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luveline · 1 year

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OK THE STEVE ZOMBIE AU BUT HE DOES FINALLY MIRACULOUSLY FIND ROBIN OR MAYBE DUSTIN OR LITERALLY ANYONE FAMILIAR. Our girl is happy but also like 👀 u finna ditch me now?

theres literally no zombies in this lmao </3 apocalypse au with new (but not really) boyfriend steve wherein you reunite with some old friends and find a community (and worry steve is gonna break up w u) fem!reader 7k words

The border between Indiana and Michigan is quiet. Nothing denotes its location besides a Welcome to Indiana sign.

Steve's hand tightens around yours. You stand there for minutes, wind breezing past your tired bodies and ruffling his limp hair.

"Do you think this is our last time seeing Indiana?" you ask quietly.

There's no need to shout. The town surrounding the border is abandoned.

He drops your hand. You miss his touch and the soothing effect it gives to hold it immediately.

"Maybe," he says. "Does that bother you?"

It fucking scares you. Staying there wasn't really an option anymore, not with the infestation of geeks dribbling away from Indianapolis or the lack of food. And besides that, you'd wanted to get to Michigan badly. Steve and his friend Robin had been planning to come here together before their untimely separation. Half of Hawkins had been aiming for Michigan after the news broke all those months ago — Illinois, Ohio, and Kentucky overrun by flesh-eating monsters.

But if you leave Indiana, you're admitting it's a lost cause. That the lives you led there are gone, candles snuffed out by a sudden ripping gale.

"I just…" You look over your shoulder at Michigan. "Can't believe we're here."

"I think I'm glad we're here."

You cock your head toward him.

"Not just to find Robin," he clarifies. "But, no offence? Indiana was kicking your ass."

You grimace at his implication. Indiana was kicking your ass. You've rolled your ankle more times than you can count. You'd fallen ten feet through the floor and given yourself a major concussion. You've been snarled at, robbed at knifepoint, and almost eaten.

"Fucking Indiana," you say.

"Fuck Indiana." He turns on his heel, but not before he's wrapped a hand around your arm to drag you with him. "Michigan better be nice to my girl, or we're going to Canada."

You've already let him walk you a couple of feet when you have the bearings to splutter, "Your girl?"

He ignores you, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. You’re pretty confident in being his girlfriend, but something about being ‘his girl’ makes your head rush.

You'd found a gun a little ways back but no ammunition for it. It's a good prop regardless, so Steve keeps it in hand stuffed into the pocket of his windbreaker ready to scare off anyone with enough wits to find guns scary. You're sitting ducks otherwise, armed with one small penknife and the metal baseball bat that Steve keeps in the strap of his rucksack, so you stick to the side roads. Being out in the open is risky. You're used to this mode of living, adept at slinking and skulking in dimly dark places.

"Steve?" you ask, a murmur in the ringing quiet. Cicadas chirp in the trees, leaves rustling with each burst of wind.

"Yeah?" he asks shortly, distracted by the door in front of him.

He's attempting to pick the lock of a convenience store's sidedoor. You're standing guard.

"Where do you think Robin is?"

He doesn't answer for a while. He works a delicate job, the slim pick in his hand creaking formidably with every wrong move. He's too forceful, and you're the better locksmith, but your wrist still twinges from your fall in the woods a few days ago. Steve's too protective for his own good.

"I don't know. But she's smart, and-" He hisses, hair falling into his eyes. "I'm hoping she's still here."

"If I were her, I'd wait for you."

He tips his head back to meet your eyes. "If you ever stay somewhere dangerous waiting for me, I'll fist fight you."

Usually you'd burst into laughter at his familiar abrupt absurdity — you've grown to adore his jokes now that you know there's no real malice behind them — but you want him to hear what you're saying. You want to know if he'd do the same.

"I would," you say softly.

The lock clicks open.

Steve grins at you. "You won't need to. You're stuck with me like glue."

Inside of the store is a sorry sight. While the shutters had been down, a good sign, the interior is much less promising. Sunshine filters in through the smallest cracks, casting a scarce light over what's left of the aisles. Two are crushed to one side as if a huge hand has swept them away. Smashed booze bottles litter the floor. Glass like snow crunches underfoot, and a sticky sour smell is heavy in the air.

You ease into the room on pins.

"There's gotta be something," Steve says, pulling his pocket-sized torch out to give you a better view.

Where the shelves have collapsed, there's a small tunnel to the front of the room. You bend down to assess it.

"I think there's cookies over there."

"Where?" Steve demands. You point to aforementioned treats.

He army crawls through the gap and pops out on the other side. Those few seconds where you can't see him are unsettling, and from the speed with which he looks at you, he may have felt the same.

"Keep an eye out," he says.

You turn to the door. You've closed it tight but it won't lock without a key, and anyone might assume what you have and come inside.

Steve hisses an excited, "Yes!"

"How'm I s'posed to keep watch when you're doing that?"

"Babe, there's fucking Chips Ahoy." He loves them.

"I'm sick of Chips Ahoy," you mumble to yourself. "I miss carrots. And potatoes. I miss pasta. Pasta."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Definitely. I'd trade you for a full, home-cooked meal any day, handsome. Fresh made pasta, sun dried tomatoes. Garlic bread." You could cry thinking about it, all those rich flavours together.

"Call me crazy, but I think we could make you some pasta. Look-" He holds up a small jar. "Crushed garlic."

You brighten. "Where'd you find that?"

Garlic is a great flavour to make literally anything taste better, like all the canned stuff people don't always take: artichoke hearts, asparagus, aubergine.

"Holy shit, score.” Steve holds another tin up, torch held between his chest and his upper arm.

Your eyes turn round as saucers.

That night, you decide to stay in the convenience store. You'll be cornered if somebody tries to get in, but you'll be safe from geeks and the elements. Two out of three isn't bad.

You and Steve share the only fork, chowing down on his amazing find of tinned vegetable soup and dumplings. It barely registers in your head that it's cold, it's so nice to be eating something that isn't spaghettios. You could've built a fire outside to warm it if you weren't scared of being spotted by scroungers. Or worse, cannibals.

"Maybe we should go outside. Look for smoke," you say. Smoke means people.

"Good idea.” He urges you to take what's left of the soup, stands, and kisses the top of your head as he does.

You're pretty sure there's bliss like the light of a star radiating off of your skin, elated at his easy affection. You're almost as happy to get to finish the soup.

While he's gone, you open your bag and scrounge for what little self-care you have. Toothpaste is abundant in every store no matter how looted, as is soap, but soap needs water, and you're running low. You brush your teeth with toothpaste alone and use a little bit of water on a rag to wipe the oil off of your face, guilty and thankful at once. If you don't wash yourself when you can, you'll go crazy.

You apply another layer of roll on old spice and hope it'll hold out until you can find another lake, river, or tributary, which shouldn't be impossible. Michigan is surrounded by water, a fact that had put you off coming here at first.

You go where Steve goes, though, so Michigan it had been, and Michigan it is.

Your first night’s already proved fruitful. There's more than enough food here if you're willing to get weird (and you and Steve usually are). More food than you could carry.

Which is a little suspicious, now that you think about it.

Nobody thought to look here?

Is there anybody to look?

You push all your stuff aside and scramble onto your knees, suddenly paranoid. Steve's taking too long, what if this place is a trap? A honeytrap to lure in mindless ants. What if they've already grabbed him, and–

"Oh, Jesus," Steve says as he opens the door, voice uber loud in the night time stillness. "You scared me. What's the matter, need to pee?"

"I thought somebody kidnapped you," you say, trying for joking and missing by a mile.

Steve leans against the door. He's regained his controlled volume and demeanour, "Safe and sound. I'm serious, do you need to pee?"

You and Steve pad out your corner of the store against the pilfered chip aisle. He lets you use his chest as a pillow, and when he turns off the torch there's nothing to do but listen to his breathing and feel his chest move under your ear.

You rub his sternum with the heel of your hand. "You could use me as a pillow sometime. If you wanted to."

"Yeah? You're softer than me, I think I'd love that."

You draw a short line to his navel, thinking. Lucky to have found him. Lucky to like him this much, and lucky that he likes you. You're 'his girl', and you get to sleep on his chest and sometimes when he's not worrying himself to the bone he'll tell you secrets. You know him better than you’ve ever known anybody.

He curls his arm around your shoulder and takes your upper arm into his hand, the heat from his fingers seeping into your skin. You've taken off your coat because it's uncomfortable. Steve will fold it over your chest when you fall asleep.

"It was a good day, right?" He sounds terrified of jinxing it.

You kiss his chest, or his t-shirt, so lightly he likely doesn't feel it. A kiss for your sake rather than his. "It was a good day."

He holds you close. His heart thrums in your head.

"Floor's like a fucking ice cube," he mutters.

You cover as much of him as you can with your arms, sleep tugging at your eyelids. "I'll keep you warm," you promise as they close. "Wake me up when you get too tired."

"Alright." He massages your arm in his hand gently, and you fall asleep.

—

Steve flinches awake at the whisper of a sound outside. A younger Steve, one who'd known nothing about geeks, or people, really, how awful they can be, wouldn't have woken. Hell, Steve could've slept through a hurricane when he was in high school, all those years where he'd stayed up too late playing hooky and smoking Malboro's behind the Big Buy. He looks back now and wonders how much sleep he missed out on in his king-sized mattress, up to his eyeballs in cushy sheets and fresh linens. Why had sleeping felt like such a chore?

And after that, when he and Robin would stay up watching shitty movies and eating the free stale popcorn from the video store. Though he wouldn't trade any of that away.

Fucking idiot, he thinks to himself scathingly. He was not supposed to fall asleep. He checks you over quickly. In your sleep you've slid off of his chest and onto the tarp next to him, but you’re unharmed.

He sits up and scrambles for his penknife. Weak dusk light breaks through the store's shutters, dust motes disturbed by his movements diving between rays of light like lightning bugs. His joints click with the force and speed with which he springs up to protect you.

What sound was that? It had come as loud as a crack of thunder, but could've been something small, a squirrel over a tree branch.

He should wake you up. If it's one person, even two, you could help him. But if it's more, and they find you…

He shoulders open the door and walks out into the morning light.

—

You wake to hands on your shoulders.

You're scared instantly. Steve usually wakes you reluctantly, a shake and a whispered, "Up," or, "Up, baby," if he's especially tired.

"It's me," he says, his voice burning with something you haven't ever heard before. "It's me. Time to wake up."

You peel your eyes open, horrified at the sight above you. Steve face hovers over your own with his hair tucked behind his ears and a blazing smile, daylight behind him haloing him in gold.

"You didn't wake me." You bring clumsy hands to his rough cheeks. "Why didn't you wake me? You look so tired."

He looks electrified, the bags under his eyes no match for his smile. You can feel it as he leans down, as he plants a kiss firmly to your unsuspecting mouth. He kisses you all over, a joyous chuckle bubbling out between them.

You laugh yourself, tickled as his stubble scratches your cheeks, your neck as he works his way down.

"There's- There's people," he says. "My people. Fucking Robin-"

"What?"

You're a half inch from headbutting him unconscious. Luckily he's already veering upward, stuffing what you'd left on the ground back into your packs.

"I haven't seen her yet, but there's this other girl we went to school with, Darcy Mulligan, and she said this is an outpost, right? They keep all this shit here for people who need it, and then they watch to see if you're dangerous-"

"They were watching us?"

He plows onward, ignoring you, "And they saw us and I went out thinking they were gonna shoot me but-"

"Steve, we can't go with these people."

His smile fades a little. "No, we aren't. I told them already, we aren't that stupid. But," — he grabs your arm — "they said they're gonna bring Robin."

You don't want to keep fighting him. To shoot down this newfound hope, this lightness you've never seen him shine with before, feels cruel. But you don't want him to get ahead of himself.

"What if they're bringing back reinforcements?"

He swallows and nods, reassuring your conjectures. "Right, I thought that too, but- I don't know, baby, Darcy was with a guy, and they both had guns. They could've shot me. 'N' if they were empty, the guy could've just knocked me over the head with it, you know?" He crawls impossibly closer than he'd been, hands rubbing your arm unthinking. "I think this is real."

I want it to be real goes unsaid.

You're ashamed that you can't find any excitement to wear with him. Dread licks over your skin as you smile at him, as you cup his cheek in your hand, and as you stand up to help him pack away his things. You feel like you're going to your death.

Steve can read you well. He grabs your shoulders. You're selfishly hoping he'll say you can run. He doesn't. "You trust me?" he asks.

You deflate, shoulders falling. "Of course I do."

"Thank you." He tries to pull you in for a hug but you're reeling, distracted, he has to persuade you, and he does so sweetly. "Hey, c'mere, come on." He pulls at you. "Come here."

You flop into his chest with all the grace of a shored fish, arms limp. He smells like sweat which probably means you do too, but he smells like himself, and that's what's important.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you."

"What about you?"

"If Robin's here, I have to take the risk. She's my best friend."

You understand that. You'd never ask him not to do this, because you'd do it for him. If you'd ever gotten separated, you'd spend months looking for him. Years, maybe. He's the only person left.

You have no clue if he'd do the same for you.

He scrubs at your back roughly. Such a boyish kind of hug.

"You have your knife?" he asks.

You have it. Rather than let them corner you in here, you both make your way out into the woods. Steve shows you the short path he'd taken to find Darcy Mulligan and the man she'd been with, evidence of their stakeout left in the embers of a small fire. You stand frozen with a tree trunk to your back and Steve stations himself in front of you, pack secured on your back. Steve has his baseball bat in hand. What good will it serve against a possible group of gunmen? You start to panic, really panic, and you're a hair's width from begging him to run with you when his grip on the bat falters.

"Fuck," he says softly.

Three people turn the corner; a dark haired girl with twin pigtails and a rifle hanging at her side; a boy, presumably the man Steve had mentioned; and a shorter girl with light brown hair, her expression — her entire body — lit with happiness, elation, and her laugh loud enough to prove it.

"Holy shit," Steve says.

You forget to be scared. You forget to worry. Steve lets the baseball bat drop out of his hand, and then he's taking three weak steps forward to meet her, and that's it, it's her, Robin throws her arms around his neck and nearly barrels him to the ground. His hands come up to meet her. He's shaking so hard you're surprised he can grip her waist, his face crushed to the side of her head.

Tears well in your eyes. To get to see this, so soon, when you'd thought maybe Steve might never see his best friend ever again, is a blessing. It's a fucking miracle.

Your tears bite back when the boy moves forward and hugs him too.

You tighten your grip on your knife and pull it from your pocket, confused and alarmed that Steve's about to get gutted, but Steve starts to shake worse.

It takes you a second to realise he's crying.

"Henderson," he says.

Oh. It's Dustin. You've heard enough stories about him to know it. He has the same curly hair, and while he's taller than you'd thought, Steve had only ever talked about one Henderson.

Steve's relief is a knot in your throat. You wipe your cheek quickly with the back of your hand and shove the knife into your pocket.

Over their heads, the dark haired girl narrows her eyes at you.

"I can't believe you're here," Steve says, voice raspy with emotion.

You have never heard him cry.

"Where have you been, Steve?" Robin asks hoarsely.

You take a step toward him without thinking, and he hears it despite everything and looks up at you with a teary-eyed smile.

"We got lost," he says, holding your gaze.

"Lost? It's been months. We thought you were zombie mulch, you shithead."

"I'm here, aren't I?" He rolls his eyes at you, like he's saying Get a load of this guy?

It's a reassuring gesture even if he doesn't mean for it to be. You're still a team.

"Hi," Robin says, her hands clasped in Steve's shirt, but her attention fully yours. "I'm Robin."

You don't have a chance to introduce yourself. Steve does it for you, and he says, "She's my girl. Saved me this entire time."

What the fuck does that mean?

Robin looks at you again. "No fucking way."

"Only took an apocalypse for Steve to get a girlfriend," Dustin says.

There's something about their playful arguing that makes you want to cry again. It's the relief they've padded it with. You can imagine how brilliant it must feel to make fun of somebody you'd thought long dead.

"Don't worry, Y/N," Robin says gravely, "there are tons of dudes at camp. You have options."

Steve steps on her foot.

"We should head back," Darcy says shortly.

On the walk, Steve feels very far away. He keeps looking at you to check you're there, but his thoughts are months ago, recounting the details of your survival to his friends in short. You and Steve had been together since basically the very start when you'd saved him from a horde, and he tells that with pride. So much so you feel heat blooming behind your neck and at the tips of your ears.

"We fucking floored to to the meeting point but you guys weren't there-"

"Sorry-"

"No, it's okay," he says. "I get it. It was rough." All of you shiver at the memory. Hawkins had been hit hard, a close knit town with nowhere to hide.

"No we- we should’ve fucking waited- I begged them to wait," Robin says.

"Who did you get out with?"

And there's the list of survivors. It's short. The amount of orphaned kids is extremely depressing, and for a while there's silence. All those people. Dustin's mom, Robin's dad.

"Hopper's here, though," Dustin adds after a while.

"That explains why you're still alive."

"Actually, dickhead, we're alive because I'm awesome. The radio-"

"How many people are there?" Steve interrupts.

"It's a whole new world, Harrington."

It's better.

You turn onto what looks like an old college campus and suddenly, there's people. So many people you walk backward and almost tumblr off of the curb, because fuck. There's noise, and smells, and sounds. There are little kids running around in a closed off area of the quad, laughing and chasing after one another. There are guns on guards patrolling makeshift walls.

Your ears start ringing.

"Think your girlfriend's gonna pass out," Darcy says.

You're the last one to figure out she's talking about you.

"Oh, hey. Hey," Steve says, stepping toward you.

You take another step back.

"Baby," he says softly.

"There's people here."

"So many new boyfriend's to choose from," he jokes. He's tentative, but he offers his hand like he knows you'll take it. "Come on. I promise I won't get jealous when you run off with somebody cooler."

"I don't want somebody cooler," you say.

"Okay, awesome, 'cause I was lying. I'd be super jealous. I'd feed myself to the geeks."

"Don't say that."

He grins at you, hand hovering in the gap between your bodies unwavering. Trust me, it says. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.

You take Steve's hand.

