#...is not here anymore; but their contribution can stay!

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Onstage

What - it's nothing to panic about, Lori's secret pregnancy, Shane's changes for the worse, Sophia gone for over a week, and now a barn full of walkers. It's fine. No big deal, nothing is wrong, so you're gonna step onstage and act like it. On the bright side, Daryl isn't stuck in a bed anymore!

When - the morning after Keep this dog asleep. (the night where Glenn discovers the barn in Season 2)

Who - this is part of the Slowpoke Series, which is a canon compliant slow burn Reader x Daryl. You're also Shane's younger sibling

Pronouns - she/her

TWs - a few cusses, panic, bad screenshots

References - lots, y'all, want the Masterlist?

Length - longer bc I've been awol, I've been dreading posting again, friends, so thank you much for reading. Kind feedback is always welcome :)

“Goodness. You two slept together.”

“Wha—Carol!” you squeak, accidentally splashing some coffee on your hands while you’re at it, to which Carol apologizes, “Oops!”

Glenn and you fell asleep beside each other, by the fire pit. You two must have conked out while staring at the barn.

Brr, the sun hasn’t warmed the day yet, you’re like an ice-pop.

“Wh’appened?” Glenn mumbles, still half-asleep in Dale’s camp chair.

Carl, freshly freed from the house and now officially back to the tents, also wanted to know, “What was the joke?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Carol whispers in your ear and wipes the coffee off your hand with a tissue she had in her pocket.

That ship has sailed, Carol!

Lori smiles and shakes her head, and hands Glenn a coffee cup. “Carol was teasing them about having spent the night out here. Must’ve stayed up far too late having fun.”

“‘Fun,’” Glenn groans to himself, blindly nursing his coffee. You notice he winces and reaches for the back of his neck when he tries to bend it forward. Must’ve slept on it wrong.

“How late did you guys stay up?”

“I don’t even know, little man,” you answer Carl while reaching out for a hug. “But ‘far too late’ sure is correct.”

He returns your reach and hugs you back, tucking his head down across your neck like he used to when he was little. You press a kiss to his temple and hold him awhile longer, not wanting to let go first.

It’s good to have started the day on an up-note. You’re already on guard this morning. Less so about the genuine, bona-fide barn full of walkers on the property and moreso that Glenn won’t keep the secret long enough.

Which is backwards, but…the worry is that Shane will, um, and, and— oh God, and Carl can’t go near it! What are you gon—

“—Here, Maggie left these for you two.” Lori has returned and plunks down what resembles an Easter basket filled with peaches.

“Wait, should you be lifting heav—” Glenn cuts himself off, apparently having woken up a brain cell and remembering the pregnancy is still a secret.

You run onstage and speak up for Lori. “That’s how her arms stay so toned. Can you believe she hand-whipped the cream for the ambrosia?” Solid improv.

Lori seems to tamp down on whatever frustration she’s feeling. “It’s not heavy, Glenn.”

“Mom can lift so much, that puny basket of peaches is nothing,” Carl tells him, apparently thinking Glenn was being silly.

Rattled, it takes a moment before Lori recalls what she was talking about. “Maggie also gave us a bucket filled with tomatoes along with another big bowl of eggs. We have to find a way to thank them. They’ve done so much.” She sighs. “Even last night, we cooked the meal, but they provided the food. Meat, even. All we contributed food-wise was the field green salad and the two cans of creamed corn.”

You’ve got to keep it to yourself that by not revealing the Greene’s massive secret about a barn full of walkers, you’re certainly giving them some kind of fucked up recompense.

And like you said last night, there are worse things to be bribed with than food. In fact, you have no immediate plans to do anything other than sit here, miserably tired, in T-Dog’s camp chair and stress-eat peaches — and stick close to Glenn lest he get the urge to open Pandora’s box about that barn.

“Carl, Miss Patricia hopefully mentioned how the barn is unstable? They won’t even go near it, and we are forbidden.” You swipe a peach and have at it. The juice dribbles down your hand and chin. Carl smirks. You snort; at least he’s seen you look grosser. So, in a very ladylike fashion, you shove the rest of it in your mouth in one bite and immediately swipe another. “There’s some kind of vermin problem, too, and you don’t want none of them diseases rats and the like carry. Keep away.”

Mid-chew, you realize that you just lied flawlessly by slipping in truth. You’re not big on lying. In fact, you hate it. You don’t do it, or, at least you think you don’t? Do you?

This and the weight of last night’s inward decision that you made sits heavy in your stomach, making the peach sink like a rock.

You’re going to leave, with your brother. Shane can’t stay here, not when the news of the baby and now the barn gets out. You’ll even go to Fort Benning despite all your misgivings. Anything to keep things from imploding here when those secrets get out. Not, um, not that you’ll stay away forever from the group, just until, um…

Well, if looks are any indication, Glenn’s also busy being miserably tired and stressed. He was the one to discover the barn’s secret, first off. And he’s not good with secrets, and now has three to contend with. The pregnancy, Shane losing his temper and physically hurting you. And now, the stupid, stupid, awful barn.

“Did your head flop down when you fell asleep, Glenn?”

“It must’ve, it’s so stiff!” he mutters. “I can’t have a stiff neck when the…”

Smart, he knows not to finish the sentence and instead resumes warily eyeing the barn. You’re grateful your neck is fine and dandy, you’re in no fit state to mess up your neck or shoulder again. For real, by the grace of God, you’d fallen asleep nestled in T-Dog’s camp chair and your neck stayed blessedly straight and untwisted.

“We search for Sophia in groups, it’s all good,” you cover for him. Carl is still next to you, so the fewer questions, the better.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but you’re restless. Seeking something to busy your hands with, you think to yourself you know what? Your friend could use a massage. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, considering you slept together (lol).

Shoving the rest of the second peach in your mouth, you consider that slurping the juice off your hand may be a mite untoward, so instead you…wipe it on the clothes you wore all day yesterday and fell asleep in…such a feminine, classy woman. Didn’t even brush your teeth last night.

