were faced with the harsh reality.

Without another word, Rick pushed open the van's door, and Charlie followed closely behind him, her senses on high alert. The rest of the group emerged cautiously, weapons at the ready as they scanned their surroundings for any sign of movement or danger.

The air was tense with anticipation as they stood by the van, assessing their options. The road stretched ahead, empty and eerily quiet, but Charlie knew that could change in an instant. She stayed close to the van's doors, her eyes scanning the trees and the roadside for any movement.

Charlie's heart pounded as she scanned the surroundings, alert for any sign of danger. The tension in the air was palpable, amplified by the knowledge that the Saviors could be lurking nearby. Suddenly, a sharp crack split the silence, and a bullet struck the ground just inches in front of her legs.

Her breath caught in her throat as adrenaline surged through her veins. Instinctively, she dropped to the ground, seeking cover behind the nearest tree.

"Guys?!"

The sharp crack of gunshots hitting the ground sent a shiver down her spine. She peeked around the tree, eyes scanning for any sign of their attackers. The air was thick with tension, each gunshot a stark reminder of the danger they faced.

"Guys!"

"Get back in the RV!" Rick commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Charlie nodded, keeping low as she scrambled back towards the safety of the RV. Her heart raced with each step, the sound of gunshots still echoing in her ears. She glanced back briefly to ensure everyone was following Rick's orders.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense and claustrophobic. The group gathered, exchanging worried glances as they waited for Rick's next move. The reality of their situation sank in—surrounded by enemies, cut off from escape, and unsure of what the Saviors' next move would be.

Charlie's mind raced as she sank into a seat, exhaustion and worry weighing heavily on her. She glanced across the cramped space of the RV, her eyes settling on Michonne's hair—specifically, one dreadlock cut clean off. It was a subtle detail, but it triggered a realization.

"They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren't trying to stop us," Charlie mused aloud, her voice tinged with concern.

Rick turned to her, his expression tight with tension. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice low.

"Barton Road takes us north," Charlie replied, her thoughts racing. "But they have to know we want to go north. They're herding us."

Rick's jaw clenched as he absorbed her words. It was a chilling revelation—the Saviors weren't just trying to ambush them; they were directing their movements, controlling their path.

Andy’s urgent voice pierced through the tension inside the RV. "She's burning up,"

"Maggie!" Rick's concern was palpable as he rushed to Maggie's side.

Charlie hurried over, her heart racing with fear for her friend. "Are we close?" Maggie asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We... We're getting there," Charlie reassured her, her voice steady despite the turmoil.

"Were there... I heard shots," Maggie murmured, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah, Saviors," Rick confirmed grimly. "But they're gone now. We're going to get you to the Hilltop."

"I know," Maggie nodded faintly, her eyes drifting shut for a moment.

"The baby is going to be okay," Charlie assured her, her voice unwavering with determination. "Rick is doing everything he can."

"I believe in him," Maggie whispered softly, her trust in Rick evident even in her weakened state.

Charlie glanced back at Rick, who stood with a furrowed brow and eyes filled with concern. She saw the weight of responsibility he carried, not just for Maggie and the baby, but for the entire group relying on him for guidance and protection.

"We're going to make it," Charlie said, more to herself than anyone else, a silent prayer for reassurance.

Rick met her gaze briefly, a flicker of determination passing between them before he turned back to check on Maggie.

The RV came to an abrupt stop once again, and Charlie's heart sank. She peered out the window, her eyes widening as she saw yet another roadblock—a formidable wall of wood and debris blocking their path. The Saviors had anticipated their every move, and the realization of just how trapped they were hit hard.

Charlie stepped out of the RV, her heart pounding in her chest. The oppressive darkness of the woods seemed to close in around her, and a deep-seated fear gripped her. The night was eerily silent, the only sounds being the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hoots of owls.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud. Something had fallen from the bridge above. Charlie's breath caught in her throat as she instinctively looked up. Her eyes widened in horror.

Dangling from a chain was a man, his lifeless body swaying gently. The sight was gruesome enough, but what truly chilled Charlie was the large orange X painted on his shirt, standing out starkly against the dark surroundings. The symbol felt like a grim message, a sign of the Saviors' relentless grip on their fate.

The sight of the man hanging from the bridge, coupled with the relentless pressure of the Saviors, sent her into a spiral of panic. Her vision blurred, and her chest tightened as thoughts of Glenn and Daryl, still out there and possibly in danger, overwhelmed her.