—

The world is more than you and Steve against it. There are people to answer to.

Chief Hopper actually recognises you when he sees you. He recognises Steve first, and he gives him a pat on the back. You aren't expecting any hellos, figuring you're barely a memory to him, but Hopper smiles at you like you've just told him you have the antidote for zombification in your rucksack.

"It's good to see you, kid."

That night, in the dining hall, you get a small welcome between shift announcements. Hundreds of heads turn your way, and while some house cagey unsurety, the majority are happy to see you.

You sit with Steve and his friends (plural, a growing number, because nearly all of them are here), torn between stopping him from crying his eyes out with happy tears and listening to the older woman sitting beside you. Her name is Mallory, and she offers a generous gift.

"You have any questions at all, sweetpea, and you can come to me. Or if you just wanna talk, my shoulder's right here." She pats it for emphasis.

"Thank you so much." But, you want to say, I have Steve.

"Young love, and in a time like this." Mallory's smile is genuine, if a little haunted. "It's amazing."

You indulge her, turning from Steve just slightly. "But?"

She brushes a strand of hair behind her ears. It's three colours, a faded red at the middle, a mix of grey and brown at the top. "Listen, I have some unsolicited advice for you hon, but I'm not trying to offend you when you just got here."

You shake your head. "No," you say hurriedly, "of course not. I wouldn't think that."

She digs around in her pocket and opens her hand covertly under the table. When you look at it, she hisses. "No, don't. Keep your eyes up."

You right your gaze accordingly. The canteen is simply that — the college's canteen. Every night there's something cooking, and every morning if they can afford it. Although you'd been told some people eat at home, most people come here, because this is the only place with a reliable generator. From where you're sitting, you can see everybody, and you suspect Steve had chosen this vantage point on purpose.

Hopper stands at the front of the room behind another man, who's moved from the important stuff and is now lamenting at the book club's low attendance. They have a fucking book club. You can't believe it.

Mallory drops something into your hand. A hard-boiled candy.

"My advice," she says, the two of you watching as Hopper and the second man confer, "is to try and be in both worlds at once."

"You've lost me."

"That's not a good sign, I've barely started," she jokes, laughing so much that the men sitting across from you laugh too. She carries on, "What I mean is, this isn't home. It probably never will be. We fight so hard to make it home, we plant trees, 'n' we sleep warm every night, but…" She squeezes your shoulder amicably, a light, quick touch. "I know how it felt when I got here. Me and my husband, we kept to ourselves. And we were right to, not everybody here can be good. But when he died, I had nobody."

You let your eyes drop to you plate, a small portion of a soup that's not the best and a sandwich that's marginally better. You get what Mallory's trying to say — don't put your eggs all in one basket, not when the basket might get mauled to death any day coming.

You get what she's trying to say. You don't appreciate it.

"Thank you," you say weakly.

She nods, and Steve saves you from anymore conversation with an arm hooked through yours.

“You okay?” he asks. Unmistakably fond.

You can feel the eyes of all of his friends. All these people you knew too, or knew of, and should be happy to see. You should be so fucking happy right now.

So why aren’t you?

You turn your face to his and take him in. He’s got a red rash of skin over the top of his head from prolonged sunburn and a scar under his left eye from a cruel tree branch. He looks different than the Steve you’d met at school, and he looks different still from the Steve you’d saved on day 1.

But he’s your Steve.

You drop your forehead into his neck, love like a warm blanket encapsulating you when he presses a kiss against your forehead.

“I know,” he says, moving back, forcing you to sit up again. “It’s crazy.”

You return his smile, though you aren’t sure you're on the same page.

—

Little Hawkins makes you want to curl up into a ball and cry. It’s a floor of rooms in the campus dormitories, and Robin shares with a couple of other people your age. She only has a mattress and her things on the ground in one room, but soon Steve and another guy are dragging another mattress from across campus while you watch.

"No offence," Steve says, "but I'm trying to spoil you right now. Can you stop pouting? I'm giving you a breather."

"I don't believe you."

He and the unnamed man lean the mattress up outside of Robin's door.

"Well," he says warmly, and you're starting to feel lovesick with how sweet he's being, nearly enough to forget how scared you are, "maybe you should try."

Steve is nice. He's always been nice, ever since you met him, even if that nice was strapped down and buried under one layer of derision, one layer of sarcasm, and another layer of sternness for prosperity. But this is another level. Ever since he woke you up he's been ridiculous (he's been the kind of affectionate you've secretly ached for). Steve's sparing with affection but you wouldn't ever complain — can you expect him to play doting boyfriend when each day he's hardwired and on the fritz trying to make sure you both don't die agonising, gross deaths?

This is fucking crazy, though.

Steve pulls you bodily by the waist into his front and talks into the highest point of your cheek, words muffled by your skin, "When was the last time we slept on a mattress? Gotta be months ago," — you lean into him entirely, he takes your weight with zero qualms — "when we were in that house by the lake with all the soaps."

"So many soaps," you murmur, melted by his closeness.

He laughs. He giggles, all boyish and pretty and you can't help yourself, you lift your chin, practically begging for a kiss.

You get a short one. Steve's too busy laughing. "And the canned pickles. I know they were, like, doomsdayers, but what did we count, like-"

"Fifty seven-"

"Fifty seven jars of pickles," he finishes.

If this is what Steve is like here, you can make the trade. You don't trust anybody that isn't him, and it feels like you're surrounded by people who could easily hurt you, but his easy joy right now is contagious.

Robin's voice comes loud from inside her room. "Hey, lovebirds! Are you coming in? They turn all the lights off in like, twenty minutes."

It's obvious how much Steve trusts Robin. You get the mattress in her room through a series of squeezing and hoping, and she shows you her fancy little sink with running water, nothing short of pride in her eyes.

"It's freezing," she says, "but you can wash up."

It genuinely doesn't bother you that it's cold, emotionally. Physically you get the jitters, and it's worth it because Steve pities you and wraps you up tight to rub your arms. He and Robin talk a lot, so much that your brain has given up on listening. It's not something you're happy to hear anyhow, your perilous journey. Steve is generous on your account, leaving out all your most embarrassing moments.

You sit on the end of the mattress and wonder if you can take your shoes off.

"Robin?" you ask.

Both turn to look at you, surprised.

"Yeah?"

"Does the door lock?"

She brings her legs up to her chest, chin on her knees. "There's no deadbolt, but you need a key to open it from the outside. So kind of?" She watches you for a moment, and then she nods towards the desk covered in books. "I used to put the chair under the handle when I first got here. You can do that, if you're worried."

You nod uselessly and get up to do just that.

"Thanks, Robs," Steve says.

"Yep." She flops into a ball on her side and pulls the blankets up and over her face. "Goodnight, then."

Steve laughs and steps over your legs so he can get to her. "Robin," he says, pulling the blankets down. "I- I really missed you."

She holds out her arms and they hug. She pats his back. "Missed being a pain in my neck, maybe," she mutters. He pushes away from her in mock disgusts and they smile, a shared smile that douses you in an unfair jealousy. You shrug it off pretty quickly when he sits down on the mattress beside you, looking content and, shockingly, really tired.

He encourages you up to the top of the mattress beside him and folds up the blanket from the rucksack for you as a pillow, sliding it under your head. When he seems confident that you're comfortable he blows out the candle burning on Robin's desk.

This part's easy, you and Steve in the dark. You're practised in the art of moving around one another.

Your heart pounds in your ears as Steve pulls a heavy blanket over the both of you, his arm strewn across your stomach haphazardly.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

You turn your face to his though you can't see it. "Of course I am. Are you okay?"

"I know this is weird."

Weird doesn't feel like the right word. Surreal, maybe. Something out of a dream.

"I think my back aches more on the mattress, I'm so used to twisting myself into knots between your legs."

He snorts. "That doesn't sound right."

You cover his arm with your hand. "Pig."

"You can lie on my chest, if you want."

"Think it's your turn to use me as cushioning." Your voice is coloured by your smile.

He exhales into your shoulder.

"Mm. This is nice," he murmurs.

"You want me to take the first shift?"

"I don't think we need shifts."

You can't agree. Steve trusts Robin and you trust Steve, but you do not trust Robin. She seems lovely, and through Steve's stories you know she's a good person, but he hasn't seen her in a year. She could be anybody, and she's locked into a room with you.

You don't mean to be deceitful. "Alright," you utter, "no shifts."

"You smell nice," Steve says. His lips move against your skin, and he lifts his head enough to kiss your jaw, three kisses in succession. "Goodnight, honey."

You raise your hand to his head. "Goodnight."

He falls asleep to you carding through his hair. Even when you're sure he's dead to the world you keep going, the feeling of it between your fingers calming.

You don't sleep a wink.

—

It becomes a mantra. Steve is happy here. Over and over and over.

You're happy too by consequence; Steve is a new person, still the man you know but with this emanating happiness rolling off of him in waves.

Chief Hopper has promised to get you and Steve a place together if you want one. This had scared you half to death, because you want one bad, but you'd been expecting a little resistance from Steve (or, admittedly, a lot). Because…

You're starting to think maybe you aren't scared of the people here. You trust Hopper to run a community that's safe if he says it is, and as the days stretch into a week, two weeks, you start to feel secure. Steve's never far, but that's the terrifying part.

You're worried Steve is going to leave you.

It sounds dramatic. It is dramatic. But you're scared shirtless that Steve is going to wake up and realise he doesn't owe you a thing, that he doesn't harbour the affection for you that he thinks he does. You're worried that Steve had gone soft on you because you'd been there, like a habit.

Your feelings for him only grow, despite this. He's fucking handsome when he's clean-shaven, clean in general. Somebody's mom gives him a haircut and you can't believe it, because he's always been good looking but you can tell he's more confident like this, and the confidence makes him golden.

He's also super handsy.

You love it, and you get it. You know you look prettier clean, even more so after somebody's mom gives you a haircut and you've managed to scrub the perma-dirt from under your nails. The want to kiss him is dialled up by a thousand because you always have clean teeth.

The nagging fear remains even when he's got a mouthful of your neck.

"Ouch," you moan, hands in his hair, legs spread enough to accommodate his figure between them, "s'like a geek, nibbling on me."

Steve bites a little harder.

You gasp at his show of force and push your head away from him. "Steve," you say with a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises, pulling back. Elbows at your ribs, he holds his weight off of you though there's no reason to. "My teeth missed you."

"What the fuck."

"All of me missed you." He strokes the side of your face mildly. "I hate this."

You wiggle under him, mattress springs digging into your back. He doesn't bother explaining what he'd meant, only leans down to kiss your cheek, your chin, the tip of your nose.

You stare at him.

"What do you hate?"

He scrunches his nose up like it's obvious, and you're stupid for not knowing. "Us being on separate schedules. It's fucking shitty."

You don't have an answer for him. It seems more than lucky that he would assuage your worst feelings considering you haven't told him anything at all. You haven't told him about staying up at night to make sure Robin's not gonna kill him, or how worried you are that he's gonna realise he can leave you now you're safe, now you don't owe each other anything. You haven't told him how much you love him, and how much that would hurt.

Somehow, you get the impression that he knows anyway.

"This is really nice," you say eventually.

He rests his face against yours. You close your eyes.

"What's nice?" he asks. "Our separation? You're sick, babe. I'm trying to bare my heart here and you're stomping all over it."

"Not our separation, dummy. This. You lying on top of me. It feels really nice."

His small laugh warms your cheek. "I know. Why'd you think I let you climb all over me for months?"

"'Cause otherwise we'd freeze to death?"

He kisses a line down to the skin under your ear. "That, too. But mostly because it feels good."

You wrap your arms around him and press your nose to his hair, smelling him for your own self-indulgence. He lets his weight press down on you, shifting his arm so they're digging behind your shoulders.

You hook a leg behind his.

"Steve, I…"

"I love you."

You stiffen.

He hugs you that tiny bit tighter. "I love you," he says again. "I should've told you before, but I- I was so afraid that you'd-" He clears his throat quietly. "I was fucking terrified that I was going to let you down. You kept almost dying on me, and I kept realising I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

"I love you too," you say, shell-shocked.

He kisses your cheek slowly, softly, and then he lifts himself up so you're face to face.

"I love you," you say, because he'd said it twice.

His smile is gentle, eyes creased with a loving amusement. "I know." Steve steals back one of his arms so he can thumb under your eye. "I know you're not sleeping."

"Steve-"

"No, listen. I know you don't trust Robin-"

"I do-"

"You don't, and it's okay." He cups your cheek. "It's okay. You know, Hopper said it wouldn’t take long to find us a room. A couple more days and you won’t have to worry. And you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you say, voice softening to match his own.

He squeezes your cheek. “There’s a lot of stuff I should say to you and I’m kind of trying to hang onto my last shred of dignity here, but I mean it. More than I’ve ever- More than anyone. I love you.”

Your lips fall into a self-pitying pout. You won’t cry, though you feel like you could, because this is possibly the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. Steve loves you more than anyone, plain as day. He wouldn’t say that if he were going to swap you out for a new apocalypse girlfriend anytime soon, ‘cause Steve doesn’t mess with feelings. He’s earnest.

“Ever since we got here, I’ve been waiting for you to break up with me,” you say.

Which is funny in itself. You and Steve kissed each other every now and then for weeks before you had the conversation — it feels juvenile to think of boyfriends and girlfriends in life or death, and, paradoxically, it feels really important. The label means a lot to you. The ‘I love you’ means the world, even if he’s been showing it everyday since he met you.

He makes a sound that’s a combination of a scoff, a snort, and a pitying sigh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

You laugh so loudly it surprises you both. “I’m ridiculous? Get off of me, rich boy.”

Steve hunkers down. “What? No way. I live here now.”

“Seriously, Harrington, get off. I'm sick of you. Robin promised she’d find me a new boyfriend. Maybe I’ll get one with compassion.”

He laughs. He’s trying not to, and it comes out warm and soft to spite him. “Fine, let’s break up.”

“Fine.”

He tilts his head toward yours until your foreheads are touching, staring into your eyes. It takes a lot of willpower to hold in your laugh. “Wanna go on a date with me?”

You lift your chin and kiss him through giggles. “Yeah, okay. Options are pretty limited here, anyway.”

#stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve zombie!au #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington

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tragedyslut · 19 days

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why did ur dad joel work make me cry it’s everything </3 i love dad joel i need him to adopt me

♡ too cold out here ♡

✶ [ j.miller ] ✶

♡ ADOPTIVE!FATHER!JOEL MILLER X FEM!PRE-TEEN!READER ♡

🩷 SUMMARY — written especially for you anon, i hope you love this as much as the last one<3 reader is roughly 11-12,ellie doesn't exist in this au(my girl is just poof, never met her or anything), joel lives in jackson with tommy and goes out on parrol one day, its extremely snowy and cold, so when he finds you his heart melts. you remind him of sarah. he adopts you, you're his daughter. even if its not by blood:((<33 ill probably write a part 2 to this soon, just probably not for the next day or two cause im sleepy 🪽

your family had been eaten by a hoard of walkers. you got out. you didn't know how, in all honesty. you just ran, you ran until you couldn't anymore. you were curled up in your pajamas under a tree around 3 miles away from where you and your parents had been holed up. you weren't even wearing socks. the bottom of your pajamas were wet with snow. so was your back from lying on snow and dirt. you were so cold. your icy tears burned your cheeks as you desperately tried to stay alive.

on the other hand, joel was on patrol. it was calming, or so he thought. he was going down his usual route on his horse, just humming a tune and keeping warm in his jacket. he froze up when he saw you, curled up like that. he thought you were dead until he got closer and heard your weak sniffles and whimpers. and you were clutching a blue teddy bear with one of your hands. it reminded him of sarah. when she got shot, the way she curled up when she knew she was going to die. it broke his heart. he couldn't leave a child like that.

he hopped off his horse, geing careful not to scare you as he approached you.

" hey kid.. what're you doing out here? " he said sweetly. he got on his knees and sat you up, you looked terrified. and freezing. you definitely had hypothermia by now. you were practically going blue.

" you alone? " he said, taking note on how you frantically nodded.

" okay. its alright now. ive got you. you're safe. " he said, tearing off his jacket to put it around you instead. he then reached out to pick you up. you clung onto him like a parasite. it was adorable. he made sure to pick up your stuffed animal too, putting it in his gear back. he hopped back on his horse, putting you infront of him since he doubted you had enough strength to hold him to keep yourself on the horse.

it didn't take long for him to be back in jackson. he soon had a worried tommy running over to him.

" what the fuck- whos that? is she dead?! " the younger man shouted, making you flinch and instinctively curl against joel. whimpering.

" calm the fuck down. you're scaring her. i found her in the woods. theres no way i could've left her. she was freezing. " joel muttered. he hopped down from his horse, taking you straight inside his own house and setting you on the couch. he took out your stuffed animal from his gear back, tucking it in your grasp. tommy had followed him inside, sighing loudly.

" you sigh like that again and ill get Maria to shove her foot up your ass. you know how she feels about kids. no child should get left out in the woods to die like that. so i don't know what you expected from me. " to joels relief, tommy shut up after that.

he found a clean tshirt of his, and decided to let you change into that. it wasn't much, and it would definitely be more like a night gown on you, but it was something. its not like he'd have little girls clothes in your size anyways, he wasn't a creep that kept those sorts of things on hand, especially not during the apocalypse.

" here kiddo, change into this. itll be long on you, like a night gown. nice and warm. just lemme know if you need help, its what im here for. " he said, exiting the room along with tommy to give you some privacy. he kept a listen out in case you didn't have the strength to get changed, he was worried you'd collapse or something. you'd barely moved since he'd found you. though he turned his attention to tommy. who had returned back to sighing loudly.

" what're you gonna do with her? keep her?! adopt her?! " tommy said, seething.

" what if i do? what if I do huh? you don't get to decide what the hell i do. i have a spare room, jackson ain't low on supplies, so whats the issue?! that kid needs someone to take care of her, because she was all alone for god knows how long, and i don't care what you say. im going to take care of her. shes my responsibility now. "

tommy was silent. he just nodded. they both perked up at the sound of pattering feet coming towards them. you soon appeared in the doorway. you had gotten changed, and the tshirt was basically a nightgown just like joel thought. it was adorable. the sight of you just staring up at the two of them. you had your stuffed animal in your hand still.

