#zombies fanfiction

[exceptional-z]

Everyone is born with a jumble of letters on their wrist, letters that will eventually be decoded to read their soulmate's name. So on a person's birthday, each year, a new letter falls into its proper place. It's not always in order; it can be a letter from the person's first, middle, or last name, though the first letter of each is always unscrambled early in life.

Zed's wrist reads Adlieon Rosalind Wsdls. It's just his luck that his soulmate's middle name is unscrambled before her first and last names. He's entering high school in two days and doesn't even know his soulmate's first name. He has no way to find her, if she even lives in Seabrook.

The first thing he'd noticed, at only six years old, is the lack of Z in her name. She isn't a zombie, unless her family decided not to follow zombie naming culture, which is unlikely. He knows almost every zombie in Zombietown and there are none with a name similar to his soulmate's.

His only chance now is human high school.

-

On the other side of the barrier, in a big, lonely house, Addison stares down at the wrist that she's had covered since her recent fifteenth birthday.

Zed Necrodopolis. A zombie.

Her father had been furious when he'd read the name, recognising it from his job as captain of the Z-patrol. Her mother had considered getting her soulmark removed, but the side effects were too great -memory loss, chronic pain, loss of emotion, even death. So she got a thick pink bracelet, the kind worn by those with dead soulmates, those whose soulmarks had started fading and the ink of the letters smudging together. Better have everyone pity her with the assumption of a dead soulmate than ruin her and her families reputations.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒔

hello, I hope you are all doing well and apologise for the lack of updating. I recently entered a writing competition in september and just got back today that I sadly didn't win or even make a place in it, so I thought I'd share with you all what I wrote.

summary - amber truman is a hard-working woman, having overworked herself she finally gets a break only for the apocalypse to begin on her day off, thankfully her neighbour frank jones is with her, together they survive but will they always?

warnings - death, angst, zombies.

the headers I use aren’t mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

No one had expected this, there had been news circulating around that the world would end, but as the years went by and the world continued. Everyone moved on, they lived and grew, but there was a darkness lurking around the corner. A darkness that could potentially destroy lives, and cause people to unlock the survival part of them.

Amber Truman had been having a rough week, she had finally gotten time off from work. She entered her apartment, drained and groggy as she hangs her coat and places her keys into the dish next to the door. Amber made her way through her home, heading into the kitchen and grabbing herself a glass to fill with water. She could feel the pounding in her head as she watched the water flow through the tap and into the glass. For a split second, she pauses, zoning out, not noticing the water overflowing, wetting her fingers.

She blinks, shaking her head slightly as she notices and quickly turns the tap off. Amber reaches over and grabs a paper towel, wiping her hand and the glass before she brings it to her lips, and takes a sip. The feeling of the water gliding down her throat and replenishing her thirst is refreshing, a flash of lightning catches Amber’s attention, her brows furrow because there wasn’t a weather report for a storm. The night was supposed to be a clear one, there was not meant to be a single drop of rain. Yet, Amber watches as the night sky brightens with lightning, the sound of thunder rumbles through her small apartment, followed by harsh drops of rain hitting against the window.

Amber places the glass onto the counter and makes her way over to the window, confusion takes over her features as she watches the storm roll in. She could practically feel the weirdness radiating from it, the lightning looked to be a weird green, causing Amber to rub her eyes, feeling as though she’s seeing things. Maybe work had been too much for her, she was extremely tired and that would explain her seeing things. With a shake of her head, she moves away from the window and heads down the hall to her bathroom, stripping from her clothes and turning the shower on. Amber hopes that this could help relax her tense muscles, and as she steps underneath the boiling hot water, she sighs, letting it wash away all her worries and troubles.

An hour later, Amber finally gets out of the shower, her muscles feeling relaxed and like jelly. She wraps the soft fluffy towel around herself and exits the bathroom. She groggily heads into her bedroom, still sore and tired. She was ready to plant her face down into her pillow and drift off into a peaceful sleep, one that she hadn’t had in a while. As she entered her room, it felt as though her bed was calling to her, she could feel the ache of her body relaxing into the mattress. Slowly slipping into her pyjamas, Amber flops onto her bed, exhaustion taking over causing her to slip into a deep slumber. She would not be prepared for what was to come in the morning.

During the night as the storm continued, thousands upon millions of people had changed, died. It had become a disaster, a tragedy. In the morning would be the beginning of the apocalypse, a zombie one to be precise. No one had expected the world to end like this, everyone thought a giant meteor would hit and destroy Earth as it once did. Those that wandered the streets at night had come across a shock, they turned before they could even open their mouths to let out a scream. But when morning would come, it would be as though those screams were music.

As the sun rose and Amber’s eyes fluttered open, she sat, arms stretching above her head before they fell, and her hands rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looks around the room, squinting as the light shining through the window blinds her. Amber wondered if today would be any different, her boss had told her to take as much time off as needed, but she felt useless staying at home, doing nothing. Amber stands from her bed, letting the sheets slide from her body gracefully. Her head moves to the side as she hears something faint, with slow movements Amber makes her way over to the window.

With curious movements, she opens it, causing the faint noise to become clearer. Down below, Amber watches as people scream and run, wondering why some were attacking others. She swiftly moves to her phone, dialling the police but she is met with a message.

“We are sorry for the inconvenience all emergency services are unavailable right now. We advise that you stay indoors. We repeat, please, stay indoors.”

Confused, Amber stumbles out of her bedroom and towards the loungeroom. Her hands fumble for the remote control and once she finds it, she switches on the television. The same thing is repeated, news reports are showing people being attacked, torn apart. A gasp escapes her as she watches one reporter get attacked, blood splattering across the camera before it shuts off. The screams echo and the scene plays out inside her head.

A scream can be heard from the hallway, Amber’s head snaps to the side and she cautiously rushes over to her door, pressing her ear against it. She could hear someone struggling on the other side, and she was stuck between helping them or saving herself. A muffled voice interrupts whatever is happening on the other side, one that Amber can slightly make out that sounds like her neighbour Frank. He lets out a shout and without a second thought, she swings her door open only to stop short with wide eyes and a sharp breath.

The monster has Frank Jones pinned, another one of her neighbours lies on the floor with their hand to their neck, their life slipping from their eyes rapidly. Amber stumbles, her eyes moving between Frank and the thing, not knowing what to do, she feels stuck.

“A-Amber, get something to hit them with! Hurry!” Frank shouts, trying to fight this thing off. She quickly backs into her apartment, looking around to find something to hit it with. The thing her eyes land on is a trophy she won in high school; she remembers the day well. Her family stood proudly in the crowd, applauding her as she won first place in a school tournament. With quick movement Amber grabs hold of the heavy item and launches forward, swiftly swinging and hitting the back of the person’s head. The body falls, dropping limply and Frank breathes. “Thank you, I-” His eyes widen, and he moves her behind him, grabbing the trophy from her grasp and swinging at the newly changed person.

Amber’s eyes are wide as she watches yet another one of her neighbours fall to the ground, feeling guilty for causing them harm. Neither of them had seen something so horrifying in their lives, the skin had already begun decaying, eyes white and lifeless. “What are they?” She wonders aloud, staring at them frightened. A gasp escapes her as Frank quickly pulls her back into her apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it. “What are you doing?! You can’t just come into my apartment!” Amber glares, crossing her arms over her chest and at once looks down, realising that she is still in her pyjamas.

Frank huffs, putting his finger against his lips. “Shh, there is more. I didn’t have enough time to unlock my door. We need to figure out a plan, something to protect ourselves with, possibly a way out to get out!”

Amber looks at him bewildered, “What? What do you mean get out of here? Why would you want to leave a safe place? Have you never watched a horror movie?!” Her arms wave around as she talks. “Did you not see what happened? It is completely insane out there and you want to leave?”