She sank to her knees next to the RV, struggling to catch her breath. The fear and worry clawed at her insides, making it impossible to think clearly. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the trembling that had taken over her body.

"Hey, hey," Abraham's deep voice cut through the fog of panic. He crouched down next to her, his large hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You're all right. Just breathe, Charlie. In and out, nice and slow."

She tried to focus on his words, but the images of the man with the orange X and the unknown fate of Glenn and Daryl kept flashing in her mind. Her breath hitched, and she gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. "Glenn."

"Look at me," Abraham said firmly, his voice steady and reassuring. "You're stronger than this. We've been through hell and back, and we're still standing. You're still standing."

Charlie forced herself to meet his eyes, grounding herself in the calm, determined expression he wore. She tried to mimic his slow, deep breaths, willing herself to focus on the present moment.

"She needs you. Carl and Judith need you. I need you," he said. "We need you, now."

Just as Charlie began to regain her composure, the smell of smoke hit her nostrils. She looked up, eyes wide with alarm, as the surrounding woods were suddenly illuminated by an orange glow. The crackling sound of flames quickly followed, and within moments, the forest was engulfed in fire. Panic surged through the group as they realized the gravity of the situation. The Saviors were here, and they were making it clear that there was no escape.

"You're treating your people good, right?" said the voice from behind the wooden pile. "Like it was your last day on Earth? Or maybe one of theirs? You better go! It's gonna get hot! You go get where you're going!"

The ginger man was quick to pick up Charlie from the ground as if she was less than a doll. She stumbled slightly, her legs shaky from exhaustion and fear, but she managed to regain her footing with Abraham's support. The thick smoke and the intense heat from the fire had left her disoriented, and she was grateful for his assistance.

As Charlie stepped inside, she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She glanced around, her eyes meeting Sasha's.

Sasha's gaze softened as she took in Charlie's appearance. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face streaked with tears and sweat. Her hands were trembling, despite her best efforts to steady them.

"Charlie," she gasped.

She caught Sasha's eye and brought a finger to her lips, silently asking for quiet. Sasha nodded in understanding, her expression serious.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as the RV continued its trek toward the Hilltop. Charlie sat quietly, her thoughts consumed with worry. Carl had his arm around her shoulder, offering silent support. It was a small comfort, but one she desperately needed. But her mind kept drifting back to Glenn and Daryl. Were they safe? Where were they now? She had no answers, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

"So, what's the play?" Abraham's question brought her focused towards the group.

"She needs a doctor," Charlie said.

"There're two more routes north from here,"

"They're probably waiting for us right now."

"So they're ahead of us, probably behind us, but they're not waiting on us, per se," Eugene said. "They're waiting on this rust bucket. They don't know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket." he explained his rush of thoughts. "And the sun sets soon."

Charlie's heart raced as the gravity of their situation became clearer. The Saviors were herding them, like sheep to the slaughter. But they were following the RV, not them.

They decided to go along with the plan that Eugene started. Maggie was carried by them through the woods as it was the only way to get to the Hilltop. Charlie clutched Maggie's hand tightly as they walked through the darkened woods. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze and their steps. Her mind was racing, grappling with the realization that had struck her like a lightning bolt.

Her eyes wandered to the boy across from her. In the shadow of everything that happened from the farm and the fast peace of it, she didn't notice how Carl had changed. Or maybe his physical changes overshadowed his other changes. She remembered him as a boy who had struggled with the harsh lessons of survival, often headstrong and impulsive.

But now, he was calm. His every action well thought through. Charlie couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. He became a man, capable of making his own choices and owning his mistakes. She saw a future leader in him.

Then, a sudden realization hit her like a thunder in a tree. The whole Alexandria's community lived in fear for the past days, afraid that one day they will wake up and see the Saviors on their doorstep. But they never came, which was pushing them further into fear and panic. They were way smarter and brighter than all of them thought. The Saviors weren't just ruthless murderers like the Wolves.

Negan knew the group would leave the save walls of Alexandria sooner or later, so they waited patiently mastering the plan - brilliant from the point of view of a strategic.

The Saviors didn't want only Rick. They didn't want a Daryl, a Carol, or a Andy. For what the Survivors group did, for the amount of people they killed, Negan wanted as many of them as he could get. What he needed was a bait. Something that would lure them into a trap.

Maggie's condition? Coincidence.

But as she was thinking about it...Denise might have not been just a random victim of a dangerous game they were playing. She was something more. Something that would start the engine of destruction. The Saviors knew that there was at least one person who would care about her. A person, who would move the Earth and the Sky to get a revenge for her death.