" hey kid. can you talk now? do you wanna tell me your name? " joel said gently, kneeling down so he was at your level.

" .. y/n. " you mumbled, your voice was weak, like it hadn't been used for a long time. joel smiled.

" thats such a pretty name. what happened to your parents y/n? " he said, trying not to make you too upset, but he had to know.

" there.. was a hoard of.. those clicky things.. and they ate my parents.. and i ran.. but it was really cold.. " you muttered, tearing up. in an instant, you were back in joels arms. he held you tight, letting you just cry.

" listen sweetheart, im gonna protect you okay? ill take care of you. i promise. " he said, stroking your hair. he was so gentle, incase he somehow hurt you. tommy couldn't help but smile at the sight.

that night, we found that you wouldn't let him leave you. you were terrified of being alone. which, wasn't that surpising. he ended up taking you into his room, laying down with you. you clung onto him. he found you adorable.

" get some sleep darling, you're safe here. " he muttered, making sure you went to sleep.

those few weeks after, he spent making sure you were well cared for and protected.

he made you food, scavenged for clothes that would actually fit you, made sure you slept well. it all payed off. you were adorable. you still clung onto him constantly and he didn't mind. you were just a scared kid.

eventually, one night you woke him up.

he felt you tugging on his tshirt, and saying something over and over.

" dad, wake up " you were muttering. it melted his heart. he hadn't been called dad in ages. years. it felt so good. he was your dad, you were his daughter. thats all that mattered.

" yea sweetheart? " he mumbled, pulling you close.

you forgot what you were going to ask. all you wanted was your dad to hold you, forever.

taglist : join my taglist here

@massacredkitty

@cherryyreddd

@pr1nc3ss-sc4r

#joel miller #dad joel miller #dad joel #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #joel x daughter!reader #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction

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elizabethnightingale4 · 5 months

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Some thoughts on the 5th episode:

-we missed out on the spiders (I wanted to see Annabeth Climb Percy like a fucking tree lmfao)

-let me show you my sad life OR the tunnel of “love”

-why are we seeing so much of the gods in this season? It’s honestly confusing me tbh. Like I don’t need to see every god in the pantheon before the summer solstice?

-Percy doesn’t know he doesn’t have to be wet yet?

-THANK YOU for the Gabe interview

-these children haven’t eaten in fucking DAYS, how did not DEVOUR those burgers/fries

-that is one HEAVY shield

-I actually knew that story about the throne they created for Hera, I’m not sure why they changed it?

-they didn’t find the love magic scarf so I guess that pink one in the attic scene really was to reference it?

-fucking Leah has the BEST facial expressions I’m in love with her as Annabeth <3

-“He’s not like that! Maybe I wasn’t like that once!” My fucking heart!! 💔

-Percy standing up to Ares already? Fuck yes Percy cannot WAIT for you to kick his ass.

-the fucking Twitter fight had my dad and I DYING

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson disney+

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lionheartedmusings · 8 months

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finally got around to putting this into words so here is my submission to the q!bad newsletter titled "q!bad is a good person but a bad human".

arcs like the one q!bad is on are naturally polarising and bring out a lot of strong emotions from views which is amazing, but i think a lot of people are missing the forest for the trees here -- more specifically, who we saw q!bad be for almost six months every day (who we still see him be now).

q!bad is a fundamentally good person by all accounts -- yes, he's a mischievous gremlin, but he's insurmountably generous, selfless in the way he gives without ever expecting anything in return, is dependable at every single turn. even in his lowest moments, he didn't turn his back on that dependability to his own detriment -- he prioritised everyone above himself, not just the eggs but also the other islanders.

q!bad is also... kind. not nice, i actually wouldn't call him nice per se, but he's kind, and loving, and gentle if you know how to read his actions -- just because his lovingness is at times odd to read, it doesn't mean it isn't there.

now, everything i've pointed out so far is not only factually true but also just a spot on indication of what makes a good person, right? well... yes, and no.

by human standards he's not a good person. he lies, cheats, is deceitful and cunning at every turn, is a gaslighter and a manipulator, and his moral compass ends when his emotional attachment does -- he won't hesitate to put his friends through tests and trials that he knows hurt them just to reach a goal, even if it's an ultimate "greater good" type goal.

luckily for q!bad, the man isn't fucking human and so the lense through which we see his character need to be adjusted not only to accommodate his life experience (as we would any character) but also the fact that he's just... not human, he can play pretend and he certainly has spent enough time around humans, but nature vs nurture only goes so far and he was a grown ass adult when he sunk atlantis.

it's honestly just painfully obvious that for better or for worse, q!bad doesn't function like humans do, and i think the best indicator of that is how he views interpersonal relationships, connections, love and trust.

for us, love and trust are intrinsically connected and ultimately need to be present for us to form attachments -- if we don't trust someone, we might get along with them at a superficial level but we won't engage further, right? q!bad sees those two as fundamentally separate parts of relationships -- you cannot argue he doesn't love his friends, or all the eggs, but does he trust everyone? no. because q!bad is very much capable of loving you without trusting you, because his default is distrust. while most of us start a connection with existing trust that can then be broken, he starts them with no trust that needs to be earned.

he doesn't see what's wrong about his friendship with q!foolish, he doesn't see the issue with having been sightseeing at the salem witch trials, pompeii is "the reason he doesn't do beach vacations" and not... yeno, a massive historical tragedy. for q!bad, all of these things are normal because he's a millennia old demon who fundamentally lacks the grasp on some pretty basic human concepts despite his time here (i.e. his whole conversation with q!baghera about lines and mortality).

my point being, q!bad is not a good human, he never claimed to be (on the contrary) and his recent actions show that very well...

... but he *is* a fundamentally good person, without question.

as long as you view the cubito through the lense of our own morality, you'll be depriving yourself of some pretty awesome insights into his character and also just not giving him a fair shake!

he's a terror! he's wiped out civilizations! he's eaten people! he is terrifying and bloody and dark! he's also just a little guy who makes care packages and watches kids and won't turn away anyone in need! all of this is him and for a fair analysis you need to consider the entirety of him for better and for worse!

#qsmp #q!badboyhalo #qsmp analysis #long post

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atlasscrumpit · 1 year

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would u do a yandere joel miller x reader romantic request? he takes them because he thinks he can protect them and keep them safe? they feel less safe with him tho and try escape, idk anything yandere joel wpuld be great!

Metal Chains

You were in so much pain, you felt cold metal beneath you and around your wrists.

“You shouldn’t have been out there on your own, god knows what would have happened to you.” You heard a deep male voice say as you groaned and slowly opened your eyes.

“Where am I?” You groaned, you remembered trudging through a forest and then everything went blank.

“Somewhere much safer than where you were, that’s for sure.” The man said as you groaned and pulled against the restraints.

“I can’t offer you anything, I can’t shoot, or hunt.” You growled as he just stared at you.

“You’re not here for me to enslave, you’re here so I can protect you.” He muttered, you slowly sat up, still restrained.

“You don’t know who I am, I can fucking handle myself just fine.” You replied, pulling at the restraints before he gripped your wrist roughly.

“Enough!” He shouted, suddenly making you freeze in shock.

“Get off me.” You muttered as he sighed and let you go.

“I’ve survived this hell, alone for a long ass time. I think I can do it without a creepy stranger.” You grumbled, he still just stared at you, void of emotion.

“You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.” He muttered making you chuckle dryly.

“You do remember we’re in an apocalypse right?” You retorted before he stood up and walked away, back up the stairs, signifying that you were in a basement.

“Don’t fucking walk away!” You screamed at him before he slammed the door.

After about five minutes he came back with a bowl of food and a glass of water.

You would kick him and make the food drop, but you were starving, literally.

“You should be more thankful.” He muttered, handing you the bowl before you cautiously took it and looked down to see it was baked beans.

It was better than tree bark.

You kept silent as you began to eat, it was the most flavour you had tasted in a long time.

The man sat back down and watched you eat.

“What’s your name?” He asked as you glanced behind at him.

“Y/N.” You muttered with a mouthful of food.

“Call me Joel.” He replied as you nodded a little.

He noticed how easily your guard had come down, just with some food.

“You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?” He whispered as you finished off the bowl.

“Aren’t we all alone in this?” You muttered, handing the bowl back to him before he held a glass of water out to you.

“Drink, and no. We don’t have to be alone.” He grumbled as you skulled the water.

“Easy, you’ll choke.” Joel continued before you handed the glass back to him.

“You need to prove to me that I can let you roam around here without those restraints. But, even if you do try to escape you’ll die pretty fast. I’ll let you think it over.” He said before leaving again, you were speechless.

—

After two hours, Joel came back, but this time he was covered in blood.

“Make your decision yet?” He muttered as you looked up at him in fear.

“I’ll stay, I won’t try to escape.” You whispered in response, making him smile.

He grabbed a cloth and began wiping the blood off his face before taking away the restraints on your hands.

You rubbed your wrists before you acted quickly and pushed him away from you, you darted towards the stairs hearing him yell out.

You barely made it up the stairs before blood covered arms wrapped around you, causing you to scream.

He manhandled you back down stairs and to the metal bed where he threw you down and restrained you again.

“Try that again and it’ll be your blood all over me.” He growled as you panted.

“Fuck you.” You muttered before he slapped you across the face, you kept your face turned away from him.

“Looks like you’ve got more thinking to do.”

#yandere #joel miller #yandere Joel miller #the last of us #fic #joel miller x reader

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anonymouscomrade · 1 year

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so with the new version of Dwarf Fortress out on Steam, lots of people are getting into it for the first time. i still don't have this new version (yet) but here's some advice going off my playing the older versions on and off for like the last thirteen years. i'm not going to get into the extreme basics as there are plenty of full guides about that, this is just some personal advice from me:

especially for your first embark, pick a mundane-ass location with plenty of vegetation and trees and normal weather. don't fuck around with deserts or evil or glaciers or savage lands if you don't know what you're doing, you'll get killed by lack of water/the undead/the cold and absolutely nothing growing/giant wild animals, respectively. good-aligned regions are usually okay, if you want at least a little bit of the fantastic in your general vicinity. use the site finder to find a place with trees, vegetation, a river/stream/some other source of running water but NO AQUIFER, and multiple deep and shallow metals. personally my favorite embarks are the borders of forests and mountains, that way you have plenty of shit to mine AND plants to eat/brew, trees to chop down and make stuff with, etc. aquifers CAN be beneficial IF you know what you're doing (essentially they're a source of infinite fresh water if you can harness them, unless you're too close to the ocean and you get a saltwater aquifer, which sucks) but they can just as easily flood your entire fortress if you fuck up in even the slightest. i've been playing this game for over a decade and even i don't know what the fuck to do with aquifers so don't ask me

i personally prefer embarks with shallow soil. soil's super-easy to farm in (you CAN farm on stone but you have to have a way to irrigate it, and that can be a pain in the ass) but IMO most of your dwarves' living and working spaces should be carved out of stone, because soil can't be smoothed and therefore can't be engraved, and dwarves like moving around in smoothed areas and seeing high-quality engravings

your first priority when starting a fort is digging out a shelter for your dwarves. then make spaces for your first few workshops (stoneworking, carpenter, mechanic, and such) so you can get doors installed on your front entrance, and then immediately get your farms up and running. all dwarven crops can be grown indoors and plump helmets are a great choice of staple crop for literally any settlement since they can be eaten, cooked, OR brewed into dwarven wine. outdoor plants have to be grown on outdoor farm plots but they're still great for adding a little variety to your booze stocks and dwarves love that. take note of what kind of trees grow around your fortress, lots of them grow stuff that can be cooked (like walnuts or almonds) or pressed for oil (like olives) or brewed (almost any fruit tree) and you might not want to cut down those apple and pear trees right next to your fort's entrance when you can use them to make cider

NEVER BUILD ANYTHING OUT OF RAW STONE, WOOD, OR METAL. one raw stone can be used to build a single tile of wall or floor, a workshop, counts as one material for a bridge, etc AND is heavy as fuck, slowing down any dwarf carrying it to where it needs to go. FUCK THAT, have your masons cut that shit into BLOCKS. a raw stone will get you anywhere from 1-4 blocks, EACH of which can be used to make anything i mentioned earlier, AND won't weigh down your haulers or builders when they're carrying it. wood and metal can be cut into blocks too, if you need to make walls or floors or what have you out of those. HOWEVER, remember that blocks CAN'T be used in ANY crafting (that includes wooden blocks for burning in forges, making charcoal, etc), so once it's been cut into blocks, it's blocks FOREVER. you're gonna have a shitton of stone around almost any fort so making rock blocks is a good way to train new masons, but i'd only make wood or metal blocks if i needed those specifically

make some mugs early on, your dwarves like drinking out of them more than sticking their heads under the spigot. don't worry about individual bedrooms early on, you can absolutely get away with just sticking a bunch of beds in a big room at the beginning of your fort and digging out rooms later when you're more stable. don't build most workshops out in the open, dig out a room for each one and put in doors you can lock for each one. you'll thank me the first time one of your dwarves goes berserk after failing a strange mood and you can just lock them in there instead of letting them rampage around and beating your other dwarves to death

rock crafts will probably be your main trade good early on. most forts will have stone just laying around, absolutely fucking everywhere, so you might as well put it to use by carving little trinkets out of it and trading it for whatever the caravans bring

break into the caverns ASAP and then IMMEDIATELY seal that shit up. the easiest way to do this is digging an up/down stairway until the game lets you know you've found a cavern, then put a hatch cover on the stairs going immediately down into the cavern and lock it. you're not going to be able to handle hostile cavern creatures early on, but breaking into the caverns releases CAVE MOSS SPORES so ANY underground soil tile can start naturally growing moss or fungus. this is functionally identical to grass, so this means you'll be able to pasture your animals INSIDE, keeping them safe from any wild predators that might come along like wolverines or bears as well as keeping goblin raiding parties from using them for target practice

get a militia going sooner rather than later. a good array of traps and a locked door might keep the first couple bands of goblin invaders away, but larger armies of them are more likely to get through traps and keep you from sending your dwarves outdoors until they get bored and leave. were-beasts are not deterred by either, being capable of avoiding traps AND smashing down doors, and the bad guys only get tougher from there. check your migrants' skills, they always arrive as civilians so the guy with a title of "peasant" who isn't good at ANY labor might actually be pretty skilled with a mace. dwarves with only more esoteric skills like cheesemakers or gem setters are also good candidates for bolstering your military, once they get some training under their belt

IN GENERAL, for military purposes: wood/bone/leather <<<<<<<<<<<<<< silver <<<<<<<<<< copper < bronze < iron < steel < [REDACTED]. some exceptions: silver absolutely sucks for everything EXCEPT blunt weapons, where it suddenly becomes the best material in the game; pure copper is better than bronze for blunt weapons but bronze is better for edged weapons and far better for armor; bronze is only a hair below iron in terms of general military use. your greenest recruits who aren't fit for battle yet might actually benefit from wearing leather armor while they're training so it weighs them down less (at least until they get a few ranks of Armor User), but absolutely all of your actual fighters should be wearing metal helmets. [REDACTED] is the opposite of silver, it's the best metal in the game EXCEPT for blunt weapons which it absolutely sucks ass at. making steel is labor-intensive and time-consuming and requires specific materials and also kind of overkill since only dwarves can make it, but it's by far the best general-purpose military-grade metal you're going to possibly get reasonable quantities of

save metallic crossbow bolts for fights. wooden and bone bolts can't get through most armor but since wild animals aren't known for wearing armor, if you have hunters they will take prey down just fine without metal bolts. likewise, your marksmen should be training with wooden and bone bolts so they're not wasting metal ones on target dummies. yeah this means you'll need to constantly crank out wooden and bone bolts, pretty much

might add to these later if i think of anything else

#dwarf fortress

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blackwolfstabs · 5 months

Text

Parker's Secret Santa Gifts🎄for @fantasylandbitch

RUN

Red Border Collie Kirby, German Shepherd/Wolfdog Sam, and Siamese cat Mindy take on the wilderness as an unpredictable trio.

fandom: Scream // Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey!AU characters: Kirby Reed, Sam Carpenter, & Mindy Meeks-Martin a/n: this fic is basically a scene taken from the film Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey (1993) and writing it with the 3 Scream characters listed above. because of this, Kirby, Sam, and Mindy are NOT animal shifters, they are strictly written as if they were ONLY animals to begin with (of course my creative ass could come up with a whole Scream universe where most, if not all, the characters were animals haha) that said, i DO NOT own the movie and have purposefully written this for one of the best people in the world (@fantasylandbitch)

Kirby Reed - Red Border Collie Mindy Meeks-Martin - Siamese Cat Samantha Carpenter - German Shepherd Wolfdog

A night in the wilderness wasn’t exactly ideal for the trio that had endured it, even if they were animals. Sam was the most instinctively reactive, due to her being part wolf. Kirby was the most reliable as far as tracking and problem-solving, given that she was an FBI K-9 and a purebred border collie. And Mindy, well… she was the only cat, and she wasn’t exactly in-touch with her wild side. She was more of a house cat with a mouth that could put anyone who dared to try her in their place. She was quick-witted and a fantastic strategist but strictly in a domestic or urban realm.

The night hours in the forest had been filled with noises and unwanted thoughts, pressing all three to stay alert and even encourage Mindy to retreat from her place in a tree to be close to her canine companions. If any menacing animal crossed their path, they’d hoped that Sam’s wolfish appearance and nature would fend them off. Luckily, all had gone smooth, and with the sun starting to glow in between the trees, Kirby had been the first to get up and search for some food. After all, they hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours now.

Sam and Mindy were still asleep in the small corner of fallen branches and logs that were clustered together. Mindy had tucked herself close to Sam’s side, while Sam was semi-curled around her, both peacefully indulging in the dreamworld. It wasn’t until Mindy’s long tail started to curl and flick her canine friend’s muzzle that one of them started to be drawn out of sleep.