Frank shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, “By the looks of things, we may only be able to survive for a short while. We will run out of food and water; we also need to look for help.” He walks around, ensuring that everything is safe and locked, while also searching for anything to use in a fight. “If we distract those things long enough, I may be able to slip through and get into my apartment. I can grab a few things that could help.”

Amber stares at her neighbour, wondering why he would want to risk his life so easily for a small chance of finding help. With slow movements, she moves over to the window and peers down, a shocked gasp slips past her lips. “Oh my god... Uh, Frank, I don’t think we will have any luck on finding help.” She stares down at the crashed vehicles, some into poles and buildings, others into other vehicles. Flames burst from them as slow-moving zombies walk around, snacking on the dead bodies. Flashing lights from both police cars and ambulances reflect on the nearest glass surface, there sirens echoing through the dead streets.

Frank moves across the apartment, standing next to you as he looks out. “Oh, but... There must be someone out there that can help us, this can’t be it! We can’t just give up so easily!” He seemed so sure, and she had never seen something like this before. How can one man still have so much hope even when the world has ended?

A week had passed since the beginning of the apocalypse. Amber and Frank had been through hell in those short seven days, being trapped indoors with no escape was a nightmare. Those days felt long and tiring, Amber barely got sleep because with every thud her body would jolt and flinch, nightmares replaced dreams. Their food source was close to becoming non-existent. Frank had begun to be persistent on getting to his apartment, and then venturing out to find help. Amber had lost hope, figuring that it has been a week, yet no one had entered their building.

Frank pressed his ear against the door, seeing if he could hear anything. When it came back quiet for the first time in a while, he turned and looked at Amber. “Alright, the coast is clear. I will go out and quickly enter my apartment to grab as much food and water as I can. You will make sure the coast is clear while I am doing that, right?” He seemed nervous but covered it with a brave expression.

She nods, rocking back and forth on the heels of her feet. “Yeah, yes. I will keep watch and make sure nothing happens.” Amber watches as Frank grabs one of her largest kitchen knives and looks over it, ensuring it will protect him if needed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Frank huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No, but if I don’t then we will run out of the food we have and starve.” He looks at her and feels his heart squeeze. He had always liked his neighbour a small bit, but having spent an entire week with her, trapped. It had made his feelings a lot worse. Frank knew he probably wouldn’t make it out alive in this world, but he could not gather up the courage to kiss the girl standing in front of him. He clears his throat and turns toward the door. “Alright, are you ready?”

Amber nods, quickly moving behind him but not before grabbing a knife of her own. She holds her breath as he opens it, his head moves side to side, checking to make sure the coast was clear before he moves out and towards the door of his apartment. Amber stands guard at her own door, feeling her breathing pick up and her heart squeeze, anxiety filling her being. “Frank! Hurry up!” She whisper-shouts, not wanting to be too loud but also wanting him to hurry because she could feel chills of fear exploding throughout her body.

Frank ran around his apartment, gathering the essentials, Amber’s voice had carried causing his movements to pick up. Once he had everything, Frank exited his apartment and when his eyes met hers, they lit up, a smile appearing on his face before it is replaced by a frown as the sound of groans fill the air. Ambers and Franks heads turn, and their eyes widen when they see a group of zombies making their way towards them.

It had all happened so fast, Frank had made his way over, but they kept multiplying, coming from both directions. Some seemed faster than others, catching up quickly before Amber could close the door. They snarled and pushed, all their body weight piling onto the door, causing Amber to stumble backwards, her mouth falling open into a silent scream. Frank spun, the items he grabbed falling from his grasp and crashing onto the floor.

“We can fight them!” Frank stumbled, the knife nearly slipping from his grip.

“No! There’s too many! We need to move!” Amber states, shaking her head as she watches them fill her home.

Frank nods, seeing the fear in her eyes and he knows that they need a plan. He knows deep down that one of them won’t make it out alive, and he will do everything in his power to ensure that she’s safe. “Okay, move to your bedroom, quickly!” He ushers her, hand on her lower back as he pushes her deeper into the apartment. He kicks the food further ahead of them, knowing they’ll need it if they will be stuck in a room for a while.

“Ahh!” Frank shouts, feeling something grab the back of his shirt, holding him back from moving forward with her. Amber spins, her eyes widen when she notices how close the monsters have gotten to them both. Frank was terrified and with a burst of courage and fear, he pushes forward, his lips touching hers tenderly, giving her their first and last kiss. Tears fell from their eyes, splashing onto each other’s cheeks. As Frank pulls back, he gives a sad smile and turns with a shout, swinging and stabbing. The zombies pull Frank down, ripping and tearing him apart in front of Amber’s poor eyes, her vision is blurred as she stumbles.

“N-no...” She’s in disbelief, not understanding how things could turn bad so fast. Her breathe hitches in her throat as their attention turns to her and they slowly begin to stand, a scream escapes her when a figure she knows so well stands with them. His eyes white instead of the gorgeous blue they were before, skin decayed and torn into shreds. “Frank...” She knew this was the end, but this wouldn’t be the end for her. Amber was going to fight; she had realised this was not how she was going to go out. Her eyes connected to his dead ones and a whisper slipped past her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

With a shout, Amber fought, never once giving up no matter how tired she had grown or how saddened she was. This was not her ending.

To Be Continued...

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[sizzy-is-my-otp]

Some of my unhinged fanfiction doc titles

in no particular order

not straight 4 straight, bi 4 bi

yeah idk lesbians ig

SP sleepover dear god

okay im giving in

i cannot believe im doing this jfc

And thats the tea sis

Drunk Izzy Whoops

Cat Blanc aha

Dinosaurs make great children

idfk

The fic where Tikki is human and she and Plagg have all the Wattpad traits

Harry never expected to be gay

5 min crafts

Tfw you go insane and have the urge to write an abo zeddison fic

[sayorseee]

Kings, Queens, and Pawns In Between

a mob au Masterlist

Falling in love is messy. Falling in love with a mob boss and ending up in the middle of a turf war and high profile criminal investigation? That’s just a typical Tuesday.

ao3 | fanfic

PART I: SLOWLY, THEN ALL AT ONCE

1: Bad Day

2: Power

3: A Glass of Scotch

4: Fuck Being Sober

5: Live and Let Fly

6: Wild Side

7: Meeting You Again

8: Midnight Ride

9: I Can Hear The Bells | Deleted Scene

10: Exceptional Zed

PART II: RUNNING FROM DESTINY

11: Jackpot

12: So This Is Love

13: 1AM

14: Wildest Dreams

15: Should've, Would've, Could've

COMPANION PIECES

luxury | Let Me Love You (sick fic)

INSTAGRAM POSTS

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Zed & Addison's Anniversary Posts One | Two

[kokinu09]

Welcome to my blog! Before you start scrolling, please read the following:

↠ This blog is 18+.

Why? Because I curse, write shameless smut and may have triggering themes in some of my fics. I do my best to tag accordingly. Please proceed with caution. You have been warned. IF YOU ARE BELOW THE AGE OF 18, DO NOT INTERACT! Thank you.

↠ My dms are always open.

I’m happy to chat with anyone as long as you’re respectful. However, I am not afraid of the block button if anyone comes around actin’ a fool.

↠ Be kind and courteous to others within my posts.

As I said before, I’m not afraid to block you. So be fucking nice 🫵

↠ Requests are temporarily OPEN.

I reserve the right to decline a request (with or without notice) and give no guarantees on how long it will take for a prompt to be answered.

↠ Affectionately nicknamed Koki or ZomMom

but you can call me whatever you like ❤️ respectfully

With that out of the way, below the cut are links to masterlists of my works. Enjoy your time on my blog!