Daryl happened to be one.

He acted exactly how they wanted. Taking more people with him. Michonne, Rosita, Glenn.

Glenn...

But then Charlie realized one more thing, words of an unknown man echoed through her head. For the whole day they were playing along with Negan and his people, they were exactly where they expected them. What if they weren't just blocking the way to the Hilltop? What if it was something more?

"Rick," Charlie said. "Rick it's a..."

And she couldn't finish her sentence to inform that it was all a trap.

But before she could finish her warning, a series of high-pitched whistles cut through the air. The group tried to run away from the sound, but they were immediately surrounded by blinding lights and the harsh sounds of armed men converging on them.

"Glad you made it," the man said. "Welcome to where you were going."

The night was cold and unforgiving, the ground beneath Charlie's knees felt like ice. Each deep breath she took to calm her shaking insides, seemed to pierce her from the inside. Charlie kneeled next to Abraham, their faces illuminated by the harsh light of the Saviors' cars lights. She looked around, seeing all her other friends next to her, facing their RV. Andy was next to Carl, both of them shaking in a cold air. Next to her, Maggie, who could not see tomorrow if she was kept like that some more. Even Eugene was already captured, kneeling at the end of the lineup.

The only comfort she had was knowing that Daryl, Rosita, and especially Glenn were somewhere safe, possibly hiding. But as soon as this thought was formed, her bubble broke.

The sound of Glenn's voice cut through the night air. His cry for Maggie and Charlie filled with panic. Right behind him, from the truck, walked out Michonne, Rosita, and Daryl. The sight of everyone made her throat tighten, for the first time feeling more miserable at their sight. Charlie wanted to cry, but she forced herself to stay strong.

"Let's meet the man!" yelled the man they met on the road, as he approached the doors to the RV.

Tall and imposing, his presence commanded immediate attention. He wore a leather jacket that seemed to absorb the dim light, the collar turned up slightly against the cold. His hair was dark and slicked back, and he wielded a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire—a grotesque trophy of his power. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth, a mixture of menace and twisted amusement.

Despite the fear and anger swelling inside her, she could see the way his followers moved, their demeanor. They weren't just there out of fear; there was a palpable respect in their eyes, an acknowledgment of his power and authority.

His presence was magnetic, and even amidst the chaos, it was impossible to ignore him. Negan was a figure who wielded influence like a weapon. And right now she couldn't decide what was more powerful- his bat or his power.

"We pissing our pants yet?" was the first words spoken by him. "Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close. Gonna be Pee-Pee-Pants City here real soon," he made a joke, and chuckled under his nose. Negan then scanned the group with a critical eye, his gaze landing on each person as if sizing them up. "Which one of you pricks is the leader?"

"It's this one."

"Hi. You're Rick, right? I'm Negan," he introduced himself. "And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people. Not cool...Not cool," he said. "You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you're gonna be up to speed shortly. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes."

Charlie watched Negan with a sickening sense of dread. His swagger, the way he wielded Lucille, and the casual way he spoke about their impending regret—it all painted a clear picture of the kind of man he was. His entire demeanor was designed to instill fear, to make sure everyone knew he was in control and that defiance would be met with brutal consequences.

"You are, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what, you don't mess with new world order. New world order is this, and it's really very simple. So, even if you're stupid, which you very may well be, you can understand it."

Negan's smile was unsettling, as if he took pleasure in the chaos he was about to unleash. The way he swung Lucille, the casual flicker of menace in his eyes—Charlie could see how Negan's presence alone was meant to break spirits. Rick's flinch confirmed the gravity of the situation, the reality of their powerlessness in the face of such a figure.

There was no plan. No miracle that would save them. Rick was giving into the power of Negan.

"Here it goes..." he smiled again. "Give me your shit or I will kill you. Today was Career Day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now."

"You built something. You thought you're safe. I get it," Negan nodded his head. "But you're not safe. Not even close. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So if someone knocks on your door, you let us in. We own that door. You understand? What? No answer?"

His eyes swept over the group, waiting for a response that wasn't coming. The weight of his statement hung heavily in the cold night air. Charlie's mind raced, trying to process the full extent of their predicament.

"You don't really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished, did you?" he asked, but no one answered him once again. "I don't want to kill you people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can't do that if you're dead, now, can you?"