Whatever, a neck and shoulder rub is the least you can do for a friend you may not see again. “Glenn, I can do you a massage,” you offer.

“Wait. Really?”

“’Course.” Let’s face it, you may not see him again after you leave. Maybe no one here, just look at the track record of losing peop — oh my gosh, crybaby much? Get your butt back onstage and act fine.

“Can you, with your arm still wrapped like that?” he checks regarding your modified sling.

“Sure can.”

“Dude, that would be, like,” Glenn sighs, then you hear Lori call for Carl, who gets up and goes to his mother. “Thank you, that would be awesome, it hurts really bad,” your friend accepts.

“Eh, it’s the least I could do, considering last night we did,” pause for dramatic effect, “sleep together.”

“What the f—”

“—Bro, I know.," you drone. "That’s what Carol joked about a few minutes ago. Didn’t expect that joke outta her, right?”

“Slept together, now I get it,” he cracks up halfheartedly. But in an instant, his gaze gets drawn right back toward the barn and resettles into uneasy, blatant stare.

That rattles you. Suddenly, you become convinced he’s gonna spill the beans before the one week (at least one week!) trial. For a few moments, you feel breathless, as in you can’t inhale enough. That happened last night, too, you figured it was because of the cold air.

You cough, inhale extra deep. The sensation goes away. But now you’re starting to get mad. As you rise from the chair, you’re more than conscious of your inner kettle beginning to simmer. Not gonna lie, you sound snotty when you comment, “Glad to see they didn’t learn how to jump as high as a hayloft and find their way out yet.”

“Y/N.”

In lieu of any new comeback, you start on his neck. Immediately and likely without meaning to, he lets out a thankful groan. That warms you, and you remind yourself he’s worried for a good reason and that you love your friend.

And, strangely, then you think back to how you did this for Daryl, gave him a massage. How pleasant the closeness felt, how strange it made your stomach feel. How he’d silently cried but was vulnerable enough to ask you not to stop…

And with the jokes about you and Glenn, you’re feeling some unpleasantly conflicting emotions. Full disclosure, you’d had some hidden and very unwelcome hurt feelings when you found out about him and Maggie. Residual, you reckon, from when you’d two had a little fondness (lol Dale) for each other.

Really, you know it’s just that you’re lonely and things are stressful. Ugh, more than stressful.

“Wanna kick the ball around later with the others, see if the girls can’t beat y’all this time?” Together, Jimmy and he have been an unbeatable team so far, and you three girls want to change that.

“Anything to make the pharmacy trip suck less.”

You’d forgotten all about that. It’s supposed to feature none other than Glenn, Maggie, yourself, and maybe T-Dog. “That’s still on?”

Glenn shrugs. “I don’t remember. And I don’t want to go today, let’s do it tomorrow or Monday.”

“Fine by me. Naught dire we need yet.”

He unexpectedly exhales in pleasure when you must’ve hit a spot he needs worked out.“I haven’t gotten a massage since, like,” your friend sighs again, and he sounds weighed down when he continues. “Varsity baseball in high school. Appa was really good at shoulder rubs.”

“Oh.” A memory about his dad might will probably spark a whole lot of memories, and he’s still iffy about crying in front of people. “Want me to stop?”

“Heck no.”

“Are you cool with crying? Massages sometimes do that,” you hesitate.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant the act itself can make folk cry sometimes.” Especially if memories get brought up.

“Make ‘folk’ cry?” he teases. "You already used the word 'naught,' too, bumpkin."

You pause the massage to give him a very light shove. “Shut up.”

Breakfast is eggs again, you can smell them cooking. The Greenes have been very generous with eggs. And, of course, now extra-generous with the peaches and some tomatoes, apparently. Maybe the thrill of yellow squash or string beans is in the future, too.

Ooh, or dairy. Oh my gosh, or red meat! Jimmy mentioned they’ve made a ton of jerky what with all their cattle.

“G’morning,” you hear Shane behind you.

“Heya.”

“Morning, Shane.”

The razzing is clear in his tone of voice, but try telling that to Glenn as your brother says, “Lookin’ cute, you two. Didn’t know this was a thing now, I thought that ship had sailed.”

Yeahhhhh, Glenn wriggles away from your hands quicker than you can whine, “Shaney!” who simply cracks up, “Just teasing.”

“I’ll tease your face,” you wish you weren’t snickering back. “And you know my heart belongs to darling Theodore,” you add in an exaggerated accent.

T-Dog, unfortunately, hears, and utters a soft “Da hell?” aaand you cackle even harder. Surely he knows the not-so-secret secret that you think he’s a catch? Too old for you, but, like. What a gem.

“Glenn, my apologies.” Shane winks. “It’s too easy to rile this one up. And Dog, don’t worry.”

“It’s cool,” Glenn answers so awkwardly.

You scrunch your lips at your brother in an effort not to smile. He’s acting like himself again, the real Shane. You don’t feel as if you’re looking at a stranger, you don’t feel the urge to stay on-guard or stay onstage. “Proud of yourself?”

He shrugs with a lazy grin. “It is real easy to rile you up.”

“Mmhm, well I’m fixing to escape to Fort Benning right now, lemme just wash up first.” You insert this little seed in hope it takes root. He was planning to go there before things changed.

He was planning to go without your input or foreknowledge, too, but he was doing what he thought was best for the group. For Lori and Rick.

Until he didn’t anymore, according to what he said to Lori.

That night, the same day Daryl had almost died, was something else.

The things he said to Lori echo in your head, the confident flirting while she was visibly unreceptive and shaken.

Then you recall the way he’s been “pragmatic” and almost irritated about the continuing search for Sophia.

Then the way he blew up at you, hurt you.

And finally, how your first reaction to finding out there was a barn filled with walkers a mere one minute trek from where your people are sleeping in tents was to insist that the secret must be kept from Shane at all costs. That the secret had to stay that way because of what would happen if Shane found out.