💚 Z-O-M-B-I-E-S Masterlist 💚

🤍 Stray Kids Masterlist 🤍

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Femslash February 2023

044. Low - Addison Wells/Willa Lykkensen - archiveofourown.org/works/45069865

[c-rose2081]

Starchild || 15. Conversations

(Disney Z-O-M-B-I-E-S)

—

—

-

Willa liked to consider herself a creature of the night. The sun always felt too hot and bright on her skin, and the world much too loud and populated. She preferred the sanctuary nighttime provided, where things were quiet and peaceful. The Den was bustling with activity, yet only the faint murmur of talking echoed across the stone walls. The elders were prepping meat from the latest kill, while Pups sat around the fire telling stories to make one another scream. Wyatt was up above her on his usual ledge, dozing in and out of a comfortable nap. Wynter was doing the same, but on the floor and nursing a hot jug of water to lessen the pain of a possibly broken rib.

Had things not been so quiet and peaceful, Willa might’ve missed the sound of movement skirting along the walls of the Den. Pivoting her head to see who was leaving this close to morning, the wolf caught a flicker of blue and pale blonde skirting out of the cave unnoticed by the others. Curious as to what A-ddison was doing up — Zed was supposed to be watching her — Willa lifted a brow as she followed the visitor out into the night. Thankfully, the Pup hadn’t gone far; she wasn’t running away like she had at the football game (not like she’d make it far anyway).

A-ddison had sat down at the very edge of the cave’s outer lip, legs hanging over the edge of a small cliffside. She nursed her side with a hand, tail flicking back and forth across the rocky ground as she stared up into the night sky, mesmerized by the stars. Up her back, exposed by the wrapping of bandages across her torso and a pair ratty shorts, Willa could see the stripes which crawled across her pale skin, glowing whiter than the moon itself and pulsing faintly.

“Hey,” she said, drawing A-ddison’s attention as a pair of baby-blue eyes glanced over her shoulder, “you’re not supposed to be up yet.”

“Willa,” Addy greeted with a tired smile, her taught shoulders relaxing in relief, “sorry, did I wake you?”

“Wolves are active at night,” she stated factually, stepping up to stand by where A-ddison had chosen to sit, “where’s your bodyguard?”

“My body—oh! You mean Zed. He fell asleep a little while ago.”

“And you’re not with him because…?”

“I’m feeling a bit better, really I am,” A-ddison insisted, “it was just horribly stuffy in there. I wanted a bit of fresh air.”

“Hm,” Willa frowned unhappily, but had no plans on denying the request. After all, the girl before her had been through a lot in the past few hours, and had been stuck in the Den for most of them, “well…I’ll leave you to it then.”

Willa moved to walk away, but stopped short as something circled her ankle and tugged.

“Willa, wait,” A-ddison croaked, using her tail to keep the wolf from returning to the Den, “could…could you answer something for me? Please?”

“If I can,” Willa shrugged, waiting for Addy to remove her tail as she turned back to the Alien and crossed her legs to sit down, “what’s up?”

“I heard Wyatt talking to Zed earlier. He said that I was ferocious out in the forest. What does that mean?”

“What, being ferocious?” Willa confirmed, watching A-ddison nod haltingly, “well, to us wolves it means you were strong and aggressive when threatened. It’s a complement.”

“A-aggressive?” A-ddison choked, eyes widening in horror, “no…no, that can’t be right…”

A-ddison shook her head, running a hand across her antennae to flatten them, only to have them twitch back into their original position again. She seemed deeply agitated at the word, and Willa wasn’t entirely sure why.

“We followed you into the forest that night. You were on top of us easily, both in speed and strength. If you weren’t in such bad shape, you could give any hunting wolf a great challenge.”

“But I can’t have been,” A-ddison whimpered, pulling at some of her hair and twirling it, “am I the one who hurt Wynter?”

Willa blinked slowly, then sat back. The lightbulb clicked in her mind as she suddenly understood what this conversation was actually about, and what A-ddison was actually trying to tell her.

“You don’t remember attacking us,” she stated, “do you?”

The Pup shook her head negatively, blue eyes swimming with fear, and possibly ready to shed tears at any second.

“I would never hurt anyone,” A-ddison insisted, “not even to save myself. My people are peaceful; we are passive and harmonious. I…I can’t remember ever hurting Wynter, nor would I ever do so on purpose.”

“What can you remember?” Willa puzzled, “if you don’t remember the forest, what is the last thing on your mind.”

“Zed,” A-ddison admitted with a little shrug, pulling her knees up to her chest and holding them there, “I was inside his head; we were talking.”

“And that’s all you remember? Talking to Zed on the field?”

“Sort of? After I released him, it was just an overwhelming sense of…fear? I don’t even think it was fear; it’s not the right word. I just felt so alone, and I had nowhere to turn. It was like I was totally blind, but could still feel everything going on inside. And then there was this…pain, and it was hurting, and I felt this…this hatred and anger inside come out of nowhere…”

A-ddison physically shuttered, pulling her face down into her hands and gripping it, “I don’t really know what happened after that.”

“And I’m guessing you didn’t tell Zed about this?” Willa assumed, hesitantly extending a hand to rest it on the younger girls shoulder. She was absolutely thrumming with nervous energy; Willa could practically feel the vibrations traveling through her skin. She preferred a walking bug-zapper over the limp, near dead thing she had hauled in just after the game. But it was still curious — like a personified moonstone. Same energy, same vibes.

“I knew he’d blame himself if I did,” Addy admitted faintly, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I attacked you in the forest — I can’t even remember doing that. One second I’m with Zed trying to calm him down, and the next…I’m here.”

A-ddison glanced to her, a mix of terror and guilt etched into her brows and crinkling her facial markings. It reminded Willa that no matter where she had come from, A-ddison was still just a kid. Just a Pup who’d ended up in their Den by complete accident. She was scared of what she couldn’t remember doing, and no doubt had been shocked to hear that not only had she been aggressive out in the forest, but she had hurt someone. The fear was practically tangible, and it sent Willa’s instincts into a frenzy.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Willa said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze, “Wynter is fine; she’s had worse.”

“But what if I hurt someone else by mistake?” A-ddison whimpered, “what if I hurt Zed, o-or my mom…”

“You won’t. Because we’re gonna figure this out. I don’t know what happened last night, but you were just protecting yourself. It was our mistake to underestimate you, and that backfired.”

“But why can’t I remember?”

“I don’t know,” Willa sighed, shaking her head and retracting her hand, “but worrying yourself sick over it isn’t going to help either.”

“I suppose that’s only logical,” A-ddison agreed faintly, glancing back up into the sky, “you won’t tell Zed about this, will you? He worries, and I don’t want to make it worse than it already is.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Willa chuckled lightly, “I won’t say anything. But you probably shouldn’t keep him in the dark…”

“I’ll tell him, I promise I will. Just not tonight. He’s been worried about me enough,”

“Hm. If you say so,” Willa mused, glancing back to the stars, “so you’re really from up there?”

“Yeah,” Addy lifted a hand, pointing to a section of stars. One of them was big and blue, the same color as her eyes, “somewhere that direction, I think.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I thought I would,” A-ddison shrugged, leaning her cheek on both folded arms, “but I don’t, really.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” A-ddison sighed, pursing her lips in thought, “I always felt so…lonely, on the Mothership. It’s different here on Earth. Hard to be lonely when you’re always completely surrounded by friends.”

Willa blinked. A-ddison merely smiled at her, tilting her head, “thanks for helping me, and bringing Zed here. You didn’t have to, but you did. A complete stranger.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Willa mused, allowing her own smile to creep through as they stared up at the sky together, “glad you’re ok, Pup,” she mused, “welcome to the Pack.”

-

Tag List:

@theredrenard

@disneyfan50

@rose-sparks13

@magical-ashley

@kokinu09

@octolingo-writes

@fantasticvoidnerdshoe

@sayorseee

@zeddisonss

@uglyduckling339

@descendantofthesparrow

@mbradshaw1997

@mmultifandommultishipper

[aroadcalledsobriety]

Perfectionism in Pink | A Z O M B I E S FanFiction

Chapter 1

Next

Josephine's family was perfectly pink and demanded her to be the same, but why was it no matter how much pink she adorned did she always feel green?