Charlie could feel the cold knot of fear tightening in her stomach. Negan's casual demeanor only made the situation more chilling. It was clear that while he might not want to kill them outright, he was perfectly willing to use terror and violence to get what he wanted.

"But you killed my people. A whole damn lot of them. More than I'm comfortable with," he shook his head still smiling. "And for that, for that you're gonna pay. So now...I'm gonna beat the holy hell out of one of you."

Out of everyone present, she was ready for death. Charlie had found her closure, lived her life with a sense of fulfillment, and now, she was prepared to face the end. If it had to be someone, let it be her. She braced herself, accepting her fate as the cold reality of the moment pressed in on her.

"This...This is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this...All this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor."

The irony in his voice was thick, a twisted sense of entertainment in his actions.

As Negan stood, Charlie's gaze shifted instinctively to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on her shoulders. Abraham, standing straight next to her, braced himself, while Charlie watched the scene unfold with a mix of dread and resignation. She could feel the intensity of Negan's presence, the tension in the air, and the palpable fear from everyone around her. Even as she struggled to maintain her composure

"Je-sus! You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now," Negan said as he stopped in front of Maggie.

"No. No! NO," Glenn screams and tries to hit Negan.

"Stop it!"

Charlie's heart pounded in her chest as Glenn's desperate cries echoed through the night. She squeezed Maggie's hand tightly, trying to offer some form of comfort despite the overwhelming fear that gripped her.

It couldn't be Glenn.

"Nope," Negan said. "Nope. Get him back in line."

She watched as Glenn was forcibly restrained, his sobs a heartbreaking soundtrack to the chaos. It only brought smile to Negan's face.

"Don't any of you do that again. I will shut your shit down, no exceptions. First one's free, it's an emotional moment. I get it," he warned and moved on. He stopped in front of Rick. "Sucks, don't it? The moment you realize you don't know shit." Negan asked and then he walked past him. "This is your kid, right?"

Charlie's fear intensified. Her eyes widened in panic, and her breath caught in her throat. The sight of Negan's imposing figure looming over Carl filled her with a cold, paralyzing dread.

"No." she whispered.

"This is definitely your kid."

Charlie's hands trembled as she tried to steady herself, but the overwhelming fear made it impossible to look away. The paralyzing feeling about the boy - her boy, made her do something very stupid. But before she even thought, her mouth was already opened. "Just stop this!"

"Hey! Do not make me kill the little future serial killer. Don't make it easy on me." he answered Charlie. "I got to pick somebody."

Negan began to whistle, the sound echoing eerily in the tense silence. As he walked along the line of captives, Charlie's body tensed with every step he took. The rhythmic, unsettling tune seemed to amplify the fear in the air. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be invisible, hoping that her earlier outburst wouldn't seal anyone's fate.

"I simply cannot decide," he chuckled as he was looking at their faces. "I got an idea. Eeny...Meeny...Miney..."he said and with each word he was pointing at different person.

The words of the rhyme seemed to stretch out forever, each syllable like a nail in a coffin.

When Negan's finger finally landed on her, Charlie's world narrowed to a single point of excruciating clarity. She closed her eyes slowly, her mind racing through every memory, every regret, and every hope she'd had.

As she braced herself for the inevitable, she clutched Maggie's hand even tighter, hoping that her sacrifice would at least mean something in this cruel game.

"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to the father!" Negan warned. "You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that."

Suck my nuts.

Charlie's eyes were still tightly shut, her mind desperately trying to block out the reality of what was happening. The sickening thud of the bat hitting flesh was followed by screams and guttural grunts from Negan.

She slowly opened her eyes, affraid what she would see as her gaze shifted slowly to the side, her eyes locking onto Abraham's lifeless body. The blood was everywhere, seeping into the ground and staining her own clothes, making her feel nauseous and disoriented.

She didn't hear anything anymore. Too focused on Abraham's still form, the once strong and imposing figure. Charlie's stomach churned as she fought back the urge to vomit, her whole body trembling from the shock and the sheer horror of what she had witnessed. She felt utterly numb, the weight of the tragedy pressing down on her with a suffocating intensity.

"Take a look," Negan said to someone. "He took one, or six or seven for the team! So take a damn look!"

Charlie's head jerked up at the sound of commotion. Through the haze of her own grief and shock, she saw Daryl lunging forward, fists clenched, striking Negan with a raw, furious energy.

"Daryl!" Charlie tried to call out, but her voice came out as a mere, hoarse whisper, barely audible over the chaos.