Maybe it’s from sleeping too close to the campfire or because it was so chilly last night, but the breathing trouble is back. It's fine, this happened last night, it ended up being fine. You cough a few times to try and inhale more deeply and ease the tightness in your chest, but you feel strange and a little nauseous. Maybe you're coming down with something.

“Lemme take over here — aw, Glenn, hey, sit back on down,” Shane insists to your friend who just tried to escape. “Heard you slept on your neck wrong. That shit stinks, man. But,” he holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers. “I got so much practice with massages from this one’s migraines, I might should switch careers. C’mon then,” he says lightheartedly.

The unease you just wrestled with lessens. This is the real Shane, the confident, even cocky, but goodhearted one.

Ooo, your breathing feels a little better, too. Cool!

He looks at you and points with his thumb toward the house. “The uh, the little one, what’s the blonde girl’s name again?”

“Soph—oh! Um, sorry, y-you mean ‘Beth,’” you stammer, all the mirth from a moment ago zapped.

The look in your brother’s eyes changes from easygoing to dampened to cold.

He tries to sound nonchalant behind a thin veil of both defense and offense. “Yeah, the, uh, the teenager. She asked for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” You’d be off like a shot if there wasn’t another potential time bomb to worry about.

Glenn.

To your friend, you assure in truth, “He does give a mighty solid massage.” But when you lean over enough for him to see your face, you can feel your eyes darken when you hold the finger to your lips and set your jaw.

And as you make toward the house with your coffee and another two peaches, you’re grappling with the fact that, in an effort to keep Glenn quiet so everything won’t blow to pieces, you’re behaving not unlike the very person that you’re trying to prevent from igniting the explosion in the first place.

Another worry is the way you so easily slipped in and out of being onstage.

You’ve always been one to insist on truth and honesty. It’s a badge of honor you wear with pride, and even Daryl, prickly grump Daryl, has mentioned it and appreciates that about you.

And yet, look at your conduct over the past week or so. You can certainly lie, and be believable at it. You don’t like that.

Oh, gross, you’re getting nauseous again.

As you near the porch, Beth’s soft, clear voice calls your name, and she exits the house to meet you. “I got somethin’ for you. Can you come upstairs?”

“Sure. Your dress is cute!” comes out automatically. You’re still dazed and stressed. Her sundress really is pretty, though. Briefly, you consider how it would be nice to feel feminine again.

She leads you up the stairs, and it strikes you how odd it is that you have to go upstairs for whatever she’s going to give you, right? Then, you worry that it’s to do with the barn.

And you’re right.

Or, at least, you think you are. Maggie is upstairs when Beth brings you there.

The tightness comes back, so you focus on your breathing and will your stomach to chill out. You're onstage, you need to perform.

“Y/N, hi!” Margaret says this a little overly chipper, even though her appearance suggests that she’s had about as much shut-eye as you, if not less. “Sleep okay?”

“A-About as well as you, I reckon,” you answer with a hint of humor and only a trace of a stress stutter. Buying time with a few more coughs, before you get too defensive, you play it off as if Beth does not know that you and Glenn know. “We stayed up far too late and ate way too many peaches,” you say the girl. Which is the truth, you aren’t lying! You aren't lyi — nope, don't you cry! Stay onstage, stay onstage, stay onstage—

—As it so happens, now is when you recall how you are currently carrying two peaches in your hand, so your cheeks heat. The urge to cry goes away, so small win. “I ate way too many, at least.”

Beth giggles. “I love peaches, too. I had peach cobbler as my birthday cake two years ago. The ones we grow are so good!”

“Thank you for the basket of food, by the way, it was very kind.” Very kind bribery, please keep it up, we haven’t had this much available food in months, in fact, we’ll probably do anything you ask us if you let us stay here!

“There’s plenty more where the peaches came from. The season’s almost over, but we still have bushels left to pick, the hens haven’t slowed production yet, and we’re almost out of canning supplies we’ve done so many,” Maggie responds.

Beth is opening a big trash bag on her bed that looks like it’s filled with blankets, so Maggie takes the opportunity to lock eyes with you again. She mouths, “Thank you.”

For not saying anything? “She doesn’t know we know?” you mouth back.

She shakes her head.

You relax muscles you didn’t know you were tensing.

“Yay, I got it open without rippin' it!” Beth exclaims. “Y/N, Maggie and I had gathered up a bunch of clothes for charity, but that’s when things got, w-well,” she halts, unsure of how to describe the outbreaks. “The bad things happened, but, um, we, well we still had all the donations bagged. Daddy and Shawn also…” She quiets at mentioning her deceased older brother and turns weepy.

Her big sister finishes for her. “Shawn donated clothes, too. And Mom.” She swallows. “There’s plenty to share with your group, is what she means.” Maggie nods her head at the bag on the bed, then to two others on the floor.

They're sharing...all of those?

You don’t get a chance to ask it because Beth is already answering. “When I saw how y’all looked, it was scary. The,” she starts, then stops. “Not that you were scary, I meant y’all must’ve been out there a long time. It’s scary to think about.”

“In your defense, I did look scary the first time you saw me.” Wild hair, sweat-drenched, sobbing, and covered in Carl’s and your own blood. Rough day.

But having been ‘out there,’ as Beth worded it, it’s not so scary when you’re with a group you trust. It even feels comforting to have them all. Which is when you consider how Shane and you will be back out there in a couple weeks, alone.

“Here.” Beth shyly points to the bag. “I wanted to offer for you to look through the bags first. If, if you want.”

The offer is (more) bribery to keep you quiet, which cools the warmth of the charity, but doesn't lessen the grateful tears you spill. Plus, yes, you all could use some fresh clothes, there’s only so much mending that can be done. And to be offered first dibs, even if it’s just to butter you up, is still being offered first dibs. “I’d love to take a look, thank you,” you say in earnest.

Beth combs through the bag and chats in her shy manner, handing you a barely-worn, calf-length dress that had been gift for Maggie, then a (pure wool?!) cardigan their mother had been giving away.