Pink is never the violent delight; pink is polite, tender, charming, sweet, joyous… Pink is sometimes the mellow evening sky staying still above soft zephyrs, pink is sometimes a childhood bruise. Pink is nostalgia, a gentle melancholy.

Perfection.

Her room was the perfect shade of baby pink all around with the cursive word perfection hung up over her equally as pink bed. Her mom had a great eye for detail and had hung up cheer paraphernalia, flowers, and other pretty things across her room. Fluffy white carpet and an equally fluffy bag-chair decorated the floorspace of the teen's bedroom along with a pristine vanity with quality make up. The entire house was well decorated and maintained by the matriarch of the family.

Everything has to be in its place at all times no matter who was or wasn't looking. Hair smooth, make up clean, and clothes ironed - Josephine's parents always demanded perfection. Her mom was a nurse at Seabrook Hospital and her dad an officer in the Z Patrol, there was always a need to do better and to be better.

After all, Josephine Jackson was perfect. She laughed when she was supposed to, made excellent grades, always did above and beyond in everything, and most of all she did what her parents wanted her to do without question. Just like everyone else in the city, her mother was a cheerleader and her father a football player at Seabrook High School many years ago.

Surprisingly enough, they hadn't known each other existed until after college when they moved back to the small town and bumped into each other during work. Her dad was on call in Zombieland when something went wrong and he had an encounter with one of those monsters. He solved it quickly and he walked into her mom's care. He loved to show the scar off on his neck.

Love, just like that.

Then her brother was born, the perfect child. He played football just like his dad, one of the best Seabrook had ever seen, before heading off to college to study Pre-Med after being Valedictorian of his graduating class. His graduation photo hung proudly at their front entrance and the boy was sent off for his own first year last week at the prestigious Mountain College. The same school both her parents attended and the same one she would attend as well.

Yes, Josephine had a perfect life. She did what her parents told her to do and that was why everything was perfect. Her brother did the same and look where that had gotten him. She was going to be a cheerleader, just like she was supposed to be, and she'd be a lawyer within the decade.

"Do you have everything for school, Josephine?" Her mom asked from across the table. The three were enjoying breakfast together which was rare as usually one or both parents were usually gone at work. They were well known for being hard workers even in school taking double shifts to help out their community. Moments like these were rare when the family got to eat together, but the two had decided to take a break for their daughter's first day of school since they no longer had their first born to help out.

"Yes, mom. Thank you for the new water bottle, it goes perfectly with my backpack." Josephine said gratefully with a smile. Her mom returned it with full force, pride on her face at the manners her daughter had. The water bottle was an exquisite pink that matched Josephine's lunchbox, backpack, outfits... It went well with the family.

"Good, and remember cheer tryouts are early in the semester so figure out the dates before you leave school today. Write them on the calendar when you get home." Her dad said seriously, sipping on his cup of coffee and enjoying the newspaper. He very rarely had time to read it so he did when he could. "Your brother did well following in our footsteps, he might not have been a wide receiver like your dad, but he played well."

"I'm so excited to watch you as a flier, Josephine." Her mom said with excitement, her eyes glazing over as old memories flashed through her head. The woman was no cheer captain, but she had been your average Seacoast cheerleader wearing the pink and green proudly. With a small sigh of content, she looked back at her daughter who only smiled back. "I know you're a... little… tall for a girl your age, but I just know you'll be just like your mother. Soaring, flying, it's a wonderful feeling spinning in the air and-"

Ah yes. Her imperfections. Smile and bare with it, it was all because they loved her.

"Alright sugar pea." The patriarch said gently, a loving hand placed on his wife's shoulder. "Let's let Josephine go. She needs to get an early start, you know how she is with times. I'm sure we'll be watching her at the next game high in the air very soon."

Josephine ignored her stomach dropping and said her goodbyes to her parents. She headed out to get her bike from the side of the house - she lived near the edge of town - and resisted the urge to see how fast she could get to school. She waved politely to the people of the town, throwing a good morning here and a 'its good to see you' there, before arriving at the school. Freshmen to seniors were hanging out on the lawn while a few older boys with letterman jackets threw the ball near the front door.

Her brother had been a kicker on the team, the only thing her dad complained about regarding her brother, until the boy had basically kicked every single goal and got himself into college on scholarship. Even when he failed, the boy couldn't lose.

While locking up her bike, Josephine's eyes wandered from the football over to the newly built fence and she frowned.

Zombies.

Her nose scrunched up in distaste as all the stories from her dad started to pour through her head. Monsters, no brains, undead, absolute terrors to society that deserved to sho-

"Oh, Josephine!"

Woken up from her hateful thoughts, Josephine's eyes locked onto a familiar face and even though she wore pink, she felt green. The smiling face of Addison Wells stood in front of her.

"Hey, Addison." Josephine said kindly, pushing down the jealousy in her stomach as the two began walking to the school. "How's your morning going?"

Being put into cheer camp by her family for her entire life it was a guarantee to see Mayor Missy's daughter, Addison, who succeeded in everything with an almost supernatural ease. Cheer came easy to her as opposed to Josephine who spent hours on weekends with her mom clapping at her along to beats in the backyard. Somehow the two girls were friends seeing as Josephine's parents enrolled her in whatever Addison was doing.

"It's going great! I'm a little nervous, new school you know?" Josephine nodded in understanding, high school was scary enough but now they had to be in the same building with freakish monsters who wanted to eat humans... talk about stress. Her eyes darted over to the boys again, they were throwing that ball really half-hazardly. "Plus, cheerleading... it's everything I've ever wanted to be and now... this is it."

Miss Perfect nervous about anything? Everything she did was right since she was born. There was no way that the blonde had to worry about anything. Her mother was the mayor, father the head of Z-Patrol, and her cousin was the current cheer captain. In no nearby parallel universe was Addison Wells not going to become a cheerleader. Now, maybe if a zombie visited the girl at night, ripping her face off, then she'd have something to worry abo-

Josephine had to swallow her hateful thoughts down. They would do no good in the end so might as well push them away. "You'll be fine, Addison. You're amazing at cheer and the team will be lucky to have you." Dad said being emotional would get you nowhere and you can't fight someone whose already perfect.

"Thanks, Jett. I really appreciate it." Addison said kindly with a smile at the brunette. She gave a small hip bump as they approached the front doors to school and Josephine grinned back down at her friend. "You'll get in too, I know it."

"Yeah, but my parents still talk about how perfect your performance was at junior cheer camp this summer." It took everything in Josephine to not bite the words out as the memory of her parents gushing over Addison Wells reared its ugly head. The words echoed through her head and she repeated her mother's praises. "You fly like you were born for it."

Addison stopped their walk at the steps of the school and looked over at Josephine to reassure her that she was also awesome, but Josephine's eyes darted over the blonde's shoulder at a sudden movement. There were only seconds to react properly as a small 'heads up' was attempted to warn the girl. Josephine elbowed Addison out of the way before catching the football that nearly hit the cheerleader in the back of the head.

After she caught herself from being pushed out of the way, Addison looked over at Josephine with wide eyes as she sent the ball in a perfect spiral over to the group of boys who only called out quick apologies before returning back to their game. Josephine scoffed at the lack of decorum.

"Wow, that was amazing, Jett!" Addison said with excitent, looking at the girl with gratitude. "Thank you for that."

Josephine shrugged her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck in barrassment. "It's not a problem. You would do the same for me." She'd probably have flown over there with a cartwheel, hand spring, and back flip... Something so much more graceful than the throw that made the catcher stumble back.

"You're going to be great at cheer-"

"Wow, that was an amazing catch! And an awesome spiral a-and that distance!"

The brunette whipped around to the fence and took a few steps away from the chain-link, the voice that interrupted Addison stared at Josephine in excitent. Josephine felt her lip curl automatically.