"No!" Negan yells and points his bat at her. "That is a no-no. Anyway...Now, I already told you people...first one's free. Then...What did I say?" he asked, but again no one answered him. "I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions. I'm a man of my word. I need you go know me. So...back to it."

Her eyes widened.

Her heart felt as if it was being wrenched from her chest.

Each swing of Lucille was accompanied by the sickening crunch of bone. In horror, she looked how blood was running down his face, that once was offering her a comfort. Now, he looked like from the worst horror. Without noticing, hot tears started to escaping from Charlie's eyes.

"I can see it's hard on you guys," Negan said in a voice full of compassion. "I'm sorry. I really am. But I did say...No exceptions!"

It was as if time had slowed, dragging every second into an eternity. Charlie's vision blurred with tears, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. She heard nothing. No Negan, no Maggie, nothing. All she could was feel, each hit like a knife twisting deeper into Charlie's already shattered heart.

Her hands trembled as they touched the cold, wet ground, feeling the sticky mix of blood and remnants of Abraham beneath her fingers. She barely registered the sensation, her mind numb. The crushing weight of despair pressed down on her, eclipsing any other sensation or thought. The pain was so deep it transcended physical suffering, leaving her in a state of numb, relentless mourning. Negan took the person who saved her, without the chance to save him.

He killed her.

[tex-da-phox]

Helluva Boss: Unchained

Chapter 1 - Broken Toy

[This story is a sequel to the short comic "Collared" by rhues. If you haven't read it, see the attached link at the bottom of the page]

[CW: self-harm, trauma, emotional abuse, blood]

"...Blitz..?" The quivering mass of terror that lay before Stolas was entirely alien to him. Blitzø had never cried in front of him before, let alone cowered in abject fear and anguish. Feeling responsible for this display of trauma, he reached out a shaking hand, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

Blitzø's expression of horror gradually shifted into grief, then shame, and rest upon apathy. His breathing slowed, and his blood-soaked hands carressed the self-inflicted wounds on his neck as they began to register the sensation of pain. Wiping his tears away, he stammered out. "I- I think I should... go."

A flurry of emotions welled up inside Stolas, bursting out in outraged tone. "Nonsense! Utter nonsense! You're clearly not alright. There's something you haven't told me, and I need at least an explanation before you-"

"Noooot gonna happen. I have to go." Quaking limbs and glazed eyes fumbled over to the bedside. The blood on his hands rubbed ichory black stains into the sheets as he shuffled.

"Dammit, Blitz!" His tears had begun to shed across his cheeks now, accumulating on the underside of his beak. Little droplets plopped silently onto the mattress beneath him. "This isn't something either of us can just ignore!"

Anger seemed to possess Blitzø for a moment as he shot back violently, "Why not? Why should you care?" His emotions fell fast again to despair, his ragged breath quickening slightly as he stepped onto the floor, turning his back to Stolas. "Your toy is broken. You'd be best off finding a new one."

Stolas was sobbing now, inconsolably like a widowed mother, the words slicing open his already heavy chest. All at once, his worst fears were realized; he had lost his first ever friend, and it was all his fault. "I... no... no, Blitz, please. You're not a toy, please."

"What else could I be? To you, to anyone?" His response was meek, terse, and genuine. Throwing on his garments, he continued moving away from Stolas, unable to look at him. His limp tail skittered slowly across the floor as he sank into hopelessness.

"No, please! Please understand! I don't want to- I just, I- *gasp* I need you. It kills me to see you in... so much pain." Without a response, his pleas increased in volume. "Blitz! Don't go! Please don't leave me like this, I beg you!"

Desperate cries fell upon deaf ears. It was all Blitzø could do to dissociate, resigning himself to a perpetual state of emotionlessness. Love, hate, sorrow, joy; these were all too good for him. He didn't deserve to feel.

Realizing that nothing he could say in this moment would help Blitzø or lead to an explanation of this catastrophe, Stolas collapsed defeatedly into his soiled blankets with a soft *thump*, devastated and perplexed. How could he not have seen that he was hurting his beloved so much? How could he have been so foolish to degrade him so casually, so frequently? Stolas screamed out in agony as Blitzø closed the door behind him.

The door reopened a few moments later, a panicked butler Impington rushing in. "Are you alright, your Highness?"

More miserable, mangled moans echoed from his sputtering vocal cords. His frenzied fingers grasped clumps of feathers atop his head, viciously pulling at them. A couple handfuls of matted blue plumes scattered into the air, gently swaying down onto the pillows around him.