Sam’s ears and lips twitched, but she didn’t move, seeming to think that it was just a part of her dream. But then it happened again, something soft and feathery stroking her nose. She tried to move her snout away. When it happened a third time, she growled in frustration and drew her paw over her muzzle. She felt her pads meet whatever was tickling her nose, but the minute she tried to paw it away, a startled noise jolted her awake.

Mindy jumped to her paws with a pained yowl and yanked her tail free. She whipped around, fur bristling. “Watch where you put those big-ass paws, Sam!” she hissed.

The other just blinked at her sleepily. “Then watch where you put your long-ass tail,” she retorted.

The she-cat sat down to groom herself, replying in between licks, “I didn’t mean to, I was dreaming…”

She just received a groan.

Before they could engage in anything else, Kirby trotted up from beyond the trees to round them up. “Alright, guys, rise and shine.”

The only feline straightened from her short grooming session. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” she grumbled flatly.

“I’ve found our breakfast,” the border collie reported, tail wagging.

At the mention of food, Sam raised her head, and her ears perked. “You went hunting?”

The other shook her head, “Nope. Not yet anyway.” She met Mindy’s blue eyes, “We’re gonna need your cat reflexes.”

The appointed shrugged, “Can do.” She then raced past the eldest canine, who looked back to the last member that was still lying down.

“Come on, Sam,” she encouraged, already turning to lead the two to her discovery. “I’m surprised you weren’t up sooner. I thought you’d be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by dawn.”

Sam bit back a groan as she pulled herself to her paws and followed her. “Never. 7:30’s the earliest… and that’s on a good day,” she replied, to which she earned a chuckle.

Kirby’s spot was only a half mile away, except it wasn’t a spot. It was a lake. She knew cats always had a taste for anything they could hunt, plus the only cat was Mindy. She was easy to please. However, she remembered Sam being very specific about things, whenever they were in K-9 training together. “Mindy,” she called her to attention.

The siamese hopped up onto the neighboring rock, “Don’t worry, I got it.” She crouched down and stared into the rippling surface, her crystal eyes steady for any sign of shimmering scales. While Kirby was still and patient, any sign of prey vanished at the vibration of the other canine across the way prowling the bank.

Mindy’s tail lashed in annoyance, while Kirby barked over to her. “Sam, be still! You’re scaring all the fish away!”

Sam leapt away from the lake and galloped back to where they were. She slowed to a trot as she came up with her head lowered. “Sorry, I was just trying to help…”

“It’s fine,” Mindy replied, then went back to concentrating, “Just nobody move.”

The pair of canines waited patiently, both watching the way their feline companion crouched like a statue, the tip of her tail the only part of her that twitched. And then, when they thought breakfast would turn into lunch, she swiped a paw into the water and hooked out a trout, which she tossed in Kirby’s direction. “Snap its neck!” she ordered.

The red border collie pounced immediately and snatched the fish in her jaws. She felt bones crack and the body go limp as she bit down, but she made sure to shake it to make sure it was dead. “Thanks, Mindy,” she spoke around her mouthful of scales, carrying it to a dry spot.

“Yep!” The she-cat crouched down again, on the lookout for her next victim. “Are you ready, Sam? You gotta be quick, because they’re slippery.”

“Mm-hmm,” the other nodded.

“I warn you, because you can be clumsy with those paws sometimes…” Sam gave her a small warning growl, to which she carried on. “Okay, found one! Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Fetch!” Mindy scooped up the next fish and flung it out of the water. But of course, it didn’t land where it was supposed to. Instead, it went completely sideways, out of the intended receiver’s reach.

“Mindy!” Sam barked, having to jump up from where she sat and hunt down the fish flopping around in the grass. For something born and built to only move in water, it was able to manage missing the shepherd’s trained paws.

Over yonder, Kirby glanced up from her meal and licked her lips. “That’ll wake you for sure, right?” she teased, recalling her comment from earlier.

But the younger dog wasn’t listening as she snapped at air and chased her writhing prey, without looking up to see where it was leading her. For someone that had a split pedigree of herding and hunting, she looked ridiculous. She could’ve sworn that Mindy had done this on purpose, because that was just the kind of cat she was. She constantly messed with her brother, Chad, but because she and Tara were dogs, they were intentionally put in certain positions, just for her amusement. She didn’t care for canines like her brother did and often thought of them with the typical stereotypes, but the two sisters were different. They were all really close. That was why she could get away with teasing them.

“Watch where you’re going, Wolfie!”

She heard Mindy’s meow over the distance that had grown between them. “I… am,” she answered in between snaps. “You… should… watch where you… fling it next time!” And just as she thought she was about to have it, she crossed paths with two bear cubs nosing around some brambles. The fish flopped into their space, which made Sam slam on her breaks.

“That’s not good…” Kirby abandoned her breakfast to race over to where she could warn off any trouble.

However, Sam wasn’t about to back down from a couple of cubs. She was half-wolf, and she had just made a fool of herself trying to chase down a stupid fish. She was not about to just give it up like that. So, when the bears turned in her direction and grumbled from being disturbed, she held her ground. She barked with a territorial snarl intertwined.

A ways behind her, she heard Kirby call out to her.

“Sam, get away from them!”

Then Mindy piped up.

“You’re gonna get mauled!”

But a wolf never backed down, especially when prey was involved. At least that’s the way it was in her bloodline. Her father, Billy Loomis, was a pure-blooded wolf, and if she ran away from this, she’d never hear the end of it. “I made a fool out of myself, chasing this thing all the way over here,” she objected, “There’s no way I’m just gonna walk away.”

One of the cubs gave a small roar as they stepped towards her, and she took that as a threat. Her fur bristled, and she bared her gums, snapping her jaws and letting a few aggressive barks out. And to her luck, the pair cowered away and scurried up the nearby trees. She chased them to make sure, then returned to finally win-over her fish. The wolfdog picked it up and shook it around, like Kirby had done. She carried her head high and trotted towards the others, like she was a show dog. “See? They’re only cubs. They don’t stand a chance against wolves,” she crowed.

Mindy rolled her eyes. “Half-wolf,” she corrected.

But Sam just shrugged it off. “Yeah, tell that to all of the trainers that gave up on me because I’ve ‘got too much wolf’ in me…” That’s why she never made it to any field of service in the canine working class. Her coat favored more of her german shepherd side, but she had many wolfish tendencies and characteristics. Plus, she was huge for a domesticated dog.

Kirby’s ears perked as the body of a 6-foot bear strode into the clearing. And it didn’t smell friendly at all… not that any bear typically did, but this must’ve been the mother of the cubs Sam had scared off. She was going to warn her, but Mindy beat her to it.

“Uh, Sam?” Her pupils dilated, and her fur began to bush. “Y-you might wanna hurry over here… like right now.”

The hybrid dropped the fish and cocked her head. “Why?”

A loud, outraged roar bellowed through the wilderness, scaring birds out of the trees and all of the fish to the bottom of the lake. It made Sam jump and the fur on her spine stand up. She spun around to meet razor, yellow fangs and foaming spit dripping from a grizzly bear’s mouth. Her ears flattened, and her tail instinctively tucked in between her legs. “Oh shit…”

The FBI K-9 by the bank barked and dashed forward. “Sam, run!” Mindy was already hauling tail in the other direction, which meant she was in the clear.

Sam leapt backwards as the mother bear swiped at her, yelping as she did so. A flash of red and white fur blurred her vision, and she heard Kirby’s defensive barks get in between her and the predator.

The bear roared and went for the smaller canine now, who guarded her companion. However, the two had similar motives when it came to being protective. Sam lunged forward and grabbed the collie’s scruff to pull her away and out of reach. She was actually small enough to where she was able to carry her, but she didn’t seem to like that very much.

“Okay, okay, I got it!” Kirby twisted in her hold, already trying to reach the ground with cycling paws. “Just go, and don’t look back!”

So, Sam dropped her and gained enough speed to catch up with Mindy, the three leaving the lake, the bears, and that tricky, slippery trout far behind.

Little did they know, that was only the start to the wild adventures they were about to embark on during this homeward bound journey…

merry christmas beth!!! you have been one of the most amazing people i've ever met and i'm so honored to call you my friend. watching Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey with you was one of my best memories this year, and it's all thanks to you. stay true, stay beautiful, and stay you. 🩶 happy holidays, my fellow wolf warrior! 🎄✨🎁

- parker (BWS)

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insideliascrazyhead · 8 months

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Oya´s great camping adventure

Summary:Fujio has the great idea of a camping trip and manages to convince them all,even Murayama,who draggs his beloved Cobra along for a trip to the local woods for a night.Crazy chaos happens wherever they go,so what could go wrong?

Pairings:Cobra/Murayama,Fujio/Tsukasa,Odajima/Todoroki

Warnings:None I guess

Authors note:Enjoy<3

They´re leaving civilisation when Odajima runs up towards Todoroki,dry heaving then breaking out in a coughing fit.He shakes his head.“God,I hate running!Heya<3!“He exclaims with a little wave.Todoroki tries to hide his smile.“Kinda late aren´t we Odajima?“He teases.“I need my beauty sleep.“He nudges back.Tsukasa looks at them confused.“What?It´s a great place for fishing.“Todoroki defends and Tsukasa snorts.“Sure.Whatever.“He turns towards Fujio.“At least I don´t need to stalk them to see that with my own two eyes.“Fujio barks out a laugh.„Fishing buddies my ass their fishing husbands.“

It´s a exhausting and long hike fueled by energy drinks and candy when they finally reach their destination near a lake. Fujio and Tsukasa throw their stuff against the nearest tree and go explore their surroundings.Odajima and Todoroki search the greatest place to fish.Nakagoshi and Nakaoka get the party started with some music and get seated,taking a long desired break,sipping soda.Shibaman and Tsuji meanwhile try to start a fire for the grill later.Miserably failing as the cheap lighter they brought turns out to be empty.Swearing and cursing they try it with sticks until Cobra had a great laugh out of it and shows mercy handing them a working lighter.

Yasushi and Kiyoshi just ran off and Tsukasa dearly hopes they don´t try to hunt anything.Jamou starts building a tent as he explained earlier he doesn´t wanna get eaten by any creature that crawls around at night.“Oi Jamuo!Wanna tell us about the apocalypse you packed for or what?!“Nakaoka exclaims.“At least I´m prepared!I´m not gonna die by those creatures killing brutally after attacking in the middle of the night.“He explains dramatically.

Cobra get´s seated with Murayama observing them as he lights a cigarette and is handed a beer by Murayama who looks a little nervous.“Relax.This is gonna be great.“Cobra rolls his eyes at his boyfriends twitchiness.“Ehh?!You don´t know those crazy ones like I do Cobra-chan!Let me explain what is gonna happen;Fujio-kun will tame a deadly animal because it will be cute and while trying someone dies probably Sleepy Lion who tries to stop him.Those two crazy pyromaniacs will burn down the whole forest.“He points towards Shibaman and Tsuji who now have a great working fire but still wanna try the way with the sticks on seperate wood.Shibaman swearing it´s gonna work.“The two man party those two throw is gonna lure and a crazy guy that kills us all straight out of a horror movie.Kiyoshi is killed by him.Yasushi will try to human sacrifice Jamuo to the nature gods,failing miserably and Jamuo snaps then smears war pain across his face and hunts Yasushi like an animal!“Murayama describes dramatically making Cobra break out in laughter.“You´re crazy.Trust them at least a little.How do they learn otherways?!Also how about Todoroki and his Housen friend then?“He teases.Murayama shakes his head.“No.They got the local braincell.They´re gonna have a great time and leave like scheduled.“

That´s when the screaming starts.They´re all near the water “Oi what´s that in the lake?!“Yasushi exclaims jumping back in (faked) fear.Kiyoshi rushes over.„What?!Where?!“ Yasushi points towards the water biting his lip.When Kiyoshi then bends over to get a better look he frowns.„I can´t see shit.“Kiyoshi grumbles.“There in the damn lake!It´s a wild Kiyoshi!“He screams,kicks Kiyoshi´s ass who falls foreward into the water.Kiyoshi swears and insults Yasushi in ways that make even Cobra flinch.

Tsukasa whispers something to Fujio who eagerly nodds. Tsukasa would hate himself if he misses that opportunity. Yasushi has tears of laughter stream down his face when Tsukasa puts his soda down.Fujio´s and Tsukasa´s eyes meet when they get up smiling.They run towards Yasushi, both throwing themself on the teen,all three flying into the lake.Yasushi let´s out a nearly unhumanly high shriek.When they all break the surface again Yasushi is trying to punch Tsukasa who dodges with ease.They others break out laughing at their antics.

„They´re insane.“Cobra tells Murayama.“Yeah,they´re great kids.“He leans against the nearest tree,closing his eyes while Cobra shakes his head.“No.Murayama.Your beloved Sleepy Lion it trying to drown Yasushi.Ain´t in a fun way,he´s trying like crazily eager too.“ Murayama´s eyes nearly explode out of his head as he jumps up or at least tries to as he stumbles.Knees hitting the dirty ground.“Oi Sleepy Lion!No killing!“He screams histerically voice breaking.Cobra meanwhile films it sending it to Yamato and Noboru.“Murayama´s babysitting adventure.“

That´s when they all come out of the lake dripping wet.„Oi Yasushi you look like a wet rat!“Fujio exclaims.„I hate you,you crazy bastard!“Yasushi laughs.„Aww I love you too.“Tsukasa teases.„Someone will end up dead by nightfall.Yasushi probably did it then I´m taking.“Odajima chuckles.„I mean if it stops Yasushi from killing someone then I say chloroform that bastard and throw him in the damn lake again.“Todoroki shruggs.

As Tsukasa takes of his soaked shirt leaving him in a top,Fujio get´s redressed revealing his interesting choice of underwear.“Oi Fujio!Sexy undies!“Nakaoka laughs.All eyes land on his heart shaped underwear and he turns as red as a tomato.He quickly gets redressed. The only thing that distracts from Fujio´s underwear is Shibaman and Tsuji´s discussion of the meat on the grill.“Man that meat is still so bloody I bet it´s gonna make moo if you bite it.“Shibaman grunts looking at the meat.“Then teach me your ways oh mighty barbecue dickhead.“Tsuji laughs trying to poke Shibaman with the grill tongs.

„Oi Yasushi?!The fuck are you eating?“Kiyoshi asks.„Magic mushrooms.“Yasushi groans sarcastically.Nosy fucker.„Really?!“Jamuo shrieks.„No dumbass.Found them over there.“Yasushi hints towards some plants with his head.„Anyone that does drugs get´s drowned in the damn lake!“Cobra screams not even turning towards them,sipping his beer.„You eat something you literally just found in the woods?!“Nakagoshi asks shocked.„If you vomit blood Yasushi I swear I´m gonna kill you to death!“Fujio shrieks color draining from his face.„What?!“Yasushi and Kiyoshi ask at the same time.„You know exactly what I mean.“He growls trying to sound threatening.„I´m great.Relax.“He barks out a laugh when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses.

“Yasushi!“Fujio and Tsukasa scream as all eyes land on them.Cobra is about to freak out as he and Murayama run over when Yasushi sits back up with a shit eating grin. “Yeah?!Anything wrong?!“He asks in a sugary sweet voice.“I´m just joking,relax.That shit´s not deadly.“He breaks out laughing and Fujio and Tsukasa hit him over the head while some others groan angrily and either swear and curse at him or take a breath of relief that Yasushi didn´t in fact dropped dead.

Cobra shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.„You sick freak!“He groans.“Yasushi you ain´t allowed to drop dead you know that!“Kiyoshi growls angrily kicking his friend.“You crazy fucked up bastard!You worried your leader.Is that what you wanted?!To worry your leader?Then congratulations you worried your leader!“Murayama adds,pointing towards Fujio who´s color still isn´t back in his face.“Yeah.“Fujio grumbles.“You worried the shit out of all of us.“Tsukasa rolls his eyes helping Yasushi up to violently pull him closer.

“If you drop dead,someone will need to give you CPR and I´ll do it.I won´t hesitate and maybe even with tongue...“ Yasushi spits out the other fruits he just threw into his mouth.„Sorry you´re not my type Blondie.Hanaoka can keep your scrawny ass.“He whines.“Use your imited 2 braincells to focus not to kill yourself.“Tsuji exclaims angrily throwing a full soda can at Yasushi.“Oww.“He dramatically exclaims and drinks said soda.Mumbling a fuck you,you ain´t my nanny.“Just please don´t eat anything deadly.“Fujio says shaking his head.That leader duty does hopefully not involve any death soon or ever.

Cobra and Murayama are eyeing the fruits in Yasushi´s hand.„Deadly?!I would say there´s one way to find out.“Cobra snatches one and eats it while the others watch with horrifyed expression.“I´ll let you know what deadly complications are gonna occur.“Cobra says taking another beer heading towards his seat from earlier.Murayama runs up to him.“You know excatly what that is Cobra-chan,don´t you?“He asks.“Yeah,it´s edible.“He chuckles taking a sip of beer.“Where did you learn that?!Survival expert Cobra-chan.I love that!“Murayama says jumping excited.“A lot of long ass road trips during Mugen times,not everywhere are luxus hotels Murayama.“He smiles.

„Fuck you,you squirrel looking bitch!I can climb higher then you.“Comes a scream from the backround that he´s just gonna ignore.That´s an issue for future Cobra, Murayama has babysitting duties.God he never wants kids.Especially not when some of them piss off to search for monsters.They probably making out or get drunk or something.No,he just leans back and takes a sip of beer enjoying the beautiful view.Murayama can search for HIS fulltimers when they get lost later.Crazily enough,who would have thought (Cobra) that they ain´t back when night comes,the full timers go search for them.

Cobra and Murayama stay back at the fire to at least make sure the woods are not burning down like Murayama feared earlier.It´s meanwhile dark and the others search the woods for the crazy bastards of Oya High,that´s great they love that.They´re also sarcastic.They´re about to give up and leave the Yasu-Kiyo leaders for dead or at least on their own for the night when they jump out of the trees wearing clown masks scaring the shit out of all of them.Shibaman and Tsuji´s reaction though,was not screaming,it was violence.They punched them so hard it nearly knocked them clean out.„Oww the fuck´s wrong with you?!“Kiyoshi groans as they pull down the clown masks.Kiyoshi wiping the blood of his nose when Fujio complains that they should head back cause he´s hella hungry and Jamuo squeaks from behind Tsukasa that he nearly pissed himself.After a few of them manage to land a hit on Yasushi or Kiyoshi´s head they leave.

