(a/n : hi im lyvale. if i see ANYBODY who is explicitly male reblogging this, im blocking you. Mizi is a lesbian. i dont hate men but if you are trying to rip Mizis sexuality away from her im killing you in my mind palace and i will make damn sure you can never read and/or reblog my fucking fics again)
Her singing was bright. Loud, cheery, like you always knew it as.
“Mizi,” you chimed, softer, stepping into her practice room. She glanced over at your voice. “Water break?” “Water break.”
She sat with you, hand on yours, thin fingers (too thin for your liking) resting in the gaps between yours, pads of her fingertips on the floor. “D’you ever wish,” she started, “that you’d auditioned with me?”
That question was a near-daily conversation. It was so frequent you knew the entire script by heart, knew the answers to keep her smiling and keep her relaxed. The last time you’d upset her, she’d danced so hard she sprained her ankle, and the company hated that.
And you’d missed the conversation when she went missing.
Which, in your desperation to find her again, had led you to an underground music ring. You didn’t think she’d be here.
And yet, there she was. Onstage. With a black-haired girl, singing her heart out, beating the other by a mere point. The crowd was filled with old men, some staring directly at Mizi’s almost-exposed chest with no shame; others had a little bit of decorum. Some were more focused on the other girl, scrambling closer to the stage to try and get an upskirt glance at either woman.
It was vile. Why was Mizi down here?
Mizi remained onstage long after the show had finished, humming a simplistic tune to herself, head tilted sideways. You hauled yourself up, putting an easy hand on her bicep—
She reeled. Claws sank into your wrist, and she hissed, yanking you closer. “I— Mizi, what the hell?!” You tried yanking backward, but she held you tight, forcefully pushing you to the floor. Mizi hovered, quiet, breathing slowly. One hand lifted again, as if coming to strike, and you instinctively tensed.
It landed on the floor beside your head. Not a punch. A gentle touch, searching for you. She found your shoulder first, then traced it up until she found your face. Her thumb hooked between your lips on accident.
“Mizi,” you whispered, again, reaching up to try and pry off her visor. The material was smooth, but as you touched it, she flinched like it was connected to her. She pulled away when your hands found the seam. Okay, fine. She didn’t want it off.
She leaned back in after a moment, tilting her head, as if examining you. “…water break…?” She whispered, barely. She remembered you. “Water break,” you answered, trying to jog her memory further. Something was off, you both knew it, but maybe you could help her.
“…should’ve come with me.” She dipped her head, running her temple across the side of your face until her lips found your neck, brushing carefully over the skin there. “Could’ve… been stars together…”
She bit. You yelped, trying to shove her off, but she just bit harder. Harder, and harder, and harder, until blood poured from the space. “Mizi, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” You snapped, pushing her off by her visor and pressing your hand to the bite marks.
…that wasn’t Mizi anymore. You knew something was off; you’d seen the news. Zombie outbreaks everywhere. You’d figured the other girl’s outfit was a coincidence, because it didn’t make sense to have mindless zombies perform for the sake of it.
But there she was. Your girlfriend. Flesh rotten and sticking to her visor, eye sockets hollowed, nose missing entirely; the bone was exposed…
You pushed backward. “Mizi… what’d you do to me?” Mizi, meanwhile, only grinned. “…you’ll be mine forever!”
is it weird to already be making fics for it? and is it weird to write for one of the zombies first? i dunno