You find it hard to believe that she’s doing this as bribery, Beth doesn’t seem the sort to easily conceal things. She’s got an innocence that hits as genuine.

But, then again, you who hate dishonesty are apparently great at it. Who’s to say she’s not, too?

The breathlessness briefly comes back. You clear your throat and cough once.

Beth next, to your apprehension and then delight, has you try on the dress and cardigan (which shockingly fit). While retying the modified sling around your upper arm, Maggie keeps trying to catch your eye again in order to, you don’t know, communicate something via meaningful glance? But you don’t have the bandwidth for it, so return her look with a polite smile and shrug.

Her little sister then proceeds to gussy you up in a way reminiscent of how Amy did once at the quarry camp to see how Glenn would react. Gosh, was that only two-ish months ago, wasn’t it? Or has it been longer? It feels like so much more time has passed.

Beth has manages a quick, respectable braided style for your hair, touches up your eyebrows for you, and even adds blush. She then claims that your hiking boots “look okay” with the ensemble and has you use the full length mirror in her closet to inspect the full results.

The dress is lovely, you have to admit. The neckline doesn’t dip too low bonus that it doesn’t show your bruise, the waist is defined, and it’s long enough past your knees to be comfortable. The length also helps lessen the lingering apprehension you have about showing natural (*cough cough unshaven*) legs.

You actually feel…pretty. Been a while.

It’s as if she knew you were yearning to feel girly again. If this is bribery, you welcome it. Worse ways of being bribed than with fresh food and a makeover from a genuinely sweet kid. And hey, since you have to be onstage so much, might as well dress nicely for the audience.

When you’re walking downstairs to bring your people the donations, Maggie murmurs in your ear, “Y/N, I didn’t put her up to any of this, it was all her.”

When you pull away from her, she whispers insistently, “It wasn’t her bein’ nice to keep you quiet. Remember, she doesn’t kn—”

“—Good mornin’, girls. What’s in the bags?” Patricia’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairwell.

“We had some clothes to donate since before Easter,” Beth answers. “I figured they could use ’em.”

“They certainly could. I’m glad I have plenty I brought from my house when we moved in.” You can see Miss Patricia in the hallway by the stairs, clearly wearing one of her late husband’s shirts over her dress. Her brows lift. “Seems you dolled your friend up some. You clean up nice, sweetpea!”

“Thank you, ma’am. I-I do feel like a lady again,” you allow, your cheeks again warming.

“Never stopped being one, as far as I’m concerned. Always kept your Ps and Qs,” she’s kind enough to maintain. “Oh, speaking of ladies, I don’t know how y’all are doing on girls’ supplies, but we should have enough to share while you’re still with us.”

“Margaret and I were gonna look for some more on the next drug store run tomorrow or Monday to make sure you’ll well stocked.” Along with everything else on the list(s) that was forgotten when those two…got distracted.

Ugh, how different things would be if you’d gone along for that trip! None of this barn bullshit!

Again, you feel the need to cough to help you breathe better, so you cough twice and try clearing your throat.

“Uh-oh, sounds like cold and flu season is well on it’s way,” she muses. “Don’t let me keep you holding them bags all day, girls. It’ll be funny watchin’ your daddy react if one of them ends up dressed in his giveaways,” the woman comments wryly. “Now, I did intend to check on those stitches today, Y/N, so come see me later. Hersh is just finishing up with Daryl’s, in fact, then he’ll be all set to go, if you were wantin’ to see him out.”

Oh, right! Today is finally the day he’s leaving that room!

Carl, too, but he’s already out and has been wandering around outside as much as his energy and mom will allow (which isn’t very much yet).

Daryl, on the other hand, has been too dizzy and too ashamed to do much more than a trip around the perimeter of the house.

Carol and you cleaned his tent yesterday as a surprise. It was her idea, of course. She enlisted your help specifically because you twice mentioned not thinking his sweat smelled bad, which is weird, but, for real, it doesn’t smell bad to you. The cigarettes, on the other hand, ew.

“Are we not going today?” Maggie asks quietly about the postponed pharmacy trip.

With tact, you suggest, “We could all use some rest after stayin’ up so late.”

She peers into your eyes, then nods and adjusts her hold on the two bags in her hands.“That’s a good idea. I’m not up to it, either.”

Upon stepping back outside onto the front porch, Jimmy and Glenn are kicking the soccer ball around already. Glenn is keeping his neck taut as he and Jimmy go back and forth, but the pain must have lessened.

The irresistible urge you have to make light of everything seizes you, and you leap into matchmaker mode because, why not? You won’t be here much longer, and maybe Maggie and Glenn linking up will lead to the rest being permitted to stay. That’s what matters.

Oh, and, uh, because you love Glenn, and Maggie is kind…oh fuck, are you just a calculating, cold strategist?

The feeling that you’re running out of air and going to vomit returns, but you push yourself onstage and commit to the role. You have to keep your shit together.

“Ain’t he handsome when he plays? Good sportsmanship and confidence rolled into one.” You playfully hold a smile back when you glance at Maggie and giggle to hide your heavy breathing. “Also the shiny hair.”

“He does have great hair,” she softly agrees.

“Y/N, do you and Glenn like each other? I-I thought…” Beth’s face has paled.

Maybe that’s why you over-act when you exclaim, “Of course I like him, that’s why I’m such a great wingwoman for him.”

Margaret blushes. “Let’s get these bags to their camp.”

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

Him

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

“I can’t hunt?”

“You can do as you please,” the old man remarks. What, is he making fun of him? “But doing so while recovering from a concussion would be foolish, as would be heavy lifting or other strenuous activity, and that’s not considering your collarbone and ribs. I’m curious as to how you’d wield your weapon or plan bring back what you hunted, for one, if you even make it off the property without keeling over.”

Daryl bites his tongue and keeps his words to himself. Well, fine! I can still bring that little girl back. She’s got legs, she’ll be able to walk on her own.

Hershel cleans up his stuff and stands. “Now, then, I’m sure you’re ready to finally see yourself out.”