They come back towards the camp where Cobra and Murayama are seated and all search a comfortable spot near the fire.“Woah you´re bleeding!“Murayama exclaims.„Yeah we punched those two clowns after they scared the shit out of us.“Shibaman explains rolling his eyes.Todoroki still loves the idea from earlier with the chloroform.“Holy shit not that blood!“Jamuo exclaims pointing towards Yasushis sleeve that´s meanwhile sticky with blood.“Oh my god did you end up vomiting blood?!Cobra-san did you vomit blood too?!“Fujio asks panicking.„No you dumb pisshead.I fucking fell holding a beer bottle alright it kinda cut up my damn arm.Relax Hanaoka.“Yasushi hisses.Cobra now leaves his seat going towards Yasushi,guess he´s doing a nightshift in adulting dumbasses.

“Lift up that sleeve and let me see it.“Yasushi looks like Cobra turned insane.“I dealt with it.“He groans.„Fucking beautiful.But when you bleed to death or die from blood poisoning because of a nasty ass broken bottle,they´re gonna blame it on the adult gang leader that shouldn´t be in the woods with underage teenagers in the first place.Then my ass goes to jail,and even if it´s crazy enough in your future it ain´t gonna be in mine.Look at me.I ain´t gonna do great in jail.Now lift it.“Yasushi does as he´s told as he explains towards Murayama that his boy toy lost it.Murayama barks out a laugh.A ripped shirt with blood spreading on it is tied around his underarm.“At least you treated it somehow.“Odajima offers.Oya is a chaotic bunch for sure.Tsuksasa scoffs.„Fuck yeah I did I ain´t stupid.I poured vodka over it and yanked the two shards out.That´s easy as fuck.“Cobra hits him across the head turnig towards Kiyoshi.“Vodka.“He holds his hand out.“I ain´t gonna listen to a guy with boy band hair telling me how to party.“ Kiyoshi grumbles.

Cobra for a hot second thinks back towards Nonoru,Yamato and his three man party containing vodka in his Mugen times,before he switched to tequila,thanks to the nastiest hangover ever.The two tumbled wasted through Sannoh. “Oi!Itokan Diner man!I fucking found it!“Yamato slurrs.„Hell yeah!“Cobra exclaims nearly falling down. „Great!All we needed were four hours,seven busses (cause they kept taking the wrong ones) and nearly two bottles of Vodka.“Noboru says when Cobra runs against a hanging flower pot he could´ve sworn wasn´t there earlier.The damn flower pot knocked Cobra to the floor with a thud.Yamato cleaned that wound with vodka too.He shakes his head.

“At least I dont look like I have a vagina or a weird ass pastry on my head,gimme the liquor.“He hands hit over with a screw you.Cobra rolls his eyes.„Did any of you meatheads think of a first aid kit that doesn´t get you wasted?“Todoroki explains that he and Odajima didn´t plan any deadly injuries so they don´t have one.Jamuo hands him one.“Thanks.At least one is prepared.I love this kid.“Cobra starts treating his wound as Todoroki exclaims;„You literally belong under constand supervision of a person with a normal amount of brain cells or at least on a leash for crazy children that keep running off...“He sighs heavily.„That would be a human right violation.“Yasushi grumbles.“Woah big words Yasuhsi!“Nakaoka laughs. „The leash is a great idea.“Tsukasa nodds.“Kinky.“Tsukasa groans.“Will you shut your cakehole!“Fujio snaps.„They mean against deadly accidents and STD`s,Yasushi.“Odajima explains.

Even though they had this little escalation they do end up having a great time,when the wound is treated,they´ve eaten and relax with a beer and soda.„How about horror stories?!“Fujio offers.„What?Cannibal Hillbilly Misfits that make a human barbecue out of Jamuo?!“Yasushi snorts.Jamuo moves closer towards Tsukasa eyeing Yasushi with care.“That´s the plot of Wrong Turn kid.Relax.“ Shibaman states.“Yasushi and Kiyoshi scare them away anyways.“Nakagoshi nodds.When Cobra hands Murayama a beer he shook before making his boyfriend take a forced beer shower and crazy enough he laughs it off.“Call it a cocktail!“Tsuji laughs.“The beer explosion!“Nakagoshi adds.Cobra snorts shaking his head.“Oh don´t judge the creator of a cocktail without ever inventing one Cobra-san!“Fujio states happily.“I did 2013,Cobra-Twist strong enough to twist your organs.“Cobra explains drinking his beer.“Yeah so it´s a cocktail you´re named after then Cobra-chan!Do you suck at wrestling suddenly?!“Murayama teases.Cobra puts down his beer and cockily strutts towards Murayama who´s eyes widen.“Cobra,no!“He squeaks as he Cobra twists his boyfriend and the others break out laughing.

#high and low #high and low the worst #oya high #hanaoka fujio #high and low cobra #tsukasa takajo #todoroki yosuke #odajima yuken #nishikawa yasushi #kiyoshi #nakaoka #nakagoshi #shibaman #tsuji #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #murayama yoshiki

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pokemonshelterstories · 11 months

Note

do you know of anyways to ward of braviairy? (i know its not spelled right)

it's just I have a couple young eevee litters that need outside time and I wanna keep em safe. the screened in porch aint doing it for them apperantly. I've debated sending my boltund out there to spark his ass. decided i should get a more educated opinion. so can i get that educated opinion?

it'a great that you're giving your eevee some outside time! fresh air and sunshine is really great for these guys.

that being said, they're prey pokemon that get eaten by a LOT of predators, so you should always keep an eye on them even if they're in a fenced-in yard. and while normally an electric-type makes a great defense against flying-type predators, there's three issues here. the first is that braviary are big enough to do some damage to a boltund and bold enough to try to attack one despite the type matchup. the second is that electric type moves dont always have the most precise discharge, and you run the risk of the eevee getting hurt. the third is that boltund have a high prey drive, and your boltund should not be allowed close enough to these eevee to protect them! that is asking for a disaster.

there are a couple other things you can try instead. if you have trees, try hanging CDs from the branches! the movement and the light reflecting off of them can dissuade flying types like braviary. you should also provide some cover for your eevee. ideally, a mesh over your yard is the best option, but you can also build a smaller hutch for them if covering your entire yard isn't feasible.

if those don't dissuade your braviary, then you can put in a complaint to your local rangers that there is a wild pokemon targeting your eevees. they may not be able to do much other than recommend some of the same ideas i have depending on laws in your area, but if it's a consistent problem that multiple people report, they may be able to relocate the braviary.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #braviary

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lycomorpha · 1 year

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The Flora of AC Valhalla: The beginning - Karmøy, Norway

I've just started a new play through of AC Valhalla from scratch, because I'd forgotten some of the plot points I need for this book herbarium. But I realise it's easier the 2nd time around to take in the plants we see in game... So I've been having a closer look at species we see, how Eivor might have used them, and how they relate to plants found in present-day locations that appear in game. & Because I'm a massive nerd I'm gonna burble about here....

Firstly, I noticed plants appear from the first scenes with young Eivor; as soon as she opens the door to the hall her & Sigurd's clans are celebrating in... There are flowers hanging from the beams and scattered on the floor.

Technically you could nitpick & argue they would be out of season vs the weather we see outside, blah blah... But it still tells us something about the role we ascribe to flowers as symbols of celebration or ceremony. Their presence means it's An Event - and that plants are with us from the starting scenes.

The island we find ourselves on next is called Karmøy in the present day - I don't think it's named in game. I've never been there (the only place I know IRL from this part of the game is Stavanger.) Handily, iNaturalist gives me some botanical pointers to what we could be seeing, and I've used that to interpret both expected and unexpected plants I see. We start on the southern end of the island.

The first things you notice (once you've smacked away Kjotve's arsebarnacle-henchgoons) are:

Coniferous trees - spruce, pine

Deciduous trees - birches, weird-ass out of place beeches

Shrubs - Cloudberries, billberry/bearberry or similar

Let's do easy things first... Norway spruce - the pointy classic christmas-tree conifer - is the most obvious plant to me. (& have I mentioned how much I love the sky/light/treescapes in this game? Lovelovelove.)

Big and small, this spruce all over the place (and exists on present day Karmøy too, no surprise.) Norway spruce has been used as timber, medicine and food for generations. No doubt Eivor would be very familiar with it - maybe she used vitamin C-rich shoot tips as a tea, food, and medicine. Possibly she'd take it to prevent scurvy on long voyages.

There are also classic pines - Scots pine is the most obvious candidate for the puffy-topped pine shapes we see in-game. In Scandinavian countries pine tar extracted from it has a loooong history of use - in preservation and waterproofing for wood and fabric, and in medicine as an antiseptic. In fact we still use pine tar today - there's an interesting review here, which the pharmacologist-part of me enjoyed a lot. Maybe the ropes we see in camp and on Eivor's longship were waterproofed/preserved with pine tar?

Some of the bare-looking conifers could also be larches, although I don't know when in history the deciduous European larch became naturalised in Norway.

We see plenty of silver birches like the ones below - since I covered those for a page of Eivor's herbarium, I'll just say here that it also has a myriad of historical uses that Eivor would be familiar with, from tar and timber to sap syrup.

We also see what looks for all the world like beeches but growing in a manner I'd expect of brambles (below.) I noticed this playing the first time around too, where you'd expect to see brambles we see things that look like beech saplings. So I think I'm going to go ahead and say that they're a weird interpretation of some kind of bramble. We wouldn't expect to see beeches here with leaves on in the snow. I see adult beech trees around as as well - so just want to note this isn't what I'd expect IRL.

In the same family as brambles are the cloudberries we can use as rations. If you've never eaten cloudberries or drunk them in liqueur/tea/etc, let me assure you they're fucking delicious.

But they're also a smol plant, and do not grow in gigantic bushy clusters. The difficulty in this and other games is that when you design a resource plant, it has to be large/obvious enough for players to interact with. So I kinda get why. But sadly we do not find monster cloudberries IRL. They're also hard to cultivate so I'm envious of Eivor's access to ginormous monster berries.

We also frequently see a low-growing shrub with reddish leaves that reminds me of bilberry or bearberry. Both are common in Norway and the UK, where I am rn. Both have leaves that turn red. The plants here are again a bit oversized, but I'm still gonna go with those two as my best guess. Both have edible berries, and bilberry jam is also fucking delicious.

They also both contain a range of interesting phytochemicals including tannins and anthocyanins, and have historical and present medicinal uses that have been reviewed by the European Medicines agency here and here. It's not a glamorous use, but Eivor might have used bilberry or bearberry medicinally if she got the squits while traveling, or picked up cystitis - their traditional uses include treatment of diarrhoea and urinary tract infections. (I mean... A vikingr had to deal with downstairs problems like any other human I guess, heheh.)

Speaking of berries... Crowberries are also found in the same region present-day, but their leaves look different - and to be honest I know less about them. But I suspect they're something Eivor might have been familiar with.

Other botanical stuff...

Lichens and fungi are my main botanical thing so I'm going to shoehorn them in there because we do at least see a few - on the rocks near the first sync point is a good place to look. Around Europe including Scandinavia, various lichens have been used in antiseptics, cold medicines, cosmetics, dyes, and crafting material. I can totally see Eivor using hair rinse containing usnea or using it dried as a firestarter.

Lastly I noticed this unseasonable yellow flower in my trade goods. Looks a lot like the yellow wood-sorrel we see elsewhere that would not have been found in Norway or the UK in the 9th Century, so lets say maybe it's a cinquefoil, or buttercup, or something. *shrug emoji*

Playing this game again, I feel like I have time to look around instead of being super-focused on the plot. It's a different experience to stop and think about how the developers have reflected the flora of Norway and what uses Eivor might have for the species we see. I even like what's surprising, out of place or out of season. I don't often play a game more than once tbh, but maybe I should, it feels like having new eyes.

#ac valhalla #video game botany #videogamebotany #botany #assassin's creed valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #eivor #lady eivor #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsdottir #flora of ACV #Flora of AC Valhalla

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foreversaba · 2 months

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This kitten fell from a tree. She's very active, but malnourished and very hurt.

WOUND WARNING, [she has a hole in her back leg filled with maggots. It's round and eaten. Hundreds of vems in her ass. Enough that she's dropping worms on our laps and can't poop.]

She's so STINKY and I love her. We called the vet for an emergency, went to the vet's house but this kitten needs anesthesia. Everyone got in the car and we're going to the clinic to get all those worms out. It's off work hours but she's in a DIRE situation.

So anyway we are saving a kitten from death today.

#meh #kitten #tw wounds #wounds #she has a sibling we need to find #he was in good health and ran away but she couldn't #we're gonna try to find her sibling and care for him too #cat #cat rescue #vet

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outpost51 · 11 months

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— The Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself (18+)

Expiration dates are for bologna and bad boyfriends, not sisters.

Chapter WC: 8,363

Warning(s): violence, gore

{READ HERE ON AO3} or below the cut ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Dillon was grateful for the emergency towels Cheryl kept in the trunk, because both she and Daisy were covered in enough mud to start another garden for their mom.

“I think we’ll need to hose off in the backyard.” Daisy’s voice was soft, but Dillon’s nerves were so frayed she almost ran a red light. If her sister was affected by the jolt, she didn’t show it. “Like when we were little, remember?”

“Yeah,” Dillon replied numbly. Of course she remembered. Her sister’s death forced her mind to unlock every happy memory they ever made together to protect it from the trauma of losing her. The sun had just started its ascent when they pulled into the driveway. She felt like a robot helping her sister out of the car and sneaking around the back of the house; her limbs were stiff and her heart was shuttered the whole way when she knew she should have been ecstatic — Daisy was back, but at what cost? Had her sister left anything behind? Would she be forced to relive the night she died in her dreams night after night? Would she even dream anymore?

Would she ever smile again?

A cold blast of water hit her square in the ass and she squealed, then nearly collapsed as a wheezy giggle filtered through the stuttering stream of the hose. Oh, how she missed that sound, even as weak as it was. When she turned, Daisy was looking down at herself, clad in nothing but the frumpy church dress she’d been buried in and holding the drooping hose in both hands, as if she couldn’t believe she was standing in our yard again. “I’m alive,” she whispered, and Dillon wasn’t sure if those two words broke her heart or made it swell so large it popped.

“That’s good… right?” She suddenly wasn’t as sure of her actions as she was when she first lit the candles.

Daisy dropped the hose to prod at her stomach, chest, and face. The pause was long enough for Dillon to give herself two separate internal lectures and a mild anxiety attack. “Yeah,” she finally replied, an echo of her sister. “When my car landed… I wanted to text you. I wanted to tell you I was sorry I wouldn’t make it in time, and that I loved you, but I think my phone went out the window, or maybe I dropped it.” She wrung out the hem of her dress, and the action was so unnervingly… normal. “I thought about how sad you’d be, and Mom and Dad. I had so much I needed to tell you and I just, I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t find my phone—”

Dillon didn’t know what she expected when she brought her sister back; maybe something shambling, maybe a hollow echo, but not… normal. “Daze, it’s—”

“I know, I know. It was such a silly thing to fret over, wasn’t it?” She looked up and smiled. It wasn’t the same one that brightened the breakfast table every morning. “Think Mom’s gonna flip if we waddle in with our clothes soaked?”

Dillon shook her head. “I think she’ll fuss about us catching cold,” she snorted, then froze. “Fuck, I’m sor—”

“Whatever for?” Daisy’s eyebrows crinkled in sympathy. “Oh, Dill, I’m not upset at you, it just feels weird being back in my body, and my stomach kinda hurts, and I’m still trying to shake off the heartache.” She closed the distance between them and sank to one knee to hug her little sister.

That was it, that was the thing that finally broke what thin veneer of composure Dillon had managed to work up on the way home. “Because you died?” she sniffled.

Daisy lifted her head, resting her chin on Dillon’s chest. “Because I lost my sister, too.”

There was no telling how long it took them to stop sobbing on each other, but the sun had almost cleared the copse of trees at the edge of the neighborhood by the time they stumbled through the front door. The smell of bacon and eggs assaulted Dillon’s senses and made her knees wobbly. She hadn’t eaten since picking at breakfast before they left for the funeral.

“Cheryl, we’re home!” she called, toeing off her soggy boots by the door.

“Who’s ‘we’ this morning?” Cheryl didn’t look up from the stove. “Did you pick up Moira?”

Daisy waved at her back. “Hi, Mom.”

A pancake hit the ceiling and stuck there. Their mother might have, too, if she wasn’t in heels. Her scream made Dillon’s ears ring, though.

“That’s what you get for springing the werewolf thing on me last year,” Daisy mumbled as she made her way towards the stairs. “I’m gonna get cleaned up for breakfast. Did they find my phone by my car?”

Cheryl shook her head numbly.

“Bummer,” Daisy sighed, and continued up to her room.

The door had just barely shut before Cheryl was on the phone with her ex husband. “Darren? Darren, shut up, I don’t care if you’re at the office, it’s never mattered before,” she huffed. “Daisy’s home.”

There was a pause, a few muffled words Dillon couldn’t make out. Her mom hung up the phone and turned to her. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but shoveling pancakes in her mouth at the kitchen counter. “Dillon Marie, what in God’s name did you do?”

“I’m pretty sure a god was involved, but I don’t think capital-G had anything to do with it.” That was apparently not the correct answer, because the fork was removed from her hand and her mom’s fists went to her hips. “A weird lady gave me a zombie recipe book when I stayed behind at the grave. I was desperate and stupid, I know I shouldn’t have messed with forces unknown, but Daisy—”

“What book?”

Dillon retrieved her bag, then the book inside it. “I did what it said to do. It worked, but Daisy’s headstone—”

“Your dad doesn’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That your sister died.” Cheryl flipped through a few pages. Raised her eyebrows a few times. She set the book down and went down to the basement, leaving Dillon alone at the counter with a massive stack of pancakes. Unattended. Four fell prey to her grabby hands before Cheryl returned.

With a severed head, its face frozen in a scream.