"Your Highness..." Impington softly brushed a hand against Stolas' flailing arms. Seeing this gesture ignored, the enthralling spectacle of his Highness' breakdown became unbearable to witness; and yet, he couldn't look away. He stood by his bedside, waiting for Stolas to calm down.

Several hours later, Stolas began to resemble his lover's cold, dead expression. He had been wallowing in the filth of the earlier events of that night, unable to summon the energy to move or speak.

At last, Impington spoke up. "Shall I clean up this mess?"

Exasperation gave way to reluctant engagement. "Go ahead." He continued to lay there, his soul dissolving in most caustic woes.

"Your Highness, I will need for you to move if I am to clean the sheets for you."

A sigh escaped his tightened lungs, and he started to sit up. Sluggishly, he pushed his skinny legs out towards the ground and hoisted himself into an uncharacteristically slouched posture. Begrudgingly, he then trotted out of the room and over to the kitchen, where he sat at the table and draped his arms over it to bury his face into.

It was then that the phone started ringing, which shocked Stolas, as it was only six in the morning. After hesitating for a long moment, he answered. His face seemed to light up a bit as a familiar voice came through the speaker.

"Hey, Dad. I know it's early, but I just can't bear to stay in this house for one more minute. Do you mind picking me up?" Octavia had spent the weekend at Stella's and was anxiously waiting to be back with Stolas.

"Uh- of course, Via. I'll be there momentarily." He hung up and walked back to his room to retrieve his grimoire, which Blitzø had forgotten to take with him in his hurried exit. He conjured a portal right next to Octavia, startling her.

"Whoa! That was fast. Wait, how come you still have the book?"

"It's complicated," he answered.

Stepping through the portal, Octavia pried further. "Complicated how? Was the deal broken?"

"I'm honestly not sure, my owlette." He was choking up and holding back tears so Octavia wouldn't worry about him. He quickly changed topics to avoid more questions. "What made your mother's house so unbearable?"

Octavia chuckled softly. "You of all people shouldn't need to ask to know why. She's a nightmare. Thanks for bailing me out."

Closing the book, the portal imploded with a quiet *pop*. "No need to thank me, Via. I'm just glad you're here right now." He hugged her tightly, feeling some weight float away from his heart. However, his body was still twitching, his breath still short, and his muscles tight. "You're doing okay?"

His puffy eyes and strained feathers caught her attention as she let out of the embrace to reply. "I should be asking you." He stared into her eyes, silence languoring in the air as she waited. Eventually, she repeated the question. "I'm alright, Dad. Are you?"

The tears returned without warning, flowing off of his face as he spoke. "N- No. I'm not. But I'm so glad that you are."

Seeing her father fall to his knees and cry ugly was a shock, to say the least. Still, she bent down and embraced him yet again. "I love you too, Dad."

[copingchaos]

I just wanna let you know that Disney hasn't funded the Israeli state or IDF, they donated 1 million to the Red Cross and another 1 million to non profit medical charities that work in Israel. Boycotting Disney is ALWAYS good, but if we could try not to spread misinformation about them funding the genocide so we can focus on the companies that actually are, that would be cool 👍

Thank you for the polite message. I agree the focus shouldnt solely be on disney to boycott, but since the mcu is coming out with a new movie soon, I posted a reminder.

As for your take on disney not funding a genocide, I never said they donated to the IDF. But i still think they're complicit in supporting the state of Israel and thus also supporting a genocide.

For semantics sake i'll change the wording of my post from funding to supporting. But the core message remaims the same. I'll explain why now.

For context sake, let's not forget disney came out with statements to donate millions indeed, less than a week after the events of oct the 7th. This was part of their statement:

we must all do what we can to support the innocent people experiencing so much pain, violence, and uncertainty – particularly children,” said Robert A. Iger, Chief Executive Officer, The Walt Disney Company.

Meanwhile the people in Gaza had already lost electricity and water. They had already received 6000 bombs within 6 days. Actually, in the same week of Disney's statement, the World Health Organisation came out with their own statement:

WHO warns that the health system in the Gaza Strip is at a breaking point. Time is running out to prevent a humanitarian catastrophe if fuel and life-saving health and humanitarian supplies cannot be urgently delivered to the Gaza Strip amidst the complete blockade. As injuries and fatalities continue to rise due to the ongoing air strikes on the Gaza Strip, acute shortages of medical supplies are compounding the crisis, limiting the response capacity of already overstretched hospitals to treat the sick and injured.