“Damn straight,” is probably not the smartest response in front of the old man, what with the cuss word, but damn straight he is ready to get the hell out of there. Still, he remembers his manners. “Thanks for everythin’.” He even holds out his hand for a shake. Which is dumb because the guy’s hands are full.

Daryl…puts his hand back down and grabs the few things he had in there with him. Y/N once described the Dr. Farmer as ‘unreadable.’ Definitely is that.

Unreadable, Hershel drawls, “It’s good you’re on the mend,” and inclines his head toward the door. “After you.”

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

You

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

Dude, you had a panic attack.

It wasn’t too too bad, all things considered. Initially, you’d thought it was a mild asthma attack, but in hindsight, wow you were oblivious to all of the signs.

It started to happen when some of the group was going through the clothes, right after Maggie and you dropped them off and she left to do choring.

Lori was beside you, low-key beside herself trying to figure out how your people could “ever repay the family now?”

Next, T-Dog joked about the sizes being too small for him. “Ain’t sure what here I could fit that won’t result in a show for y’all.”

This is when Andrea murmured to Carol, “Reminds me how it’s been awhile.” The way Carol reacted clued you in that it might have been a sex joke. Especially given the way Andy next gave your brother a once-over as if you weren’t right there. You vividly recall licking your teeth and rolling your eyes.

Then Shane — and he did this without having seen Andrea do the once-over — nudged T-Dog in the ribs and began to unbutton his own top. “Worse things than a show these days, friend. And that there clean shirt is calling my name.” Naturally, he proceeded to swap garments right where he stood.

Per usual, Lori was more graceful than you. She ignored it as if he were her own brother acting like a frat boy, and merely continued to sift through one of the bags. She smiled upon finding something, tapped Carol on the shoulder, and handed it to her.

It’s been a week now since Shane betrayal to her and Rick. Even you’re still figuring out how to see him. The hopeful part is that he’s been leaving Lori alone. If his sights have indeed turned to Andrea, all the better.

Back to the moment, then you imagined what if he and Andrea got a little too close, did something foolish, and she ended up pregnant, too. Not that Lori’s baby is Shane’s, the baby is Rick’s regardless, but...

The tight feeling returned in your chest.

It was in the midst of this that Dale complimented you. “Kiddo, you’re all gussied up! Any occasion?”

“Mmhm, all dressed up for the ‘show.’” The nausea was back, plus a fun new notion of being observed by unseen persons.

Dale just nodded with raised brows, and you and he shared a look. Instead of tempering your fears, it piqued them. It wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Horvath’s expression started to mirror the way he stared into your eyes after catching Shane lose his temper and leave you with a bruise on your sternum.

The fears within you, the stress, the dread, all started roiling stronger and stronger. You cleared your throat, then coughed, but it didn’t help and you felt restless and, oddly, cornered.

And so, not knowing where to look therefore looking in all directions, you happened to spy Glenn staring at the barn. Again.

The air felt too…thin? And then you noticed Lori examining the torso of one of the shirts in the bag as if testing it for stretchiness or room. You could see the shadows clouding her face right before she abruptly put the shirt down. Then, there was Carol, holding up something that had clearly must have been Beth’s a few years ago, and it looked as if it would fit Sophia perfectly now.

It was just about then that your lungs simply couldn’t keep up.

“Kiddo?” sounded in your ear.

You may have panted something to do with “puffer,” referring to your largely unused inhaler. At any rate, instead of next going to the logical location of the RV to find the med bag, you made for the treeline. You didn’t want anyone near you, didn’t want anybody to see you, didn’t want a fuss, didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want anyone to even think about you, so you had to hide.

Panting, a numbness started to affect your fingers and spread to your torso and toes. You repeatedly coughed in an effort to break up whatever was making it hard to breathe. Once you started coughing, it dominoed. Your stitches were tugging at the forceful coughs, and soon, you were hacking. The hacking led to retching, one, two, three times. Tears started to fall.

“Baby, here,” came from your right and a warm, delicate hand touched the small of your back. Lori. She pressed the inhaler into your hand. “I shook it up, it’s all ready.”

Bending forward slightly to open your airways, you tried to exhale enough so you could take the dose properly as you clasped the trigger.

One puff. Hold breath in.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

Another puff. Hold breath in.

The relief that usually comes with the medication wasn’t as apparent as it normally would be. It helped somewhat, but. You tried another dose.

More tears of frustration. You panted that you thought your were going to pass out. "F-Feels like m'gonna die," you may have also said.

Lori calmly instructed you to, “Try this with me, honey,” and slowly breathed in through her nose. You copied as best you could.

She then slowly breathed out through her mouth. You copied as best you could.

Over and over she coached you.

Things started to ease. Your pulse was still loudly thumping, but two doses of a corticosteroid will do that. In your escape, you’d made for the big rocks where you’d shared (sort of) a cigarette with Daryl. The stones felt nice and cool, and Lori’s gentle rubbing of her hand across your back was comforting.

“Been a while since you’ve needed the inhaler. ‘Decorative,’ you called it once,” she softly chatted. The sensation of not getting enough air wasn’t quite gone just then, but you felt pretty normal again.

“I reckon the cold and the smoke must’ve done me in,” you mumbled. Your throat was mildly sore after all the coughing. “It’s good it was mild.”

“Were you wheezing?”

“No, I…just couldn’t breathe enough or something.” You shrugged. “I don’t always wheeze when I need it.” Your nose was stuffy from crying.

She was thoughtful for a moment, and had begun to lightly scratch your back. “You and Glenn seem off this morning. I’ve seen you two tired before, but today you both seem…there’s something else going on, clearly. Did you two fight?”

“Not exactly.” It’s true. “We’re on the same page.” You weren't prepared to have to go onstage again, but just in case, you tried pulling yourself together.

“Was it about Maggie?”

You laughed genuinely. “Ha, not at all.”

Lori didn’t mirror your laughter or even smile in return. “Honey, I think you had a panic attack.”