Green hair, pale skin, sunken eyes... the undead just walking in their town as if they were one of them. She made eye contact with the taller zombie with curly hair and he grinned at her, she just looked away feeling disgust crawl through her. Josephine couldn't look at them any longer as fear started to build its way up.

"Are these freaks bothering you cuz?" The man, the myth, the weirdly self-obsessed Bucky Buchannan appeared from behind the two girls, placing a hand on Addison's shoulder as he also looked over at the zombies and started to make deaning faces at the taller one. When the zombie smacked against the fence, Bucky and Josephine took a step back in fear - the former letting out a shriek.

"Come on you guys, leave them alone. We've got to go to school."

"We just have to make it through the second invasion first." Josephine sneered at the freaks. The one who attempted a conversation between races visibly dropped in mood, shoulders down, eyebrows turned up. She couldn't care less what happened next as they were properly dealt with by security.

Addison faltered in her step at the hateful words and fell back - Bucky and his cheerleaders staying back with her - Josephine continued her walk since she didn't want to be anywhere near the green headed monsters. She couldn't believe the council voted on this to take place - did they not care about the future of Seabrook?! It was only a matter of time before the sirens went off and the disgusting creatures were ripping the human citizens to shreds.

Her first two classes went by without issue. Josephine was quickly climbing the social ladder by talking and smiling at everyone she could. Her parents taught her to be perfect and that meant getting approval from others through positive interactions - like cheerleading.

It was between the second and third block when the red alert went off and the first thought in Josephine's head was of course. She couldn't even find it in herself to panic like everyone else as she headed into the closest zombie protection room in annoyance. Maybe she could take a snack from the rations, they always did have the best jerky.

Her mom wouldn't be happy with her ruining her dinner though, so she best not do so.

When she opened the door, she looked behind her and wondered if she should do something about the chaos behind her. There was a worm wiggling in her brain of what her mom and dad always taught her, to sacrifice for others. But with her hand on the door and the red siren's making her heart race... what if she thought about herself?

In every safety room across Seabrook were these metal poles that were about three feet long and they were the first designed anti-zombie weapon that didn't require any training to use. The length of the pole could keep a zombie away from you, the weight of it could brutally bring it down, and in a pinch could be used to jump over obstacles. As an officer in the Z Patrol, her dad ensured that his kids knew how to use the weapon to its fullest capabilities.

There were movies about the incident from 50 years ago that show girls using the mop-like instrument to take the foul creature's heads from their necks, pierce them onto walls, or even depicted in different ways to keep yourself alive in the woods. Supposedly, this thing should be used to protect herself and others from whatever was attacking the school.

But, Z-Patrol would be on their way by now. If she stayed in the room and locked the door... she would be safe without a doubt. No one would be able to get in and all she'd have to do is wait for the all clear from the professionals. But... How many others would die?

Worst first day ever, honestly.

Josephine shook her head, grabbed a metal pole, and immediately went to go round up students and show them where the safe room was. It would look terrible if she was the only one in the safe room and had locked it, preventing others from safety. She would just go gather a group of students and bring them in, lock the door, and say good luck to everyone else.

There were no zombies that she could see and the hallways were pretty hectic. Were people screaming for no reason or were they running from a zombie? Josephine was getting pretty annoyed on her first day so far, but ensured to hide it behind a face of composure and polite kindness. She was Josephine Jackson, daughter of community servants and a future defender herself.

She hadn't stepped more than four feet from the shelter when her eyes locked onto green hair and she felt herself freeze in fear.

Zombie.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[neoarchipelago]

No but imagine finding zombie!ghost. He obviously is different, doesn't try to attack you, his jaw looks broken. He steps away from you as soon as he realizes you're in the same room. You take pity on him, and you lower the gun pointed on his head. Very contradictory, ending him would probably end his suffering. But there's something in his white dead eyes that shows an ounce of something.

You Cary on your way but remain in the same small town. You see him run around once in a while, fighting other zombies. He's one of the fastest zombies you've seen since the outbreak. It sends chills of terror through your body. Sometimes you catch his eye as you rummage through some leftovers left in the houses. He tilts his head, once he even seems to keep away an undead that got too close.

But that couldn't be true. After all... he's just a corpse... infected by a brain controlling virus.

After two weeks of seeing him, from afar and sometimes way too close, you start to wonder what's so different about him. You lay awake in the bed of an abandoned bedroom after you've secured the house you're in. Until you hear footsteps. Quite ones. Human ones.

You panic and rush to jump on your knife, ready to fight but the door flies open and a large man jumps on you, you kick and fight, stabbing him in the shoulder blade but he pins you down. And you think it's over, that's it. Until a common growl is heard. And suddenly it's him, dragging the man on top of you away. Scratching at his throat while blood gushes out. You want to throw up but you're so shocked you can't look away.

When the man doesn't move anymore, he turns to you, looking at you and tilting his head. You tried to catch your breath. He just saved you. Now you're sure he's different. You crawl to him and he takes a step back. You raise your hands in surrender and you watch him fall to his knees. You scan his attire, a military man obviously. You can't seem to find a name. Until you remember that they have dog tags. You scoot closer, he flinches.

"I just... want to see your dog tags. Do you understand?"

What are you doing? Talking to a zombie who probably doesn't understand you anymore. That simply has a tiny bit of humanity left. Probably not for long. Your hands raise slowly and he doesn't move. Your heart is beating so fast and so loudly in your ears. When your fingers touch his cold neck you shiver, trying to touch a hint of a chain. Until you do. And you slowly retrieve the tags from underneath his vest.

"Lt. Simon 'ghost' Riley." You read. "Simon..." he growls almost annoyed. "Ghost?" You try. He lowers his head.

You don't know if you're in shock or dreaming. You scan his vest, a hint of paper in one of his front pockets intriguing your brain. You point at it.

"Can I see?"

He doesn't make a move so you tempt it. You retrieve it, it's a picture. A squad with four men. Him, obviously and three others. Behind, 'task force 141' is roughly scribbled.

"your team... are they dead?"

No answer. As if he could speak.

"you're... looking for them?" You tempt, frowning slightly.

He growls. Yes. He is. He's kept his humanity for a little while. Because he wants to find his team.

You sigh, putting back the picture in his pocket carefully and his dog tags in his vest. You keep scanning him, looking at his attire his face, the blood and dirt.

"We should get you a little cleaning..." you say mindlessly. He tilts his head.

He saved your life. You owe him. You owe this undead man. Should you help him? After all... you aren't busy with anything else but surviving.

[exceptional-z]

Giving birth to a zombie is extremely traumatic to your body. The pregnancies are difficult, the birth is violent due to the feral nature of zombies in their natural state, and they receive next to no medical aid. It’s why so many zombies are raised by single fathers, why those who are lucky enough to still have their mom around are usually only children. To survive one pregnancy is rare enough, but a second zombie pregnancy is honestly testing fate at that point.

Zed’s mother died giving birth to Zoey. It’s all she’s ever known, though it’s not as hard on her when most of her zombie friends have similar family dynamics. At least in that way she’s not the odd one out. Zed did know his mom, he’d been old enough to understand what was happening when she started to get sicker and sicker as the pregnancy progressed. He refused to eat or speak for days after his dad had come home from the hospital alone with Zoey in his arms, without the woman who’d raised him, who was so kind and beautiful and genuine.

When Addison told him she was pregnant, he nearly threw up from the sudden, intense fear that surged over him like a tidal wave, threatening to knock him over. The memories came rushing back, memories he tried so hard not to think about. But this time it was Addison instead of his mom. In his nightmares, he watched her body grow skinnier as the zombie baby drained the life from her, stole her nutrients, kicked at her until she couldn’t keep anything down. He’d heard horror stories from others with similar experiences as his own, other zombies who were old enough to remember the loss of their mother.