Despite WHO's cry for help regarding medical supplies on behalf of Gaza, where was Disney with their checkbook in that same week?

The most telling part is nothing has changed, it's been pretty much radiosilent from their end after they stated their support of israel. Meaning, they were quick to condemm the attack on israel but they still havent spoken out against the war crimes israel has committed and is still committing.

We are a full month later, over 10000 people have died in Gaza. Of which 4000 children. Israel has bombed over 20 hospitals. 13 out of 35 hospitals in Gaza, are not functional anymore. They've bombed universities. Destroyed neighbourhoods.

A full month later and where has Disney been with it's billions of dollars?

Despite their own morals, "we must all do what we can to support the innocent people experiencing so much pain, violence, and uncertainty – particularly children", they havent spoken one word about what's going on in Gaza. It's absolutely hypocritical. They havent spent one cent in humanitarian aid in Gaza.

So in my opinion, Disney has clearly chosen a side. They may have donated to humanitarian aids in Israel, and not the israeli state or IDF, but their silence and financial disinvolvement regarding gaza considering everything that's going on in Gaza, for a full month, speaks volumes. And i'd say that does make them supporters of a genocide. But you're right, if you spend money on marvel, it doesnt mean you have blood on your hands. You're just supporting a hypocritical company that's clearly chosen to remain silent during a genocide.

[dreaming-of-the-end]

echoes, saltwater, lemon juice (or: a lesson in pressing bitterness into wounds): Kam

A/N: In which i give them the unhealthy relationship they deserve <3 Love these babies. Hi @pissy-victorian-vampire, I’m your secret santa! you said angst of any sort soooo...

Summary:

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

TW: kissing? there’s a brief mention of physical violence. also, death mention. and mental illness.

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"It burns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe twists his paper napkin so tightly it rips, shreds of the stained white scattering over his black pants. "The memory, I mean."

He doesn't have to ask what he means. "Like lemon juice. Like saltwater."

Keefe's fingers trace the grainy wood of the restaurant table with difficulty, the surface probably still sticky from the syrup-soaked pancakes he'd finished less than five minutes previously. "Like echoes?"

Tam stays silent. His hands are at his sides: he's never liked the cheap fast food places, preferring the clean-cut elegance of his own kitchen over screaming children and food he can't trust. More than that, it's the effect of it all: the bright lights in his eyes, the under-flavored over-sugared food, the lack of privacy, the smack of chewing gum coupled with the constant thrumming of the kitchen fridge, the tacky orange booth seats that stick to his skin.

And this conversation is too rich for the mediocrity of his surroundings. There's must still be something to be said about nights under the stars in a clearing in the woods, or perhaps a dock in the middle of the ocean, or floating in space, filled with the possibility of nothing and everything all at once. These words don't belong here. But Keefe does—not in a way to call him cheap or tacky, but in a bright, everything-everywhere-all-at-once kind of way. He's everything loud, everything bright, everything overwhelming.

"You need the reminder," Keefe says, resolute, as stuck in his self-righteousness as Tam's fork is to the syrupy table. "It's not over, Tam."

"Can't it be done? Can't it have died with her?" Tam feels the warm scent of unwashed bodies brush his skin. He wasn't made for this.

"You know that you did this to yourself."

And he hates Keefe for saying it. He hates him more than anyone, with an overwhelming catastrophic desperation that makes the entire world fade away, because it's always been that way with him. Keefe is simple and complicated in a terrifying, tell-me-who-i-am-and-i-won't-like-the-answer kind of way.

You know you did this to yourself.

Add that to his list of mistakes. Along with falling in love.

...

Tam might have physical echoes, but Keefe's are just as tangible.

The thing is, it's impossible to measure who has it worse (not that it stops him) when Tam's power is the thing attacking him night after night, while Keefe's mind is the only thing holding him hostage.

He's been there during attacks, of course. The times Tam loses himself in nightmares and his shadows come to life on the walls, shadowflux taking physical form to rake scratches into the mellow blue wallpaper Keefe handpicked for their bedroom, foggy condensation dripping from the ceiling onto the sunny yellow sheets of their bed. Their room is falling apart around them, and Keefe can't lie. He doesn't lie anymore.

It's his fault. Tam's.

His fault for choosing to learn shadowflux at all. Umber's journals taught him to weave shadow arrows and knives, rend apart concrete as if it's paper, bring objects crashing down when they're trying to sleep.

It's his fault. But he knows the way it burns. Lemon juice, saltwater, the sting of a frown and the twinge of hate. He knows burning like his own name.