At first, you protested. “Oh, it wasn’t that dramatic.”

“It looked different from where I was, but even still, it didn’t have to be ‘dramatic’ to have been one, you know that.” The vulnerability and straightforwardness in her voice, in her eyes, was enough to convince you that she could see straight into your heart and read what was there. “Y/N, is there something more going on?”

More than anything, at that moment, you didn’t want to lie to her.

But what could you do? Tell the truth, yes, 'the truth will out,' you know that. But you were convinced that telling the whole truth, right then, would be like lighting dynamite.

In your view, you would be exposing everyone to chaos and even violence, and you'd all seen too much of that already. And no, you couldn’t just tell one person because it never just stays with one person. Lori was/is not in any position to have more fear on her plate.

So what did you do?

You crawled back on that stage and you lied — by telling the truth.

“I’m worried he’ll talk.” Vague and a lie of omission, and maybe a little throwing your friend under the bus, but Lord have mercy on you, it was truthful.

Lori squeezed her eyes shut. “Me, too. Oh honey, I’m so scared!” she whispered, covering her mouth.

So scared of Shane, just like you are. “Rick won’t hold any of it against you. We all thought he was dead.”

She shook her head and stared at the ground.“But you saw how Shane behaved, you, you heard the things he said, Y/N,” she nearly hissed. “I don’t know who that man was, but it wasn’t Shane, just like when he had m—” then Lori cut off.

“When he had what?”

She shook her head again. “Seems Dale’s on his way over. He told me about what was going on so I could bring your medicine to you. He hadn't known what 'puffer' meant." And —oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry that you’re worrying yourself like this over my mistake! It's not fair to you.”

“Your kid ain’t a mistake, it’s so good that they’re here,” you replied in total honesty. First time all day.

Maybe she’ll be honest with you and spill whatever Shane did that she’s not being upfront about. Whatever it is could surely have been described in a sentence. “What else did Shane do, Lore?” It can’t have been that bad, or could it?

All she did was shake her head once more. “Like you said, he hasn’t been himself.

‘Hasn’t been himself.’ Fine. You’ve got secrets, too, so there’s no way on earth can you cast stones.

You stepped back onstage for hopefully the final time, and made yourself deliver the next lines. “That’s why we’re goin’ to Fort Benning.” Without you all. “Just him and me. Within two weeks, I hope?” The nausea still hadn’t gone away, and simply saying this brought it back.

Her brows sunk caution. “When was this decision made? I-I thought—”

“—I ain’t told him about it yet.” The bitter smile, you hadn’t been able to stifle. “Shouldn’t be hard to convince him, considering he was fixing to not so long ago.”

Lori’s apologetic tone wasn’t a put-on. “I’m so sorry he didn’t tell you. I had no idea you were left in the dark.”

That’s when some tightness came back to your chest, and your breathing turned faster again. “I know, Lore.”

She noticed. “Honey, hey,” she soothed, “breathe slowly, deeply." Her hand cupped your cheek. "His mistakes, his choices, his reactions are not your responsibility.”

“I know, b-but—”

“—And you don’t have to leave with him if you don't want to.”

“But wh—”

“—No buts.” Lori cupped your cheek, stood, and swiftly made toward Dale.

And here is where you hadn’t known she was going to be quite so straightforward with him.

In fact, you’d hoped she’d join you onstage and lie, too, but she behaved beyond reproach. “It was a panic attack, so please make sure to respect her privacy about it. I’ve got to check on the laundry.”

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

Him

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

Funny thing, he’s wearing the same clothes he had his accident in. He’s in the same stuff leaving that he had been when he got carried in there, except now they’re cleaned and mended.

It’s been good to be back outside, he prefers it. He can’t wrap his head around why some people can keep inside in front of a TV all day. You don’t get to hear or feel the wind indoors, can’t hear the birds and all that.

Now, he couldn’t say for sure, but stepping outside and knowing he didn’t have to go back in must feel at least half as good as getting freed from prison.

If prison was a nice-ass farmhouse without the risk of getting shanked or worse, obviously.

Merle would have some words if he heard Daryl say something like that out loud. Though, Merle was pretty settled when he was in lock-up. Fared fine.

His first view when he steps out into freedom is of Glenn and the teenage boy, kicking the ball around. Those two are straight into it and pay him no mind as he walks around them.

The rest of the group is around the picnic table, looks like they’re sorting laundry (?), therefore ain’t paying him no mind, either.

Phew.

This is good. He was wondering if Y/N was gonna parade him out or make it a big deal, but after hearing her and the other ladies talking in the hallway, she didn’t come back in. Works for him, he doesn’t like a crowd.

…But, like, where is she? He figured she’d be around, is all, but she ain’t by the table.

Ah, yeah, duh — she's probably still doing something with the girl that's about her age and her little sister. Still seems off Y/N and Glenn are only “five or six years younger” than him, but that’s what Y/N has said a few times.

The next thing he sees is Lori, who is swooping down the yard and toward the big rocks where he and T-Dog took a smoke break once. And where Y/N had her first try of a cigarette, too. Lori looks like a woman on a mission, damn. Dale is staring in the direction Lori is walking, those big-ass brows of his slanted downward. Wonder what that's about?

Over the sound of a few leftover end-of-season cicadas, he hears the normal drone of crickets, light talking from the group, the thunk of the ball getting kicked, a very loud crow, some cows mooing, somebody coughing, birds doing their thing, chickens clucking, the wind blowing. Mmm, good stuff. Being inside and hearing it just don’t sound as good as being right out in it.

Then, “Daryl!” comes from his left, and he sees Carol walking to him. She’s a good woman.

And now the memory of her kissing him on the cheek is making his cheeks heat up as quick as her steps toward him.

“I’ll carry those for you,” she quietly insists about his small pile of clothes. He lets her.

She’s been very, um, very attentive. Been having most of her meals with him, babying him as much as he’d allow, and all-in-all has been treating him extra after he had his accident.