That she promptly whacked against the counter over and over until it cracked open.

“You cut up bodies three nights out of the month, pickle,” Cheryl chided as her daughter lost her pancakes in the sink.

Dillon looked at her mother with a mix of shock and disgust. “Yeah, I cut ‘em up, I don’t brutalize them.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, it’s not like it’s bleeding.” Cheryl dropped the pulpy remains in her daughter’s outstretched hands. “Do something with that, please. I need to scramble this before your sister comes back down.”

With her mind completely dissociated from her physical form, Dillon sputtered, “Like what? I can’t just throw this in the trash!”

Cheryl exhaled through her nose. “Of course not, that’s wasteful. Put it in a bag and put it back in the freezer. I’ll boil it later to make freezie-pops.” She scoffed at Dillon’s continued perturbation. “What? Werewolves get hot, too. It’s too much work to fill a kiddie pool with ice for Gus to roll in every time we go on a run. Get some of my bacon while you’re down there.”

Dillon inhaled to respond, but swallowed the thought at her mother’s look.

Until she returned from her task. “Who’s Gus?” she asked as she set the paper-wrapped package on the counter. She’d taken to labeling the meat in their freezer according to what living thing in came from after one unfortunate incident involving a pig-bacon and people-bacon mixup that left her with far more questions about herself than she ever wanted answered.

The stairs creaked under a weight much more significant than Daisy’s, and the clicking of heavy claws on the kitchen floor prickled painful gooseflesh over her whole body. “I heard my name,” a gruff voice rumbled behind her as a massive shadow fell over the kitchen. “Pancakes?”

Cheryl smiled up at the mountain of scruffy black werewolf draped over her head and shoulders. Like he belonged there. Much too fucking comfortable for Dillon’s liking. “Mmhm, eggs and bacon, too. Dillon resurrected her sister.”She pushed the grabby wolf-hand away from her pan. “Don’t touch the scrambled ones, Gus-Gus, there’s brain in there.”

Their guest — or intruder, by Dillon’s perspective— looked like he told his mother he wanted to be a cloud when he grew up and subsequently made weightlifting his entire personality. His piercing yellow eyes might have been intimidating if Dillon hadn’t seen the same glow in her mother’s. “Daisy died?”

“Long story.”

He grunted in response. No shock, no theatrics. Was it such a casual thing in their world? “Coffee?”

“Still fresh. Make Dilly a cup, would you? I doubt she’s gotten any sleep.”

Dillon accepted the mug with far more grace than she expected she would have when faced with a potential — “So are you gonna make Cheryl an honest woman, or do I need to go put my boots back on?”

Gus choked, sputtering black coffee out of his nose. It matted down the thick, fluffy fur on his chest in twin rivers like tire tracks through a cornfield.

“Dillon Marie!” Cheryl’s hands went to her hips.

“There’s a naked wolfman in our house, Cheryl!”

There was a squeak of surprise from the stairs, rapid thumping away, and finally Daisy skidded into the kitchen, one of Darren’s abandoned golf clubs in her hands. She wound up, ready to swing.

Cheryl nearly turned purple. “Gus, I am so sorry, they’re just protective.”

“No harm done, Cherry, I’m the same way with my mom,” Gus snorted as he scrubbed the coffee out of his fur with a kitchen towel.

The outrage from the girls was simultaneous, though the volume was inversely proportional to their sizes — where Daisy was softly inquisitive, Dillon shattered a wine glass in the rack above the sink. The jolt of energy almost, almost startled her enough to derail her tirade.

“Cherry?”

“Cherry!”

“Dillon!”

“Rasso,” announced another newcomer, who caught Daisy’s golf club in a sandy-furred hand an inch from his head. “Nice swing. Why are we yelling names?”

“Oh, there’s a naked werewolf in our kitchen,” Daisy replied. “He hugged Mom, I think, Dillon’s protective.” She looked at her captured golf club, then up further to Rasso’s face. “You pulled me out of the car.”

The action in the kitchen froze as everyone looked to the eldest Monroe daughter on the stairs; Gus had Dillon in both hands, held aloft in a rocketship pose, she had one of his ears in a vice grip, and Cheryl was doing her best to keep one eye on her youngest daughter and the other on her oldest.

Rasso tilted his head. “What car?”

“Long story,” the kitchen inhabitants intoned in unison.

Daisy’s bright smile brought a choked sob from her sister. “Dill brought me back from the dead last night,” she explained. Pride coated every word in a gilded shell as they fell from her mouth in a waterfall of riches. “Nobody can remember, apparently. My friends think I lost my mind, but I remember your eyes. You held my hand and told me about the lake in Arizona so I wouldn’t be scared.”

“Well, how about that? Small world.” Cheryl gave Rasso a warm, grateful smile and plated Daisy’s breakfast. “Come eat, baby, you must be starving.” That warmth turned into a glare that froze him to the stairs when he stepped forward at the same time as Daisy. “If you want to stay for breakfast, you can ask nicely instead of assuming.”

Gus’s snicker abruptly ended in a choke as Dillon managed to land a solid kick to his Adam’s apple. He released her to the wild. “If this is what she’s like at twelve, she’ll be the first human to run with a pack by the time she hits twenty.”

Daisy at least had the courtesy to shove a bite of eggs in her mouth to hide her laugh.

“She’ll be nineteen in a few months, Gus,” Cheryl snorted.

As if the silent shock bulging his eyes wasn’t enough to give Dillon the vindication she deserved after her unjust humiliation, the wayward pancake chose that moment to unstick itself from the ceiling and crown Gus as the king of fools.

“Got something on your face, Gus,” she sneered as she plated up her own breakfast and took the spot next to Daisy. To her great disappointment, he merely put his hands up in surrender, then accepted the plate of meat and eggs Cheryl offered. He at least possessed the skill to read the room, leaning his hip on the counter to eat rather than sitting at the table. Rasso followed suit, and Cheryl took her usual seat.

“Dilly, I know you love your dad—”

“But,” Dillon huffed. She cut into her stack of pancakes a little more aggressively than necessary and with a little too much eye contact with her mother’s guests. Rasso twiddled his fingers in a cheeky wave. “There’s a ‘but’ in that sentence.”

Cheryl exhaled through her nose. “But I am an adult, and I can date if I’d like to, and I am not dating my packmates,” she concluded. “We just buried your sister and I needed my pack. That’s what werewolves do when we’re upset.” Dillon must not have hidden her watery eyes and wobbly lip as well as she thought, because her mother’s face softened with heartbreak. “We both needed to process things on our own in our own ways, pickle. Daisy wouldn’t be here if I made you spend time consoling me.”

The thought sobered the entire room, and they ate in a tense silence until Daisy broke it.

“Brett ran me off the road,” she admitted.

Dillon checked her pockets for her phone when a sudden rumble rattled the plates on the table, the windows, and her entire skeleton. She must have left it in her bag, then, and the violent pulse came from three pissed off werewolves.

Cheryl went unnaturally still. Politely set down her fork. “Excuse me?”

“He doubled back and pulled over to make sure I didn’t get out, I think. I saw his car, but he was making a bunch of vague threats the day before too.” Daisy frowned at her eggs, pushing them around the plate. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say,” Cheryl warned. “Don’t you dare. None of this is on you, do you understand me? Not a single bit. You didn’t make him hurt you, or yell at you, or run you off the road, Daisy-mae, all you ever did was want somebody to love you, and that is not a fucking crime. Pass me the people-bacon, Dilly.”

Dillon passed the plate across the table without question. “Holy shit, Cheryl.”

“Language, pickle.”

Dillon was wired as she laid down to sleep that night, kicking her feet and tossing and turning until finally, mercifully, her brain and body gave in around two in the morning. She’d feel like shit when she inevitably dragged her carcass out of bed, but it was fine; she had her sister back, her mom was still single, and she was right about Brett. She just had to figure out how to bring him to justice, but that was a problem for future Dillon. Present Dillon just wanted to sleep.

A weight sank down on the edge of her mattress, stirring her slightly back into awareness but not enough to jolt her awake. Cheryl checked on her a lot that week, so it was nothing new. She’d probably kiss her forehead and go back to her room. “Dillon, wake up, baby,” she whispered.

“Muh?”

“I need you to drive me somewhere. I’ll buy you burritos.”

Dillon pulled her blanket up higher and scrunched her nose up. She didn’t want burritos. She wanted to go back to sleep. “Why?” she grumbled. “It’s late.” The overhead light seared her eyes even behind her eyelids. Fuck it. She peeled one open to see what all the fuss was about. The other followed suit with gusto.

Her mother stood over her in her silky, auburn-furred glory, wolfed the fuck out and clearly ready to party; her gardening belt was strapped around her waist and loaded down with knives, a hammer, duct tape — “I thought werewolves didn’t need weapons to hunt,” Dillon slurred.

“These aren’t for hunting, pickle,” Cheryl growled. “They’re for making that piece of shit wish he never looked at your sister.” She pulled out a screwdriver, twirling it around between her fingers. “And to make sure he never looks at another girl again.”

Dillon had her helping-Cheryl-in-the-garden pants on and her backpack slung over her shoulder before her mother could utter another word. It was funny what a little time and a heaping spoonful of trauma could do to someone; just two years ago, she was worried about disposing of a body her mother left on the front lawn, but now? She was more than happy to help her make one.

She plugged the address Cheryl sent her into the car’s GPS, handed her mom the aux cord, and off they went to pay a visit to her sister’s murderous piece-of-shit ex.

A murderous piece-of-shit ex whose car was not in the driveway of his parents’ grotesquely huge house. “Cut the lights and stay here,” Cheryl hissed, and before Dillon could ask why and what she was doing, she was halfway across the yard, loping silently through the shadows to check all the windows. One must have been open, because her ass shimmied right inside and Dillon felt her heart stop. What if they got caught? Was her mom going to murder Brett’s parents? That wasn’t part of the deal, she didn’t sign up for —

Cheryl slammed into the car, a shirt in her mouth. “Drive, pickle!”

Once she stopped screaming and remembered how to breathe, Dillon floored it. “Where are we going?”

“To the edge of the neighborhood, I can catch his scent from there.” She took a deep whiff of the shirt and discarded it at her feet before rolling down the window. “Slow down at the intersection, I think I have it.” Cheryl hung her head out the window and sniffed a few times. Her snout abruptly jerked to the left. “That way, go! But stop at each intersection and I’ll tell you whether to turn or stay straight.”

They tracked him to a gas station a few miles down the road. Dillon pulled the car up behind a truck to stay out of sight while Cheryl kept a lookout. She didn’t know what he could possibly be doing that took half an hour, considering his was the only other car in the parking lot, and she didn’t want to know.

Cheryl climbed back in and rolled up her window. “Keep the lights cut until it’s too dark to see the road, and don’t follow him too close, not yet,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady. She was way too calm about what they were doing. What Dillon suspected they’d be doing next. Just what did her mom get up to on her runs besides hunting predators in the park? “You okay driving, or do you need me to shift back? I’m not going to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with. We can even turn around if you want to, but once we leave this parking lot, we have to commit.”

“Commit to what?” Dillon didn’t think she wanted the answer. She wanted to be blissfully unaware until the very last minute.

Cheryl answered anyway. “We’re gonna run this motherfucker off the road and make him wish he didn’t survive.”

Dillon swallowed. She needed less time to think about it than she probably should have. He hurt Daisy, and if he wasn’t hurting Daisy, he’d hurt someone else, and no one was doing anything about it. It ended tonight. “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do this.”

She kept the lights off as they drove in silence until she couldn’t make out anything in the dark but Brett’s taillights. “I can’t see anymore,” she said.

Cheryl nodded. “Count of three, turn on the brights and lay on the horn. Three… two…”

Dillon clicked the headlights all the way up and slammed all her weight on the horn. Brett swerved, but stayed in his lane.

“Do you trust me?”

Dillon nodded, afraid to take her eyes off the road. Her mom might have been practically invincible, but Dillon was still very much a small human with bones that broke and skin that cut.

“Speed up, get beside him in the left lane.”

She pressed the accelerator as hard as she could with her limited reach.

When their windows were side by side, Cheryl barked, “Now flip his ass the bird.” Dillon gladly did so. Her mom rolled down her own window and snarled. Where she expected to see anger on Brett’s face, she saw only palpable fear. “He’s gonna run. Let him.” Sure enough, he sped up with a sudden screech of tires. “Keep on his ass, baby!”

It was exhilarating. Terrifying. Was that how Cheryl felt when she ran free during the full moon, hunting the worst of the worst?

When her mom screamed, “Clip his flank!” she jerked the wheel without hesitation. There was a sickening crunch like breaking bone and Brett’s candy-red car lurched hard towards the shoulder. His front tire caught on something and the whole thing went airborne, flipping sideways twice before landing on its side. It slid into the woods running along the interstate and Dillon hit the breaks, skidding to a squealing stop a hundred yards away, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged pants.

It was a lot easier to think about when it wasn’t real. When she wasn’t faced with the glossy smear of fluids Brett’s car left behind. When her bones didn’t ache from the impact.

“Holy shit,” she wheezed. “We just killed somebody. We fuckin’… oh my god. Oh my god, we killed—”

“Back it up, Dilly, come on, we can’t make assumptions,” her mom urged.

She nodded numbly and carefully reversed the car until her mom held up a hand to stop her.

Cheryl was out of the car before Dillon could even park, bounding down the hill on all fours with an excited howl. She’d never seen her mother hunt, just the aftermath, and for a few seconds, the logical, human part of her brain made her hesitate. They ran him off the road. If he survived, he’d be scared out of his mind and probably wouldn’t fuck with Daisy ever again.

It was the probably that boiled her blood and thawed her feet. He didn’t spare Daisy a second thought except to make sure she wasn’t getting back up. There wasn't room for probably.

They were going to make it a definite thing.

She could have her morality crisis later, after she’d taken the eye that he owed.

They found the car flipped on its side, slotted between two trees like a CD on a rack. The engine was still ticking to the beat of whatever country song warbled out on the radio’s dying breaths.

Dillon kicked her foot up on the door and leaned into the smashed window. “Sup, bitch,” she spat. Brett’s eyes weren’t quite focusing, and he squinted like she was blurry and swayed like she was floating around. He sure as hell didn’t have a problem seeing six-foot-nine Cheryl hulking behind her. “You’ve met my mom, yeah?” She leaned in closer to sneer in his face. “You’re about to meet your maker.” He got half a scream out before Cheryl ripped his door off with one hand and yanked him out of the car with the other.

“How did you like that taste of your own medicine, Mr. Lawson?” Cheryl asked sweetly, or as sweet as she could through an elongated snout and dozens of very big, very sharp teeth.

“How’d you… nobody else rem-remembers,” he slurred. He definitely had some kind of head trauma. Oh well. “You wrecked my fucking car, you psycho bitches.”

Cheryl pulled him closer in case he didn’t see her dozens of very big, very sharp teeth the first time. He kicked his feet uselessly. A mouse dangling in the talons of a flying owl. “Tell Little Red Riding Douche what the book said, Dilly-willy.”

Dillon climbed up on her mom’s back and held up the book. “When somebody dies tragically, it makes a shallow scar on the world and a deep one for people directly affected by their death,” she explained. “When they come back, it heals that shallow scar and erases it from everyone’s memories, but the deep scar stays. Cheryl and I were waiting up all night for Daisy to come home when your itsy-bitsy teenie-weenie havin’ ass decided your poor widdle feelies were too hurtsy-wurtsy over getting dumped like the trash you are.”

Brett bared his teeth. Cheryl bared hers. Brett pissed his pants.

“So we remember,” Dillon continued. “We remember how it felt to bury her, and you remember because you’re the reason we had to.” She pointed the book’s spine at Brett. “But you? There’s not gonna be enough of you left for your folks to bury.”

“Pick a piece to leave behind,” Cheryl sneered.

Dillon thought it would make her sick, the crunch of bone, the slick squelch of viscera being torn inch by inch from a living, screaming person. He was another human being, flesh and bone like her. It should have. She knew that on a logical level, she should have been repulsed. Guilty. Afraid.

Maybe losing her sister broke something in her. Maybe it had been broken long before that, when she butchered John Doe. Or even before that, when Darren and Cheryl divorced. Maybe, maybe, maybe. The maybes didn’t matter anymore. Life was too short for maybes.

Dillon pulled a filleting knife from Cheryl’s gardening belt. “I never liked you, Brett,” she said, gently pushing the point of the blade under his chin.

“Fuck you,” he spat, turning his head blindly to find the source of her voice. Cheryl hadn’t waited around to use the screwdriver. “Dunno why my Daisy even bothered with your emo little ass. I told her not to fuck with you anymore, it fucked up her image.” He coughed up a wad of phlegm and blood.

“First of all.” Dillon applied more pressure and drew blood. He screamed. “I’m not emo, I’m goth, there’s a fucking difference. Not that it’s gonna matter in about twenty minutes.” She looked up at her mom, who was lurking close by and picking her teeth like she was bored. Nice touch, Cheryl. “Ten if I get tired of you.” She pressed the knife in further. “And second, you lost the privilege to call her your Daisy the second you hit her, you worthless, pathetic little worm.”

Dillon didn’t know this version of herself. She didn’t know where it came from. It was twisted, angry, sadistic. She wasn’t any of those things.

But grief did funny things to people, made them do things they wouldn’t normally do.

And so did assholes.

“Pathetic? I make more in a week working for my dad than your whole family makes in a year. You’re nothing, noth—”

Brett’s tirade was cut short by a strangled yelp as Dillon brought her heel down between his legs until she felt a pop. “No, Brett. You made more in a week. Past tense, buddy.�� She removed the knife. “And now you’re nothing but breakfast for the next couple weeks.”

“My dad—”

“Can fuck a better son into existence,” she barked, slicing her hand through the air. The ground shook. His body jolted and fell limp.

Cheryl nudged his prone form with her foot. Something sloshed around with the motion. “Shit, pickle, I think you liquefied his insides,” she muttered. “Might need to have a family meeting about—”

Something slammed into Dillon’s head, and she managed half a realization that it was the force of her mother catching her before the world went dark.