He had never spoken to Addison about his mom before, but he couldn’t exactly keep it from her when she looked at him with such worry in her eyes, like she thought he was upset with her rather than angry at the world for making such unfair situations. So he opened up, cried into her arms as he described his feelings in detail that he’d never told anyone, not even his dad, not even Eliza.

“I won’t leave you,” Addison promised, “I’ll fight even if it seems impossible. I told you that someday we would have our happily ever after and no one can take that from us.”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part ten —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter kicked my butt. thanks for the patience~

An ear-splitting gunshot bites the ground near your boot, close enough to feel the heat simmer through the worn leather. It takes everything in you not to freeze in terror. You grab Blue and run. 

Adrenaline kicks into high gear once again, but with her dead weight and your lack of strength, you know you can't get far. You manage to tumble behind a stack of rusted bins just as another round fires. 

Blue clings to you. "He's following us!"

Your heart sinks as your fingers reach for your bow— you left it.

"Give me your gun," you sputter quickly.

She shoves the unfamiliar weapon in your hands. A tremble consumes your body as you peek over the barrel to find your target. For a second, you see your attacker as he passes by one of the jeeps. A young man no older than yourself. 

Without hesitation, you close an eye and go for his heart, but the bullet grazes the top of his shoulder with a spray of blood. Used to a bow, you aimed too high.

He barks out a swear and then lifts his rifle in retaliation. Before he can shoot, a Grey bursts through the window of the jeep, clamping down on his neck. His throat turns to gore. The gun falls from his grip as screams of pain quickly turn to muffled groans.

Relief and horror pound through your veins. That was close. Too close. You have to get Blue out of here. But how—

There is no chance to decide. Suddenly, she screams again. You whip around to meet the slash of a long knife and the flush of cold air as your coat is torn. Someone has snuck up behind you. You fumble with the gun but the attacker knocks it out of your hand, then fists your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. It happens so fast. You can't even get a good look at him— only the wild stare of his eyes and the strength of his stature. Whoever these people are, they are certainly better fed than that man in the woods.

You thrash against him, hurling saliva at his face. Apparently, he didn't expect that because he hisses, "Fuck."

You use the distraction to grab your own knife, the only weapon on you, and blindly drive it into the taut muscle of his thigh. He howls, letting go of your hair, and you slip away just enough to dodge the next swipe of his blade.

The fight is short-lived. You've grown stronger, but not enough to fight a man. He is skilled and bulky. Your attempts to hit him are futile. His knife catches you in the forehead, sending a curtain of blood down your face, and he grabs hold of your hair once again.

"Gonna cut your throat first," he murmurs, low and gravelly. "Then your little lamb's."

He will kill you. Then her. You can't let him. You won't. Something animalistic takes hold of you. You do the only thing left you can think of— bite. Hard. The sickening taste of human flesh and hot blood fills your mouth as you rip out a chunk of his nose.

"You bitch!" 

He clutches his oozing face. Blue shouts at you, her finger jutting toward something— the Grey. Done with its first meal, it draws toward the scent of fresh blood. Before your attacker can recover, you throw all your weight at him, which isn't much, but it is enough to make him lose his footing and veer into the Grey's path. It grabs hold and sinks another bite into his face.

Suddenly, two more gunshots ring out. One to the Grey's head, and the other through the man's eye. Both bodies flop dead to the ground. Before you can panic, a wild-eyed Ghost returns in long strides. 

"Blue!" he bellows. 

"Dad!" she yells back.

He heads straight for her, quickly dipping down to check her bandaged leg and search for any other wounds. Fear has forced her eyes to stay open, her body stiff and alert. There is a wet stain at the crotch of her jeans. 

"They tried to kill us," she cries.

“I'm here, baby. I won't leave you again.”

You wipe the blood off your face and glance around, panting so hard your lungs hurt. The air reeks of carnage and gunpowder, but the firing has ceased. 

"They attacked us," you speak in a raw shout. “Two of them. Did you— Are the rest gone?"

He nods. "Could be more nearby. Let's get out of here before we find out."

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and scoops up Blue without an ounce of the effort it took for you to do so. 

He moves fast. Retrieving your bow, you push hard to keep up with him. 

Twilight tints the sky purple. You make it past the fence and zig-zag through the medical tents when movement catches your eye again.

"Ghost, to the right!" you scream.

You knock an arrow onto the string, aiming for the distant figure. But the movement multiplies, more shadows lurking towards you with uneven gaits. Not people. Greys. The realization forms a pit in your stomach.

"They can fucking smell us," you choke out. 

"Hit the faster ones!"

Arrow after arrow, you aim for the ones that move with the stamina of a more recently infected. To your right. To your left. Ghost carries Blue with one arm and shoots with his handgun. More and more crawl out like cockroaches, no doubt catching a whiff of the blood that stains all three of you. 

Two built like linebackers run wildly up to Ghost from either direction. He shoots one, while the other grabs him by the shoulder. You launch an arrow at its skull, your aim more precise now that you're not shooting bullets, and it lets go of him with a squeal. 

When the trees grow thicker, it becomes harder to see them. Despair pushes a cry up your throat when you slap a hand back to your quiver and feel two arrows left. 

A slippery mix of mud and leaves suddenly takes you down to the ground, your knees landing on a hard tree root. You swear under your breath, fumbling to get back up, when a Grey you hadn't noticed behind you lunges on top, slamming you back down. Pain shoots through your ribs as you frantically roll around, thrusting a forearm against its throat to avoid its opened mouth and kicking your knees into its chest. Then, a fiery bullet lodges into its forehead, the Grey going limp on top of you with a splatter of brains and coagulated fluid. 

"Get up, Twix!" Ghost barks. 

You shove the body off and scramble to your feet, legs feeling like jelly, but you force them to keep running. 

You whip a brief look behind you. 

"There's too many— I'm almost out of arrows!" 

"The river," Ghost throws over his shoulder. "Those fucks can't swim."

You realize his idea when the roar of water greets your ears. Ghost doesn't hesitate to sprint onto the rusty rebar, slipping his gun away to hold Blue with both arms. 

You follow behind, forcing your eyes on the bank ahead as you slow down to keep balance. All you have to do is get across and the river will take care of the rest. Heartbeats pound in your skull, each step requiring an unfathomable amount of focus that you struggle to muster. You're about halfway there when you hear the splash of Greys falling in, and a brief glance below causes your footing to falter. 

This time you fail to grab the beam.

Cold water envelops you like a million needles.

A mouthful of water burns down your throat, and for a moment, you can't move. Can't breathe. Everything spins around you. It's not until your feet collide with something hard - the bottom of the riverbed - that your brain registers what's happening and you kick out to propel yourself up. 

You break the surface for a gulp of air before the current pulls your head back under. Your arms flail around in search of something to grab. Just when you latch onto what feels like a log, a hand seizes your ankle with a hungered screech. You slam your foot back, over and over, more water filling your mouth as you struggle to kick the Grey and hold on at the same time.

Finally, the rotten skull caves in and the current sucks it away. With your leg freed, you haul yourself up the log toward the edge of the river. You begin climbing up the cliffside, using the twisted roots as footholds, your hands digging into caked soil. You're almost to the top, but you feel numb and weak. So weak. You can't find anything else to grab. The wet sole of your boot begins to slip.

"Grab on!"

A gloved hand stretches down. Ghost is crouched above, Blue now on his back so can he lean over. You grip his hand and he pulls you up, until you collapse on the ground, wet and shivering. 

You cough up water and bile. 

"Bloody fucking hell.” 

It's been a while since you've thought about dying. You've made it this far, instinct always taking the reins and pushing you onward. But now, as the reality of the cold, wet clothes clinging to you sets in, you consider asking Ghost to just shoot you. It would be quicker than freezing to death, and a much better fate than drowning or turning Grey. At least you know Blue will be safe now.

Before you can form the words, you hear the shuffling of fabric. A jacket, a beanie. Set on the ground beside you.

"Take off your clothes. Put these on."