There are more coughing sounds that he almost pegs as being Y/N’s, but when he looks back in the direction of the noise, there’s no one, just Lori off on her walk, and it wasn’t her doing the coughing.

“We moved your tent closer to the rest of us, so you would be closer to where we could help you.”

Closer. Great. Daryl wanted nothing less, but a kind gesture is a kind gesture, so he mans up and acts proper, grunting, “Thank you.” It’s not like they went and messed with his stuff, they just moved the tent, and for a real kind reason.

Glenn rears and kicks, sending the ball soaring. Damn, he's good.

“Now, it may smell and look a little different, but all of your things are still there.”

“Huh?” What’d she mean?

“You deserved a nice, clean place to go back to,” Carol explains. “Y?N and I cleaned up your tent.”

…

...

…they what?

He gets the weirdest image of himself as being onstage and forgetting whatever it was he was supposed to say next, leaving him standing there like a mouthbreather in front of the audience. And he kinda wants to cuss the audience out.

His first idea after learning Carol and Y/N was: What the hell, y’all been messing with my stuff? What gives y'all the right?

But, come on, even he had it in him to keep his mouth shut. They’d taken the time and effort to clean up his shit and it was probably as nice as when Carol had worked her magic in the RV. That's damned decent, in fact.

So, Daryl does not act like a jackass, and instead, remembers his lines and thanks Carol again.

“It was no trouble. How about I bring you some more breakfast once you’re settled in?” she quickly offers. See? Very attentive. And he didn’t do shit to have earned it, which made it more uncomfortable.

Aw shit, his cheeks feel all warm again. First around Y/N, now Carol? Maybe there is something to this whole concussion bullshit.

Or, maybe Carol done kissed you on the cheek and said you were a good man and that you did right by her little girl as much as a father should and that’s the best possible thing somebody could be told.

“Do you want some more coffee, too?”

I wanna to be left alone, lady. “Nah, m’great. Thank you.”

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

You

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

“Last night seemed to be an indication summer was officially over. But today,” Dale blows through his lips, “Well, we can already tell it’ll be a warm one.”

“Did we hit the first day of fall, yet? I forgot what date it is today.”

“No, that’s on the 21st. We’ve got some time.”

“Oh, wait!” you squeak (ouch, your throat is still sore from coughing). “Ain’t it the Holy Days for you still?” Rosh Hoshanah was sometime last week, but that one got sort of messed up because of everything that’s been going on.

Oh man, it was the day after Daryl got into his accident, wasn’t it?

Dale’s cordial expression falters. “Yes, it was last week.”

“Yom Kippur is soon then, right?”

“It’s on the 18th this year, yes. Two days away.”

There’s this very insistent raven that’s been cawing away. Or is that a crow? You can’t tell the difference. You can tell that you’ve bummed Dale out, however. “I’ve bummed you out.”

Smiling sadly, he concedes, “Jewish holidays are usually lonely ones in mixed company. And now, especially with it being the holiest time of the year, after everything…” He lifts his shoulders.

“I’ll do the fasting with you so you won’t be alone!” Ow, stop raising your voice so high. “Is it no food or drink at all on that day, or is water okay?”

A happier smile. “No food or drink — barring serious health concerns, of course, in which case, one is required to not fast.”

“No water must suck! When my lot do fasting, water don’t count.”

He nods his head once. “It’s all part of the atonement. It’s considered a blessing for us to fast for it.”

“And the feast after it is fun,” you sigh with a grin. You’ll enlist Carol and Lori to see about making him a yummy fast-breaking meal for the day.

This is what you needed. Dale didn’t press you regarding the panic attack, and has simply been keeping you company by the big rocks. You’ve haven’t had to go back onstage while he’s been sitting with you. You’d probably be content to stay here a good, long time if you didn’t have to use the toilet something major.

“Did you see if there was a pair of suspenders in the bags so you and Mr. Greene can match?”

“Is this your way of saying you’re feeling well enough to head back, or that you need privacy?”

“It’s my way of sayin’ I gotta go potty real bad.” You stand. “Suspenders are pretty cool, you can party like it’s 1899.”

“I actually quite like how suspenders look,” he chuckles, stretching and getting to his feet.

“Mm, they remind me of the Old West, I love ’em.”

Dale and you walk back until reaching the side of the farmhouse, whereupon you excuse yourself to head to the treeline and do your business.

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

Him

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

As soon as the heat starts to sink in, he unbuttons his shirt halfway and kicks his shoes off. Getting the socks off without hurting himself takes some effort, but it’s worth it. His stuff is so squeaky clean and fresh, he wants to avoid sweating the place up too quick.

His old pillowcase is gone, probably scrapped for dishrags seeing as it was pretty worn. In its place is a flower-covered one with soft, thick cotton fabric. There's some phrase about a 'woman's touch' that must apply here. Or, if Merle were here, prime Darylina ammo. Joke's on him, the pillowcase is soft as hell.

And being in there might seem boring, but it's 10 times better than being stuck in a damn bed and listening to music for days on end. Just cloud-watching through his tent window is fun enough for him.

In fact, it’s rad! He’s so psyched to not be in that room anymore!

Cloud watching, playing with his bolts, farting if he's gotta; he's content as can be. Seriously, he’s in such a good mood right now.

But as luck would have it, by the time he’s decided to see how easily a bolt can poke a hole through the mesh window (the answer is very easily, and it’s real satisfying) none other than Andrea herself appears at his tent door. The chick who shot him.

Now, she’s pretty as a picture and then some, but he doesn’t want his belly showing in front of her. If he’d been paying attention and heard her making her way to him, he would’ve buttoned up.

So, he tries out the same tactic as last night, when Carol walked in on him shirtless; maybe by not closing his shirt, she wouldn’t think about it? Or…fuck it, just about everybody has seen some part of him uncovered in the past week. At least there ain’t no scars on this side.

All he’s got to do is make like he’s onstage and that it doesn’t bother him having his literal nipples on display.

“Hey.” Andrea steps into his tent, looking like she is about to eat crow.