Dillon awoke to the world moving around her and a headache to rival the time she fell off the monkey bars in elementary school. Her upper lip felt tight, and when she rubbed at it, her hand came away crusted with blood.

“How’re you feeling, Dilly?” Cheryl’s voice was soft and gentle so as not to contribute to the pain she clearly expected.

Dillon grumbled in response, rolling her face across the cool surface of the door’s interior. The chill made it feel moderately better, so she opened the air vents on her side. Cheryl turned the air conditioning up without prompting. She heard the motors inside the door whir shortly before a strong gust of wind sucked her hair out the window. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Her throat was scratchy.

The car turned gently, but the speed stayed constant. She was about to ask where they were, but when she looked up, the sight of her mother hanging her head out the driver side window, ears back and mouth open, wiped all memory of potential questions from her mind.

Cheryl glanced back at her and a smile tugged at the corners of her maw. She leaned out further, rolling her head and lolling her tongue.

Dillon’s headache all but disappeared in the wake of a full on giggle fit, and when Cheryl howled with joy, she couldn’t help but do the same, though hers was much quieter and less haunting.

Her mom finally retreated into the car and rolled up the windows when they approached their neighborhood. There was a noise ordinance, after all, and the Homeowners’ Association was notoriously bitchy about it. The vice president once called the cops on a toddler greeting her mother, who had been deployed overseas, at nine p.m., because the volume of her enthusiasm exceeded the allowable limit. “So, we’re not telling Daisy what actually happened, right?” Cheryl proposed as they pulled into the garage.

Dillon snorted. “You got it, Mom.” She imagined the utter surprise on her mother’s face matched her own. She touched her fingers to her mouth to assuage the tingle; the word felt so foreign now, it was like she’d repeated a swear in another language. “Lights are still off,” she redirected, gesturing to the darkened upstairs windows. “I think we can get him down to the basement through the house, Daisy’s still asleep.”

Cheryl checked the tape binding the plastic tarp they wrapped around Brett’s body, ensuring the seals were tight and it wouldn’t leak on the carpet. Satisfied, she gathered the bundle into her arms and followed closely behind Dillon once she got the door unlocked. She wasn’t as silent as she was on a hunt thanks to the crinkly plastic, but between the two of them, they managed to get Brett’s body down to the basement and processed without waking Daisy.

As it turned out, they had enough time to get showers, change clothes, start a load of laundry, and get breakfast mostly done before the eldest Monroe daughter shambled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Turns out being dead isn’t the same as a long nap,” she sighed. “I feel like I haven’t slept in a month, it’ll take weeks to get back to normal.” She flopped down in her seat next to Dillon and sniffed at her plate, nearly drowning in her own salivation when one was set down in front of her. It smelled different than her sister’s, but not in a bad way. “What’s for breakfast?”

In unison, her mother and younger sister chirped, “Brett!”

She blinked slowly. Poked at the eggs. There were little greyish-pink bits hiding among the egg curds again, and her bacon had a different fat pattern than Dillon’s. “Mom…?” she hazarded.

“Yes, Daisy-mae?” Cheryl sank down across from her. Her wet hair was just starting to shrink up into gentle waves.

“Is this… actually Brett?”

Her mother took a few bites of her own bacon and eggs, and for a minute Daisy thought she wasn’t going to answer. “You read those articles I sent you, right?”

“Yes, Mom, I know I have different dietary needs now, and that’s fine, I’d just like to be in the loop if I’m helping you cover up a crime by eating the evidence.”

Cheryl grinned proudly. “That’s my girl,” she beamed. That was all the answer Daisy needed, and after another moment of hesitation, she tucked in.

A few days passed before the authorities located Brett’s car, but no Brett. From the evidence they did find, however — a few patches of thick fur, claw marks on nearby trees, the entire door ripped off — they concluded it was a bear attack. Coincidentally, there were quite a few empty liquor bottles covered in his DNA and fingerprints in his back seat, and in the absence of a body, they assumed he was drunk, drove off the road, and bears came across the wreckage. So while Brett thought he got away with murder for a little while, yet again the Monroe girls had him beat. They actually got away with it, and had enough meat in the freezer to last until the next full moon.

Two years later

The first sign something was wrong was how late Daisy was for breakfast — typically, she was up minutes after Cheryl to help out and was already on her second cup of coffee by the time Dillon dragged herself to the table. She took her new diet in stride, and was downright enthusiastic about it, learning and modifying recipes, mixing up her own spice blends, and even learning a few recipes for their mother and her packmates, too. That was just how Daisy was; she didn’t just make lemonade out of the citrus storm life threw at her, she made everything she could think of and used the leftover zest in a cocktail.

The second was her lack of pep. Even before she had her daily dose of caffeine, Daisy at least had a little bounce and bubble, but when she shambled down the stairs in an old t-shirt, looking like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and slept in just as long, Dillon knew something wasn’t right. “You okay, sis?” she asked. “Did you get a zombie cold?”

Daisy’s eyes took a while to follow her head as it turned to her sister, but they were still dull and unfocused. “I don’t… I’m not sure,” she replied, voice dazed, airy, quiet.

She went down in a heap of limbs.

Dillon shouted her name. No response.

Cheryl shook her. She was limp.

“No, no, nonono,” Dillon sobbed. “Not again, please, not again, you just opened your own studio, Daze, you can’t go yet, you can’t—”

Cheryl dropped a firm hand on her shoulder. “Go get your books, baby. I’ll call Denise. Her heart’s still beating, she’s still with us.”

It was the still that bothered Dillon. Still wasn’t a certain word. It wasn’t permanent. Still was what you said to people so they wouldn’t panic while the boat was sinking. It was still above water, sure, but it wouldn’t be forever. She sprinted up the stairs, not even acknowledging the pain in her chin, hip, and hand when she tripped on the top step in her haste. They didn’t have time for her to lick her wounds. She could do that later, when Daisy was back to being Daisy.

She had only just set down the last of her books on the table when the front door slammed open and Denise jogged in, kitted out in her hunting gear — khaki cargos, black tank top, boots, utility belt, entirely too many weapons for the current situation but sometimes, somehow, still not enough for the particular brand of nasties she hunted — with her short brown ponytail swishing behind her. “What can we do to help, girls?” She always called them girls, despite Cheryl being thirty-eight and Dillon nearly twenty-one; she was the second oldest in Cheryl’s friend group at forty-eight. “Where’s — oh, Daisy,” she gasped.

Dillon raised an eyebrow. The fresh piercing did not like the motion and she winced. “We?”

Denise’s veritable army filed in — Charlotte, Dottie, Regina, Joyce — followed by Cheryl’s pack, or at least the ones who were off work. Dillon counted ten people in total, but then Bailey, her mother’s newest (and shortest, clocking in at two whole inches taller than Dillon) packmate, squeezed out of the crowd to hoist Daisy into her arms and move her to the couch so she could at least be a corpse with dignity.

No, not corpse, that was a bad thought, and Dillon didn’t need to be thinking those things lest they come to pass.

Eleven people had dropped everything they were doing and hauled ass to the Monroe house. For Daisy. Dillon quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and swore. She’d already put eyeliner on that morning. Fuck.

“Move, bitches!” Moira’s voice was the most heavenly sound, bellowing over the din of the gathered crowd’s planning and brainstorming. Regina didn’t even chastise her daughter for her piss-poor manners. Not with bigger things to worry about. The familiar jingle of her best friend’s heavy pants was the only warning Dillon got before she was tackled nearly off her feet in a tight hug. Her shoulder-length shock of pink hair enveloped Dillon in the familiar comfort of strawberry sparkle body spray. “Show me what to read, Pugsley.” They’d called each other Wednesday and Pugsley for as long as Dillon could remember, because even when they wanted to kill each other, deep down they had an unbreakable bond. Moira dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I brought the sacrifices.”

“Please don’t sacrifice us,” Faith quipped, dropping an armload of books next to Dillon’s.

Rosie, ever the perfect twin, was right behind her with an entire basket of baked goods and other snacks. “Mmhm, we’d be really rotten sacrifices. Scream the whole time. Mom and the other church ladies sent this, we were at Bible study.”

“When Daisy wakes up, I’m so thanking her for picking today to pull a Princess Aurora.” Dillon appreciated the when, and knew Faith picked the word on purpose. When was certain. When was sure.

Bonnie dropped her backpack in the only empty spot left on the table. She was the most recent addition to their friend group, having been dragged in by the twins a year prior when they met her in the local used book store. They liked her vibe, and thus Bonnie Lucas was adopted into the fold. “My cousin’s in town. You know, the one that’s spooky by our standards,” she explained, pulling out beat-up notebooks that smelled like incense and books that looked like they might have been bound in human skin.

“Damien?” Moira grimaced. It took a lot to make her cringe, but Bonnie’s cousin was definitely a lot.

Bonnie snorted. “Yeah, Eugene. Don’t call him Damien, it makes his ego annoying. Anyway, apparently he’s a necromancer for a private firm that like, brings rich old people back from the dead for succession issues, or whatever.” She scrunched up her nose. “Sorry, ‘resurrectionist’” she mocked. “He said it sounds like your ritual is wearing off.”

“What do you mean ‘wearing off’? I put her soul back in her body and she’s been taking really good care of herself,” Dillon sputtered.

“Yeah, he said you’re a fucking badass for managing it without any training whatsoever, by the way. And if you want a job that pays better than night stocking at Sprawlmart, he’ll vouch for you,” Bonnie replied idly as she flipped through her cousin’s books. “Here, look.” She set one of the possibly-skin books in front of Dillon and pointed to the page she was looking at. “This isn’t the same book you used, but see how this one says it lasts… five years, but in really pretentious magic terms? There should be a follow-up ritual in your book.”

Dillon looked through the pile of books on the table for the one the mysterious graveyard woman left behind, then thumbed through the pages until she found her ritual — still as vague as ever — and turned one more page. There it was right at the top, in bolder lettering than the rest:

TO BE EXECUTED BEFORE THE THIRD ANNIVERSARY OF RISING.

“Fuck,” she sobbed, quickly turning her head so the escaping tear wouldn’t damage the pages any further.

Moira looked up from the thick tome she was digging through. “Why can’t she just use that other one? It lasts longer.”

“Because it has to be the ritual specifically designed to follow the one used to bring back the person in the first place,” Bonnie explained, holding up something that looked like a textbook.

Rosie cocked her head and pushed her glasses up with a finger when they threatened to fall off with the motion. “And why can’t Dam— uh, Eugene do it?”

“Because he’s a fucking prick,” Moira scoffed.

“Because he probably costs money we don’t have,” Dillon corrected.

“You’re both right, but also wrong. Dillon has to do it. It’s her energy binding Daisy’s soul to her body.”

Faith furrowed her brows. “Well, why can’t we just let, ugh, this sounds so insensitive, Dill, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Why can’t we just let Daisy… uh, leave and then someone else can bring her back with a ritual that lasts longer?”

Dillon felt her heart shatter as Bonnie’s RBF softened like butter next to an oven. “If her soul gets detached, that’s it. Game over. People can only be resurrected once per reincarnation. She has to be refreshed by the third anniversary of her resurrection, by Dillon, out of that book, or Daisy’s gone for real this time.” Her lip wobbled, but the mask was back before Dillon could blink. “I’m really sorry, Dill. I wish I knew sooner.”

The twins called over the group before Dillon could tell them not to. They were just trying to help. Everyone was just trying to help, but their help was overwhelming, and she felt the heartbreak of inadequacy roiling within her. She couldn’t figure out the problem herself, other people had to step in and fix the mess she made, because she was stupid, and weak, and—

“Hey, stop,” Moira urged softly, pulling her into a hug to shield her from view. “You haven’t fucked around with magic in two years, Pugs, and you fucked around with it before without knowing anything about it. You can ask for help with this.”

She couldn’t, though, this was her mess, and her sister —

“You know Daisy would tell you the same thing, Dillon, you know she would.” Moira pushed her away to dab her sleeve under Dillon’s eyes. “Would I lie to you?”

She wouldn’t, and she was right. Dillon shook her head and looked up at the expectant crowd. “I have to—” Her voice cracked as she choked on a thousand emotions all at once. “I need—”

Moira stepped up and placed her hands on her best friend’s shoulders. “Daisy’s batteries are losing their juice, folks, that’s all,” she announced with all the confidence of a lighthouse in a storm. “Pugsley here just needs to reset her zombie clock, and we have a few months for her to train before Daisy goes critical.”

“What happens in a few months?” Cheryl asked.

Dillon tried to look everywhere but directly at her mom, but the tears came anyway, because no matter where she looked, she saw family. “We lose Daisy.”

“Ah, shit.” Regina’s brows sank as she dropped down to Dillon’s level and wrapped her in a hug. “We’re not gonna lose Daisy, pickle, you’re both Monroes. Monroe girls are unstoppable,” she cooed, peppering the top of Dillon’s head with kisses. She was the only other person that could call her ‘pickle’ and get away with it; she’d been Aunt Reggie since Dillon and Moira met in preschool and bonded over a vampire cartoon they both loved. Daisy and McKinleigh, Moira’s older sister, becoming fast friends sealed her place as an honorary Monroe. She could use Cheryl’s dumb nicknames if she wanted.

Her hair tickled Dillon’s neck and ears, and when she turned her head to escape it, she only managed to get the black shoulder-length waterfall up her nose. She tried not to sneeze on Regina’s very nice fleece jacket, even though she knew she was already smearing the remnants of her eyeliner all over her shoulder, but she couldn’t fight it. She bruised the bridge of her nose on Regina’s shoulder.

“D’you get snot on my jacket, missy?”

“Sorry, Aunt Reggie,” Dillon grumbled, wiping at the spot with her own hoodie sleeve.

A small noise in the living room drew everyone’s attention, and from the immediate, ecstatic uproar, Dillon knew Daisy was awake. “I need to tell her,” she insisted. “I need to be the one she hears it from. I brought her back, this is my—” Moira yanked a handful of her hair, knowing damn well what was about to come out of her mouth. “This is my thing.” Not much better than blaming herself, but at least Moira didn’t pull her hair again.

Regina let her go to start shooing people out of the house. Denise and a few of Cheryl’s packmates stayed behind ‘to help out around the house,’ which was code for ‘Cheryl didn’t want to be alone but was too proud to ask in front of a crowd.’

Dillon found Daisy sitting up on the couch, staring absently out the window and clutching a blanket to her chest. She looked confused, lost, unsure how she got there and where she was in the first place. “Daisy?” She perched as carefully as possible on the edge of the cushions, caging her sister between herself and the back of the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I fainted in the kitchen and got hit by a train,” Daisy replied. She sounded distant, and when she finally turned to look at Dillon, her eyes weren’t as clear as they usually were. Was she going blind? “Did everybody come here for me?”

Dillon nodded. “Yeah, you had us worried for a second.” How did she even approach the subject? She couldn’t just say ‘hey, so, you’re dying, sorry.’ There wasn’t a segue in the world that would cushion that blow enough.

Lucky for her, she didn’t have to come up with one. “I’m dying, aren’t I?” Daisy was so matter-of-fact, so calm, so… accepting about it, it broke Dillon’s heart all over again. “I’ve felt a little off all week, but I didn’t want to worry anybody.”

“Daze, you can’t do that anymore. This isn’t a head cold you can sleep off.” Dillon took a deep breath to stave off the tears. She needed to be brave. Daisy was facing her second death with grace and—

“I’m scared, Dill,” she said softly.

So much for sucking it up. After several agonizing minutes of painful sobs wracking her body, she found herself leaning heavily against Daisy, her sister’s arm wrapped protectively over her shoulders and cradling Dillon against her collarbone while she played with her messy mop of hair, brushing out the tangles. Daisy was comforting her, when she should have been the one comforting her sister. “I just have to do another ritual to refresh your binding, or whatever, but I’m scared, too.”

“Because you haven’t messed with the magic stuff since Brett?”

Dillon made a noise in her chest.

“Mom told me what happened,” Daisy sighed, holding Dillon tighter so she couldn’t whip a betrayed look at Cheryl. “I asked, Dill. You know she can’t lie to us, it would break her. You scared yourself, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t try to… to—”

“Turn his guts into a smoothie?”

A bitter snort snuck its way out. “Yeah. That. I didn’t tell it to do that, I was just… angry. I was so angry, and I just wanted to shut him up, and I put my hand out like—” She repeated the motion from the woods, slicing her hand through the air in front of her. Nothing happened. She didn’t know why she expected anything different. “But it hurt, Daze. It hurt bad.”

Daisy hummed. “Maybe because you used it as a weapon, and a really big one at that. You’ll tear muscles if you try to sprint a mile without training or stretching. Magic is the same thing, isn’t it? Just using a muscle to bend the world to your will?”

Dillon shrugged.

“How long do we have?”

“Until next July. The twentieth. The ritual only lasts three years, and we can’t use a different one to make it last longer.” Dillon knitted her brows. “I’m so stupid, I should have studied it more and maybe I would have known that and picked a different one, or—”

Daisy shushed her with a squeeze. It wasn’t as strong as her hugs used to be. “It’s fine, Dill. I believe in you,” she said, with all the confidence she could muster in her weakened state. “You did it once, right? You can do it again. And even if you can’t, if the worst comes to pass, I won’t be upset. I got to see my family again and spend a few more years with you, and I’ll get to say goodbye this time. You gave me that, you know?”

Dillon’s lip wobbled. Her throat seized around everything she wanted to say and everything she couldn’t find the words for. She had to do it now. She had to, and she would.

Because Daisy believed she could.

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

Text

Found

Shelter - Part 1

(tw: zombies, gore, machete, rifle, familial death mention, exposed bone, blood, murder mention, eaten alive mention, manhandling, zip ties, shackle, chain, claustrophobia trigger)

[Masterpost | Next]

Icy air ripped down Nisha’s throat, threatening to cave it in - but she couldn’t just stop fucking breathing, now could she?

Bummer.

Couldn’t stop running either, the damn- FUCK FUCK FUCK SHHHHHIITTTTT SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK THAT HURT SONOFABITCH-

Nisha’s groan turned more into a growl in her breathlessness, ice still slipping under her knees, wrapped hands, and tingling feet. She grit her teeth, shoving herself back up.