So he knows regret. It calms him somewhat, to know that it was his own fault that he has these nightmares. At least he doesn't have to deal with blaming Tam.

Every day, he sees her: light auburn hair pulled into a bun tight enough to stretch the scars on her face that he'd given her. Right before he ended that light in her cold eyes, the ones that live on in his own face.

Gisela is trapped in his mirror. He has to live with the knowledge that every day, she might escape.

Every time he stares into it, meets his own eyes (her eyes) he feels her a little more. The burning of hate, of the fight with Dimitar and the salt of the ring in his wound. Sophie's desperate eyes, tear filled with prepared grief, because she knew then who he is now, and it destroyed both of them. And so he lost her.

Keefe plays that moment in his mind over and over, but he can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t learn who he is, what he is. He can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t leave him.

Sophie was right to mourn him then. Didn't that make it better when he died? When his mother killed him every way but physically?

...

Tam does not know who they want him to be.

It's a game of fear and choices, both of which he has learned from a schoolbook, studying the art of it.

This is fear: when your nightmares come to life, when your partner clutches at your arm because his mother formed from shadows made real, when the ghosts take physical form and you are powerless to stop them because you learned too well how to make them and not enough of how to send them away.

This is choice: to leave or to stay, to live or to die, how to run and how to love, how to unpack his clothes into drawers or how to make promises and keep them, how to leave one for another, to trust in his safety and let those he loves leave his sight to go with another.

And it's an art, along the lines of painting or singing or the poems he scribbles in his private journal. A love letter to terror, asking it to please stop calling because I'm happy now, I promise I'm happy, I don't need you anymore. All these lies.

He knows lying better than fear. Better than choices.

Tam knows lies, like the ones he tells himself. Like it was my fault (trying to convince himself) when it's not. It wasn't.

It was his fault. Keefe's.

Because he picked up Umber's journals for him, memorized every word to make the shadows leak into Keefe's head correctly, twisted his own insides around to keep him safe.

He would do it all again, of course. Every time, he's the one to lose himself in the glory of being a shield: Linh's protection, Sophie's rock, Keefe's last shred of common sense. It's him who makes the sacrifice, him who chooses to be exiled, to join the Neverseen, to give bits and pieces of himself away in a bargain that cancels out the danger instead of fixing it. He’s a bandaid on a gaping wound.

So perhaps this is fear: when you've given enough of yourself away to not recognize your shadowed eyes when you see them in the mirror.

Perhaps this is choice: whether to go on as half a person, or steal yourself back and take some of them with you.

...

"It drowns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe watches Tam's legs swing back and forth on the countertop, and presses his hands against the cool marble. The chill is a tether and a knife cutting him free from his body. "The anger, I mean."

Tam considers this. Or, he puts on his Thinking Face, the one where his head tilts to the side and his eyes get all wide and his mouth comes open just a little bit, waiting for the spark to come through the space and light an idea in his head. It takes him a little while to form an answer, and when it does, it comes slow, tight with guilt. "Of course."

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on the counter on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

He likes the anger, and Tam knows it. The day the two of them stop being angry about what happened to them is the day they turn into their parents and start being angry about what other people are doing and thinking and saying. It has to go somewhere. They have to go somewhere.

Keefe shrugs. He's less furious and more simmering these days. He paints it, his anger, the coolness of ice and piercing eyes. They stare at him always, worse at night, worse with Tam's shades bringing his mother back to life like she hasn't been dead for nearly three years. "You're not, either."

"No," Tam agrees, and this time it's him who moves forward to kiss him. His breath is warm against Keefe's cheeks, and he uses that warmth to center himself. Cold at his palms, heat on his lips.

See, he wishes he can tell his mother, I can still feel. Killing you didn't break me.

Tam did, though. Broke him apart and remolded him. For the better, maybe, or for the worse, probably. With a fire in the pit of his stomach like the throwing star he'd landed in hers. He hates him a little for that: for making him a new version of himself that he doesn't entirely like.

It's an attack, Tam's hands on his cheeks, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb, pulling him closer, threading through the tangles of his hair like he's not a boy made of lemon juice, of saltwater, of echoes. An attack because of how much it hurts, in his lungs and blood and bones, as Tam's palms warm his icy skin and Tam's lips part his own and Tam's eyelashes brush against his cheek with their closeness.

Keefe writes his own name in the fog in the mirror after he showers so he doesn't forget it.

He lets himself forget it now.