The rest turns into a dream. You don't remember putting the clothes on, or standing up and moving your heavy limbs. You don't remember getting to the hunter's cabin, but the next thing you know, you are curled up on the floorboards beside a small fire, inhaling the musky smell of Ghost's oversized jacket, with the blanket you brought tucked around your bare legs. You don't feel cold anymore. Your head pounds. You can hear the steady rhythm of your heart, slow but present. Behind you somewhere, Ghost tends to Blue. You know this because you hear him whisper to her as her sobs are muffled by biting onto a shirt. Amelia, Amelia, he says to her. A name you've never heard before. He must be cleaning the wound, the pain of it causing her to thrash and kick. Then, the sounds fade, and you know she is asleep. 

When your eyes finally tear away from the flames, you spot Ghost hunched over, lifting up his shirt. Dark blood and ink stain pale skin. 

"You were shot?" 

His eyes snap up. He regards you for a moment, and it is now you notice that most of the white of his mask has been stained with red from his kills. 

"Knife," he says.

You don't know why you offer, or why he silently accepts. Somehow you end up knelt beside him, your cracked fingertips cleaning the puncture wound in his torso without a single word exchanged. It's not deep enough to need stitches. You clear the blood and dab on antiseptic. The only sign he feels any pain is the flex of corded muscles beneath your touch and the occasional sharp inhale through the mask. His skin is oddly warm, a temperature that does some to ease the tension in your muscles.

When you're done, you roll the shirt back down. He doesn't say thank you, not that you expected him to. 

You break the silence with a voice that barely hovers above a whisper. "You could've let me freeze."

His brows lower. "You could've let them kill her."

"I would never do that." When he doesn't respond, you glance at her sleeping form. "She's okay?"

"Just a graze," he confirms.

"She lost quite a bit of blood. She might need a few days to rest."

Your gaze shifts back to his. You quietly add, "Did you recognize them? Were they a part of the military?" 

"Maybe. Their gear was. Didn't know them, though."

"Why did they try to kill us?"

He gives you a look. Of course. He tried to kill you for the same reason once.

"They have a camp nearby," you murmur the answer, more to yourself than to him. "Something to protect."

He gives a slow nod, then moves to grab his rifle and a hoodie to slip on in place of the thick SAS jacket he lent you. As he moves to the door, you realize what he plans to do. Keep watch.

You slip the beanie off and run your fingers over the cut on your brow when he says something just before leaving.

"For someone who once asked me to kill them, you fight hard to survive, Twix."

You don't know what to say. Just hours ago, you almost asked him to kill you again.

There's a beat of silence and then, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Do you fight so hard."

A breath sticks in your throat, and you stare at the floor. You're not sure why he is asking this, or why the answer is so hard to give.

"I... I don't know."

With that, he leaves. You watch the fire turn to dark embers. The faded adrenaline has left you with a fatigue you have grown familiar with. If you weren't so tired, maybe you would still be scared, your mind filled with fresh memories of gore and death and screaming. But you fall asleep quickly, scooting beside Blue and sinking into the warmth of his jacket. 

[6lostgirl6]

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital. 

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table. 

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed. 

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him. 

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it. 

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Tagging: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bluecoolr @the-pinstriped-hood @flower-crowned-lady @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @azzy-ozborn @strrvnge @repostingmyfavs

[sayorseee]

Kings, Queens, and the Pawns In Between

the mob au

Chapter 8: Midnight Ride

Zed and Addison spend the night together.

Ao3 | fanfiction.net

[kokinu09]

My Alien AU: A-dison as Alien Armada Leader and Zed as the normal guy chosen to negotiate on humanity's behalf.

The Alien Armada

The massive ship hovered ominously over the town. Humans were scattered and taking cover. Except for a few brave, young individuals. All bold with their unique appearances and willing to stand up for others who can’t for themselves.

They stood their ground as a blinding light beamed down in front of them. Three figures appeared when it dissipated, perfectly uniform with their stances, feet together and arms crossed behind their straightened backs. But the most unnerving part about these strange beings were the face guards, making them seem even less like individuals and more of just a single unit.

“Greetings, Earthlings,” a robotic voice emerged when the one in the middle spoke. “Our Armada Leader has decided your plant will be suitable for our people to reside.” The group of humans glanced amongst themselves hesitantly before the being continued. “Please evacuate the premises immediately.”

“Wait, evacuate?! You’re not taking our homes!”

Zed put a hand up to keep Eliza from rushing forward, his eyes trained on the creatures intently. “Respectfully, we can’t do that.” He said, taking a step forward. “Maybe we can make some kind of arrangements though? Could I speak to your leader?” He offered instead.

The group tilted their heads in unison, obviously confused or possibly curious. They reached up and removed the visors, their faces emotionless.

Then for the first time, they move out of synchronization, turning instead to face each other. “Let us remove our emotion suppressors to better understand these creatures.” The shorter-haired alien suggested.

“I agree. They seemed very…angry…about our request.” The male replied.

“It’s decided then.” The third with a clean-cut bob stated.

Once again in unison, they lift their wrists and suddenly their faces morph with enlightenment. “Oh! This emotion of excitement is so exciting!” The first one said giddily.

“Riiight,” Zed cautiously interrupted, “so you’ll let me talk to your leader?”

They straightened again to address him with polite smiles this time. “I am sure our leader, A-dison would be happy to negotiate terms to make the move for your people as peaceful as possible!” The excitable one confirmed.

They lifted their wrist again and, suddenly, the beam of light began to engulf him.

“Zed!!” His friends shouted behind him.

“Don’t go in alone!” That was Willa.

“Stop!” And Wyatt.

But none of them could reach him before he and the aliens were beamed up. A rush of panic flooded his system when his feet felt solid ground again. He flinched away from the blue-haired invaders.

“Do not be alarmed!” The male said.

“We are not dangerous!” The girl with a bob assured.

Zed still stood ready to defend himself so the first one took a step forward. “I am A-spen. This is A-li and A-lan.” They introduced, then turned back to Zed. “And you are…”

“Zed.” He replied cautiously.

“Hello, Zed! Wonderful! Now we are all acquaintances!” A-spen exclaimed happily.

Zed was unsure if he could trust them but decided he had to, at least for the time being, until he could reason with their psychotic leader. So, he relaxed his shoulders and straightened his back, fake smile tugging his lips.

The aliens seemed thrilled.

“Right this way,” A-lan instructed, already walking in unison with the other two. His curiosity was getting the best of him and he had to ask.

“Why do you all move like that?” When they gave him a confused look, he elaborated. “I mean, any move you make, all of you make it.”

“Oh~! You must mean our mind link!” A-li chimed in.

“The Stardust Spark we possess allows us to read each other's minds,” A-spen explained.

“Yes,” A-lan agreed, “except if we choose to disconnect. But we are a very harmonious people.”

“We have no need for disagreements,” A-li added proudly. The three of them smiled at one another, Zed on the other hand is thoroughly confused.

But before he could question it any further, they were leading him through a doorway. He was slow to follow, cautious of the foreign ship. Making sure to take in his surroundings should he need to defend himself, or escape… if that was even possible.

But then his eyes land on a figure staring out across the landscape of Seabrook. Though it looked more like a monitor rather than a window.

“The humans have requested to meet with you, A-dison.” A-spen announced, motioning an arm towards Zed. “We have brought their representative! Zed!”

The leader of the Alien Armada turned to face the guest on their ship. Zed felt like time instantly slowed, his heart skipping a beat in his chest.

The dimension in her curls from faint hues of white like the wisps of clouds dancing across a clear summer sky. Her face held no emotion but her beautiful blue eye pierced through him nonetheless. She was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“Hm, I see.” She mused. “And you wish to deter us from making our new home on your planet.”

“What? No! We don’t mind if you want to live here! As long as we don’t lose our homes.” Zed explained. A-dison’s brows knitted in confusion.