Her right leg didn’t particularly approve of that course of action, trying to buckle limp beneath her.

You piece of shit, I MADE you, now WORK.

She forced it to stay straight, weight limping onto it.

Footsteps.

The rapidly crunching snow was getting closer, she could fucking swear. Only her frantic heartbeat out paced the monster’s gait as it slammed against her ribs and the inside of her skull.

Bleary eyes chanced a glance backwards as she forced herself into a lopsided jog again, ignoring the blood that leaked into her jeans.

They were close.

Too fucking close - like 30 yards at best.

Fuck-

They were fast.

Not quite as fast as her, but those fuckers didn’t NEED to breathe. Their muscles didn’t give up. They didn’t care if their flesh was ripped off the bone.

They just kept going.

So fucking unfair-

Her leg crumpled under her, sending her sprawling into the rosethorns bramble and shallow, sloppy snow.

“Fffuck-”

Fuck it. Plan A = Failed.

She tugged off her pack, unstrapping it as her eyes flicked desperately from the drawstring to the two runners coming for her. Her hands were trembling so hard, she couldn’t get her fingers into the knot. Whether that was from the cold, the exertion, or just blind fear, she didn’t want to know.

We’re going with cold. Yeahhhhhh - not scared, it’s fine. It’s fine. fuckING OPEN UP, YOU PIECE OF SH- thank you-

She ripped open the bag just in time for the zombie ass bitches to be a few strides away.

Numb hands gripped the handle of her machete as the rotting wretches took their last bounding strides toward her.

Son of a BITCH YOU AREN’T ALLOWED TO DIVE OR JUMP OR SHIT - WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE MOVIE ZOMBIES THAT JUST FUCKING WADDLE?!?!?!

She slashed wildly at them, taking off one of their arms just below the elbow. It stumbled from the blow, slipping on the ice.

Nice. ~Nice~ ice. Friendly ice. I forgive you for fucking my ankle up now.

The second lunged at her, and the blood-spattered blade swung forward without her direction, obeying pure fear and adrenaline as it managed to miss its arm and slash almost all the way through its neck.

Fuck fuck fuck close-

It stumbled back, and she stepped forward after it, advancing as it moved. It tried to swipe at her again, but she smacked off its hand, bringing the blade down again - this time clean through the vertebrae at the neck.

The mangled, rotting thing fell to the ground, twitching and writhing. Dying.

Her breaths puffed white into the crisp air, almost blurring her view of it. I killed one. I killed a RUNNER - holy shi-!?

Her thoughts cut off with a scream as the second slammed into her. Her feet slipped and slid uselessly on the ice until it cracked against her hip and elbow, slamming jarring, ripping pain up through her bones at the impact.

Ffff-f-fucking iceeeeeee - I d-on't forgive you again-

FUCK SHIT NOW ISN’T THE TIME TO-

Nisha yelped as the runner crawled back up to her, skittering wildly through the snow.

She scrabbled backwards, trying to find the mache-fuck where did I drop it!??!

Nisha kicked frantically at the creature, jerking her boots back as its teeth snapped and gnashed at her.

This is it - fuck I��m gonna die I’m gonna die I’m gonna die-

Her scream ripped up through the trees as its hand drug down her leg, shredding the denim with sharp shards of bone, trying to still her kicking and drag her closer.

Nisha squeezed her eyes shut, teeth grit and kicking blindly up at the thing. As if that could help her.

A burst of gunpowder rang through her ears and sent distant birds flying. Blood and brains and goop splattered onto her face as the runner dropped onto her, muscles still squirming as it pinned her down with it’s dead weight.

Eyes were opening the fuck up again. Nisha shoved and kicked and scrabbled away from it, shallow, frantic breaths burning down her throat as she stared around the landscape to figure out what the fuck just happened-

A shotgun cocked, empty shell hitting the snow as a man stepped into view. Black shaggy hair and dark grey eyes. He took a step Closer.

His eyes narrowed, barrel pointed vaguely at her. “Did it get you?”

Nisha shoved herself a little further away. “..n-no. No - I think just the boot..-” She sat up fully, breaths still refusing to get under control. She tugged up the fabric of her jeans, checking the bite marks. “..no - didn’t get through the rubber. No bites.”

His eyes narrowed a little further, but he set the rifle back to default and flicked the safety on. He stepped up to her, holding out a hand. “Okay - c’mon - there’s more coming this way.”

“...fuck.” she glanced down the trail she’d run, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. Nisha hummed a groan - for distaste and agreement - then gave him her hand, wincing a squeak as he pulled her to her feet.

The man looked down over her leg. Some blood was seeping into the denim where its not-claws had bit into her. “......you…sure you’re good to walk?”

…shit shit shit he’s gonna leave me if I say no, isn’t he-

Nisha gave him a tight-lipped smile. Some kind of reassurance. “Mhm.” Well that came out squeaker than I was hoping…

The man frowned, stepping back. “Alrightyyyyyyy. Let’s go, then.”

He took a step toward the way he apparently had come, glancing back to make sure she was following.

Nisha shouldered her pack and took a limping step after him, scooping up a handful of snow. She scrubbed it against her face, ridding her skin of the blood and brain and whatever the fuck else had just splattered on her.

Even after dropping the snow again, her pace was slow. Hobbled.

The man sighed, stepping back up to her. He handed her the rifle, barely waiting for her to take it before scooping her up and carrying her.

Much faster.

Nisha squeaked a little, tensing. “...uhh……th..ank you.”

He hummed in response, eyes ahead as they moved through the snow, back down the path. “My name’s Corvid. What’s yours?”

She kept a good grip on the rifle, visualizing him slipping on the ice, dropping her, and it accidentally going off- hhhhh-

“..Nisha.”

Corvin nodded down to her. “Nice to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

She almost smiled at that. Almost. “Yeah..same.”

He hesitated, taking a few long moments of snow crunching and silence to eventually say “...I have a bunker. Cold war shit? I don’t know, I found it and…it’s nice, and those bitches can’t get through the blast doors.”

“Oh..” Was that…..an offer…???

He sighed. “You can stay there tonight or whatever - until you’re healed enough to keep going.”

Nisha stared up at this man - not….entirely sure she could trust him?

But what was she going to do? Sit in the snow and wait for the rest of the runners - or heck, even walkers - to show up and rip her apart?

She gave a hesitant nod. “..that would be….really really good.” Pause. “....thank you.”

Corvid flashed a smile down to her. “It’ll be good - I have the finest entertainment. Vintage chutes and ladders board. Very high quality shit.”

She did smirk at that. “Haven’t played that since I was a kid. Though I’ve played so much solitaire lately I think anything else would be a welcome change.”

“Ooooo you got a deck of cards?” He seemed to have relaxed a lot. Guard down. “Been a minute since I found any of those.”

Nisha nodded. “They’re pretty worn, but yeah. They keep me company.”

Corvid frowned. “...all on your own, then?”

The smile dripped away. “..yeah. My mom got bit last year. It’s just been me since then.”

“..I’m sorry to hear that.”

She hummed, throat clearing before any emotions could deign to creep into her voice. “How about you?”

He shrugged softly. “I never was able to find my friends after this shit broke out. Been on my own ever since.”

..that must suck. 12 years??? Alone?? Fuck, that sound wretched.

“..I’m sorry, that sounds…..bad.”

He sputtered a laugh. “I mean yeah, it’s not exactly a spa trip, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been even with those dicks with me. So I’m not complaining too much.”

Nisha hummed in agreement. “The whole world’s fucked. Makes sense.”

She could hear a river rushing nearby as he set her on her feet again - a wash of empty hissing sound. She gripped his shoulder for support as she found her balance, then handed him the rifle ag-

Nnnnnope he’s already stepped away.

She clutched it a little closer, frowning as he reached into the brush, pulling at a bush-

Oh shit, a SECRET trap door….well that’s kinda cool…

The door pulled up, sticks and brush and leaves coming up with it and resting against a tree trunk.

Stairs lie beneath it, descending into darkness.

Corvid took a step down, bracing the door as he held a hand out to her. “Cmon - it’s not this sketchy inside, I promise.”

Nisha frowned over it, taking a wincing step forward. Her eyes darted back the way they came. ..not like I have a choice here. So….suuuuuuurrreeeeeeeeeee let’s just go down into the very reinforced and isolated space with the strange man. That sounds like a great idea.

She stared at his hand a good couple seconds before taking it with a soft “thanks”. She stepped - a little shakily - onto the first stair.

Another.

Then another.

Down down down.

Darker with each step.

Nisha swallowed thickly, holding the rifle close as she continued down even after he closed the door, letting them into darkness. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. I’m just on edge from the fuckin zombies, this is fine.

But the stupid alarm bells wouldn’t quit going off in her head.

Then again…they never really did, nowadays.

“Okay, careful, there’s a-” A thonk echoed in the small space as she hit the bottom of the stairs a little sooner than expected, stumbling into the wall.

“...you found it.” There was a smirk in his voice.

Warm hands slipped around her waist, guiding her to the side as he stepped around her. Her skin crawled at the touch, but she stepped gratefully out of the way, letting him blindly find what apparently sounded like a lock (???) with a key. Scraping, then clicking, then turning…something?? Ambient metal noises, Nisha doesn’t fucking know, stop asking her what they are.

The door pulled open, and she was washed in a wave of warmth. It tangled through her clothes and pressed against her shuddering skin, pulling a soft gasp from her lips. “...you…….do..do you have heat??”

Corvid chuckled, stepping away. Lights flickered on, uncovering the compact but alarmingly pristine bomb shelter. Cabinets, counter, shelves full of canned food and bags of what she assumed to be rice, shower, toilet - presumably more around the curve of the wall. Likely a bedroom area??

“Toldja it was nice.”

She stepped inside, staring around in wonder as he pulled the thick iron door closed behind her and rolled the latch into place - a giant bolt attached to a wheel on a gear. Heavy duty.

“...h….how..???”

He shrugged, leaning against the door. “River nearby. Hydropower and wind energy. I make all my own electricity and store the excess in batteries. Works well.”

She stepped further into the space, still gaping around at the…well….everything??

“....holy shit-”

Corvid laughed again, kicking off his shoes. “I have hot water, too. It’s only as clean as the river is, but it’s pretty clear. I purify it for drinking water of course. But - point is - if you wanna take a hot shower, now’s the time.”

She turns to blink at him. “...wait what - seriously???”

He rolled his eyes, amused. “For sure, go for it. I had a roommate for a minute before he…” He trailed off, a frown shadowing his eyes. He turned to grab a can off the shelf. “..anyways..he’s not…around anymore - think he was about your size, so I’ll set a change of dry clothes out for you. Might as well wash yours too while you’re here. Not like I’m gonna run out of water or something.”

Nisha sagged in relief, crouching to unlace her shoes, too. Matching him. “That…thank you - seriously, thank you.”

He turned a warm smile to her. “Not a problem - it’s just nice to have company for a little while.”

He set the jar near the stove and moved to fill a pot with water from a pitcher in the fridge. He set that on the stove too, then turned the burner on. “I’ll show you where things are and can get started on supper while you’re cleaning up.”

She couldn’t help but melt a little. The cold had long seeped into her bones and she was grimey…well….everywhere. A shower didn’t seem like mana from heaven right now, it seemed like a fucking 5-course Michelin-star restaurant from heaven. With wine. “That sounds so good, thank you.”

Corvid laughed a little, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on a hinge of the door. He nodded for her to follow as he slipped down the hall, patting at things as he went. “Toilet here - sorry it’s a little exposed, we work with with we got - shower here-” He pulled back the curtain. “Use whatever soap, I really don’t care, I just scavenge what I can for that.” He kept talking as he rummaged through the first drawer across from the shower, pulling out a t-shirt, boxers, and cargo pants. “I thiiiiink these should fit you? I dunno, good enough for now.” He snagged a folded towel off the shelf and set the clothes on top of it, holding out the stack for her. “I’m gonna assume you’re not vegetarian or something?”

She shook her head, taking the clothes happily. They’re so fucking clean - how are they so clean- “Nope, I’m good with literally anything you have.”

Corvid grinned, skipping back around to the kitchenette. “Cool - I’m gonna make the shittiest stirfry you’ve ever had.”

She laughed a little, setting her pack to the side and stepping into the shower and turning on the water. …he said it would be h-OH FUCK YUP THATS WARM- “As long as it’s food, it’s probably gonna be the best shit I’ve had in years.” She stripped off her blood, muck, and grime covered clothes and stepped into the stream.

Shiiitttttttttttt that feels good- Nisha could feel her muscles unwinding under the heat, skin then flesh then bone gradually coming back up to temp over the next ten minutes or so - she was too afraid to waste more electricity than that. She scrubbed and washed and literally even conditioned - Who the fuck has conditioner out here???? She wasn’t going to question it too much, she was too busy enjoying this.

By the time Nisha got done, dried off, and re-dressed into the warm, dry clothes, the whole shelter was warm with garlic, soy sauce, and goodness knows what else.

She stepped out of the little space, looking over Corvid stirring everything in a large pot - frying a little inefficiently, but fucking good enough. Not like anyone had a wok in a space this small, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to complain.

He turned a bouncy smile to her - she hadn’t even realized he’d been humming softly until he stopped. “Feeling a little better?”

“Definitely.” Nisha stepped closer, still scrubbing at her wet hair with the towel. She peeked around him into the pot. “What all’s in that?”

He shrugged, poking at the steaming rice. “Rice, a couple kinds of meat, canned veggies from last Summer - I have a garden and can everything I can.”

“Well it looks fucking fantastic.”

His smile warmed. “Sure hope it tastes that way.” He nodded to a bin behind her. “You can toss the towel and old clothes in there. I’ll wash them in a bit.”

Nisha murmured a quick “got it,” before turning to it and dumping everything inside.

Corvid dumped a few scoops of the stirfry into bowls and stepped through a cut out of the wall to the part she assumed was a sleeping space. She followed, a little surprised to find a small living room and dining room area. Cramped, sure, but still nice. “...shit, how much do you have going on here??”

He set the bowls down on the table, putting forks next to them. “More than enough.”

Nisha glanced around, looking for the bedroo- Oh, there,

She poked her head into the next room over to see where the b-...

Her mind cluttered to a stop as her eyes fell on a mostly empty room. There was another past it with a bit of bed showing through the door, but the space between them was…almost nothing but air.

Just the chain on the ground, drilled into the wall. The single shackle pristine as the rest of the bunker.

“I got the TV set up t..-“ Corvid’s sentence trailed to a stop as he saw her looking through the doorway.

“Hm.” He abandoned the food, taking a step closer to her, smile fading. “I was hoping we’d at least get through supper before you saw that.”

Nisha turned back to him, much paler now. Her eyes darted to the gap in the wall that would lead her to the outside door.

“…what is that for?” Her voice sounded so much more confident than she felt.

He shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Toys.”

Nisha stepped toward the door, ready to break for it once she was p-

He stepped to the side, blocking her path with a soft smirk.

Nisha’s breath stuttered to a stop as her feet sent her back a few stumbling steps back toward the empty room. Through the frame.

“…I can..I’ll just go.”

His smile grew a little as he took a step closer, forcing her further back toward the chain. “But you’re hurt. What kind of man would that make me?”

Her stomach squirmed as she shied further away form his advance. “I…I’ll be fine, jus-“

“You’re not leaving, Nisha.” Another step. Into the room with her.

She made a break for it, trying to shove past him. She threw her elbow up at his face to knock him out of the way, but irongripped fingers bit down into her arm, shoving her back.

In a few moments of scrambling and thrashing - a spattering of yelps and screams that echoed in the small space - she was on her stomach, arm wrenched tight behind her back, and Corvid’s knee bruising into her spine. Her breaths creaked against ribs, shallow and tight. “Gggfetoff me-“

The chain clattered across the ground toward her, pulled by limp and bored fingers.

Icy metal bruised and cut against her leg as she kicked at it, but it clamped around her ankle all the same, pinching skin in the hinge and ripping a scream from her mouth.

“Just hold still and it won’t hurt so much,” he muttered, gripping her other arm and wrenching it behind her back as well.

Wrists shoved against each other, shoulders grinding in their sockets as she writhed against the cement in a pathetic attempt to pull away. “Ss-stop! Just STOP!”

A hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing the scream that started to rip up her throat. “Stop it. This place isn’t fucking soundproof, you’re going to call them here.”

She only froze a moment before thrashing her head back and forth, another scream muffled by his hand, but stubbornly ringing through. Let me go, BITCH, and this won’t be a problem for you anymore.

His grip tightened, mouth pressing to her ear to growl out, “If you call them here, I will break you fucking legs, throw you outside, and listen to them rip you apart.”

The anger running through her cooled to icy fear, dripping through her veins and freezing her in place.

The screams petered out to desperate, silent pants of breath.

“Thank you.” Thin plastic tickled against her skin before snaring tight around her wrists, zip tie keeping them snugly together.

He finally pulled off of her, letting her shove and skitter against the wall, kicking herself up to sitting. Nisha glared desperately at him, terror softening the rage far too much. The fear that had splattered down her temple didn’t help.

“Wh-what are you DOING!?” She squirmed further back as he took a step closer, desperately trying to melt through the wall and away from him.

He shrugged, crouching down in front of her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Nisha shoved a kick in his direction - more a warning for him to stay back than an actual attack. It neatly missed him, barely falling short. He seems amused by it, though, snorting lightly as he watched her bare heel hit the ground.

“Y-ou can’t just do this!! How much has this shit fucked you up!?!?”

He laughed softly, reaching for the leg that she quickly retracted again. “Honey, I was doing this long before the outbreak. I just don’t have to deal with feds now.”

She stared, searching his face for any trace of a lie.

She didn’t find one.

“..y…you can’t just…keep people??”

“I’m gonna do a lot more than keep you. Besides,” he stood again, wandering back toward the table, “Finders keepers.”

[Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @wormwriting @happy-little-sadist @cursedscribbles @a-whumped-tea @mirasorastone @michaeltalks @meowsika @shywhumpauthor @whumpasaurus101 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @paleassprince @heavenly-whumper)

New series new tag list, so I just took a shot in the dark as to who I should add. Lmk if you want to be added or removed!

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