“You…don’t mind if we reside amongst your people?” She asked.

“Well yeah!” Zed breathed in a sigh and smiled at her. He could have sworn there was a sparkle that shone in her eyes for a moment.

Then, as quick as lightning, she lifted her wrist and did something to the lens in her bracelet. The same thing the other aliens had done. Her body shook for only a few seconds before her face was alight with expression.

Her eyes lifted and met his, as though it were for the first time.

“I…would be happy to hear your suggestions.” She said slowly, carefully. Zed’s smile widened. But then she straightened her back properly and put on a neutral expression.

“A-spen, A-lan, A-li. Please prepare the others for landfall.” She instructed, Zed felt the blood drain from his face and he was sure he must look panicked because her face creased with worry before she asked, “Unless you do not think your people would appreciate an introduction?”

Zed physically relaxed with a sigh, his smile returning. “Yes, I think they’d very much appreciate that.”

A-dison giggled and he swore his stomach did a flip. Her smile didn’t fade as she turned to her companions. “It’s decided then! We will beam down before the sun sets to properly greet the humans.” She said with an upbeat tone.

The three aliens bounced with excitement before disappearing out the door. Leaving Zed completely alone with A-dison.

By the time he turned back to look at the beautiful girl, she was standing directly in front of him, leaning forward into his personal space and analyzing his face as if she’d never seen anything like him before.

“I am very drawn to you.” She said, face scrutinizing his every feature. “But also very confused.” She continued to admit. Zed tried to gently place his hands on her shoulders but was instantly zapped. A-dison squeaked in surprise. “I’m sorry!”

Zed managed to right himself enough to smile, albeit stiffly. “I’m alright.”

A-dison looked at her hands in disbelief. “And now I am having trouble controlling my spark? What are you doing to me, Zed?”

He let out a chuckle. “I can’t tell you what you’re feeling,” he started, reaching forward and carefully tucking a blue curl behind her ear, “but I’ll gladly stick around while you figure it out.”

They were lost in each other’s eyes, a magnetic pull drawing them closer. But the moment Zed’s hand lifted to cup her cheek, ZAP!

Zed hissed, shaking his hand as if he could shoo the volts out of his hand. “I’m sorry!” A-dison apologized again. Zed just smiled.

“Don’t be. We’ll work on that.” He assured her with a wink, earning a wide smile in return. If he could hear the beautiful laugh that bubbled from her just once a day, he’d die a happy man.

She took a step back and a deep breath to recompose herself, her wide smile still in place when she looked back up at him. “Why don’t we discuss some kind of arrangements for our peoples to coexist in peace.” She offered. Zed quickly nodded his agreement before she guided him over to the Mothership central controls.

~*~

“Ready?” Zed asked quietly, so the other aliens wouldn’t hear. She took in a shaky breath.

“As I’ll ever be.” She agreed.

Zed hated how nervous she seemed. He wanted her to be excited! Like he was! But he also understood. Change is hard for everyone.

Gingerly, he slid his fingers across her palm. When there wasn’t a static charge immediately shocking him, he laced his fingers with hers. A-dison gasped as she quickly looked down at their entwined hands then back up with an elated smile, slowly tightening her grip.

“Hey! It doesn’t hurt anymore!” He laughed.

“I think I’m learning to control my powers around you.” She teased, making him smile even wider. With her grip on Zed’s hand, she found the courage to hold her head up high.

“Mothership, please beam us down.” She paused, looking up at Zed beside her with stars dancing in her sky-blue eyes. “All of us.”

He kept his eyes on her profile as they all began to dissipate into light fractures. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see anything as beautiful as her glimmering face for the rest of his life. So he tried to etch it into his memory. In case he never saw it again.

The next thing he knew, they were back in the middle of the streets of Seabrook. A-dison immediately coiled back, her free hand gripping his bicep in fear as humans surrounded them. He realized there was shouting from a lot of angry humans and patrol vehicles with flashing lights that were scaring the aliens even more.

“Stay here.” He told A-dison softly. She gave him a fearful nod before he rushed to the front.

“Whoa whoa! Everyone calm down!” He shouted, putting his hands up to try and ease his people’s nerves. “They don’t mean any harm! It was a big misunderstanding!”

“Zed!” He turned toward the call of his name. Out rushed his friends as they nearly tackled him to the ground in a relieved group hug.

“We were so scared we’d never see you again!” The very emotional Bree exclaimed. He chuckled, embracing his friends, well, as many of them as he could reach.

“Guys, I’m fine! And the aliens are great!” He assured, pulling back to motion towards A-dison. She cautiously stepped forward, the other aliens moving out of her way as she approached the strangers.

Zed rested his hand on the small of her back, intending to show he was there to support her but inadvertently made her cheeks go a little pink. “This is A-dison, their leader. She brought her people here to find a home.”

Eliza took a step forward, arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah. To put us out of ours.” She countered.

A-dison looked back up at Zed for reassurance. He gave her a nod, his thumb brushing across her back for comfort. She took in a breath before turning back to the people who care about Zed, the one who makes her stomach flutter and heart race. They can’t be that bad if they’re friends with him.

“I would like to apologize for the miscommunication. We did not know we would be able to…mingle…with your people.” She tried out a term Zed had used during their discussion earlier, sounding a little unsure but quickly switched to a more upbeat tone. “But we would be happy to coexist with your people peacefully!” She finished hopefully.

Eliza looked her up and down, then back to Zed, and then towards their other friends. “I’m not getting a bad vibe from her.” She said, casually walking away. Willa, Wyatt, and Wynter took her place in front of the blue and green-haired duo.

“How can you trust them? They’ve come to take over our town!” Willa yelled harshly. When she went to take a step forward, Zed shoved himself between them, gently pushing A-dison back a few steps.

“You don’t know them, Willa.” He said, warning in his tone.

“Wow!” The sudden interruption distracting both of them. It was A-spen rushing forward with amazement in their eyes. “You have so much passion!”

“I—uh…” Willa stammered as a blush crept up her cheeks.

“Um,” Zed put a hand up to stop A-spen from getting too close, “she wants to rip your heart out.” He told them.

“She can have it!” A-spen replied, pushing past his hand to get closer to the wild woman.

Zed looked back at A-dison, they exchanged a shrug, since the aggression was defused, and let it go. Zed led A-dison to the Mayor to finalize some treaties between the humans and aliens. And once they had an understanding, both races threw a massive block party for the whole town.

A chance for everyone to get to know their new neighbors and friends.

Zed draped his arm around A-dison’s shoulders as they drank their fruit punch, laughing and goofing off with the misfit group that oddly fit in so perfectly together. He couldn’t wait for what the future was going to hold for them. Especially the petite bluenette under his arm.

“It has been so long since we’ve had somewhere to stay.” A-li pointed out as it was finally sinking in.

“Yes,” A-lan agreed, “it feels…nice.” He sighed.

“We have found our new home!” A-spen cried, happy tears threatening to brim their eyes.

The whole group chuckled and huddled in for a group hug to welcome the aliens to their new home. Seabrook was more than that, however. It was their new family.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Panfandom Hanukkah Bingo

WHAT: A fanworks bingo celebrating Jewish (and Jew-ish) characters across any and all fandoms. Write fanfiction and/or create graphics (moodboards, edits, vids, whatever you like) to fill prompts on this overall bingo card. During the 8 nights of Hanukkah, submit your fills to the AO3 collection and/or post them on Tumblr to be reblogged and added to the Bingo Masterpost.

WHY: Jewish characters and Jewish fans are often overlooked or erased during the Winter Holiday Season in favor of "Secret Santa" exchanges, Christmas-themed fics, and the idea that ~Hanukkah is Jewish Christmas~ (which spoiler for all fics in this bingo: it's not). This panfandom Bingo challenge is to celebrate Hanukkah on its own terms and give Jewish characters and fans a place to breathe. :)

MORE INFO!