She hands him a book. He accepts the maybe peace-offering.

“It’s not that great, but…” she trails off, breathes out, and looks guilty as hell.

Y/N, Carol, and T-Dog all mentioned she’s been kicking her own ass for shooting him. Granted, he’s still a little pissed, and, yeah, real thankful that she’s a shit shot, but — she was trying to protect the group, right? Ain’t even her fault he got stuck in that damn bed. The concussion, split side, and broken ribs did that for him.

He figures he’s gotta make it clear that she’s off the hook without making her feel worse for being let off the hook. And, he thinks he knows just the way to break the tension. It’d got the librarian at his high school to laugh the first time he made the remark, which is probably why he was usually allowed to eat in there during lunch.

Now, he knows reading is still on the no-go list, don’t worry, Y/N, but he casually holds the book up and flips through the pages.

He’s gotta, it’s the setup.

It’s good that Andrea ain’t said nothing yet, because it’s the perfect opportunity for him to pretend to be dead-serious when he complains, “What, no pictures?”

The joke does the trick. Andrea smiles and relaxes. “I’m so sorry. I feel like shit,” she starts to go on, but he puts a stop to it.

Tucking the book aside as he settles down onto the pillow, he cuts in, “You and me both.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but, if there’s anything I can do, I—”

He cuts in one more time, “—You were trying to protect the group. We’re good.” He means it.

But, ya know, just because things are chill doesn’t mean he can’t bust her balls a little, right? “But hey,” he stops her as she’s leaving. “Shoot me again, you best pray I’m dead.”

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

You

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

“It went great! Better than I ever expected.” Andrea takes a seat beside you on the log. Judging by the look of serenity on her face, it appears that the monkey she’s had on her back for the past week is finally gone.

“Good, m’glad.” You knew it would be fine, but Andrea was so nervous.

“And I have to say, I can see the appeal now.”

“What appeal?”

“Daryl was,” she thinks on the right word and picks: “Charming.”

Ah. You see what she’s trying to do. “Well, go tell him that, then,” you suggest, cool as a cucumber. She and Dale thought you and he had a romantic thing going on. Lol, nah.

“And he was funny!” she goes on.

You sip your tea. “Mm, he can be.”

“Not angry, or, or nasty.” She closes her eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief. “I was so worried about how it was going be.”

You tilt your head in partial agreement. He can be a dick.

Your job for the rest of the day, so Papa Dale done told you, is to be chill (yes, he used the word ‘chill’ and it was adorable). It’s your only responsibility today, seeing as he joined you when you went to check the highway spot for Sophia. She hasn’t found it, it’s untouched. Again.

So now, your job = keep chill.

“Are you helping with target practice later?”

Oh, right, and there’s that. You suppose you could continue helping Beth with drawing her weapon smoothly, keep drilling her never, ever forget to switch the safety back and forth.

But…maybe today, that isn’t your job. Maybe you need a rest from being onstage. “I think I’m gonna sit today out.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I just need a day,” you answer in too high a pitch.

Andy doesn’t inquire further. “How’s the little fuzzball?” she instead asks.

“Still sleeping,” you coo. The sluggish little chick you’d scooped up while quickly sprinkling feed-corn in order to feel useful is your insurance for keeping chill. Can’t not keep chill with a chick asleep in your lap.

“It must feel nice and safe wrapped up like that.”

“Mm.” The chick is nestled in a dishtowel, half its body also covered by your new cardigan.

“Y/N, have you not gone to visit him yet?”

“Not yet. He’d appreciate some time to himself, I reckon, after a week bein’ stuck in there and visitors and checkups at all hours.”

Glenn’s off doing farm chores with Jimmy, so he’s being kept busy and won’t be a concern. As for you, you’ve got your sleepy chick and are content to stay here on the log. You ate lunch, yet another peach (you’re up to six), just finished the leftover raspberries, and are now washing it all down with some fresh mint tea you made in honor of one of your best friends. She’d make her own mint tea and would call it ‘wild mint’ tea because it sounded exotic.

When Dale mentioned today’s date, you realized it was her birthday. She was the most confident girl you’d ever met, and a sweetheart to boot. You really hope she’s alive.

Andrea chuckles to herself. “I gave him that terrible book to keep him occupied.”

Book?? “A book?”

“I brought him The Case of the Missing Man,” she shares with a grin. “He can join the survivor’s club of those who’ve read it — Y/N, is something wrong?”

“Oh, um, nah, it’s all good, uh,” you are fumbling so hard right now. Cool, you’re feeling lightheaded again, cool cool.

It’s all cool. There’s no fire. Stay chill. “I’m gonna pop over and make sure he ain’t cracked into it yet, he’s, it’s, it’s not safe yet. C-Concussion and all.” Listen to you, smooth like butter.

“Oh shit.”

“Andy, don’t sweat. Even if he did start on it, like,” and you pause, because, “I don’t actually know what can go wrong, I didn’t ask Miss Patricia, but I’m sure it ain’t nothing serious!” You cup the (awoken and now loudly peeping) chick between your hands as you book it (pun intended?) to Daryl’s tent.

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

Him

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

For Y/N to glide over wearing a pretty dress, hair all fancy, and holding some little bird was not something he put on his bingo sheet.

“Hiya, Daryl.”

It takes him a second. “Hey.” Never seen her in a dress, is all. And with that little bird, he gets the image in his head of her bursting into song and the farm animals and forest critters doing a musical number with her.

He’ll *ahem* keep that to himself...

“I hope you’re enjoyin’ your new freedom! Mi—”

“—Who’s the little guy?” he had to ask first.

“It's a chick.”

Clearly. “Why?”

“It’s cute.”

She ain’t wrong. “…Can I see?”

“Yeah, it's adorable!”

He begins to get up, but she steps over faster than he can stand. She kneels beside his cot and, delicately, transfers the wrapped chick into his hands. He carefully unwraps the washcloth around it and slips his hand underneath it so sits on his palm with its teeny legs dangling through his fingers. It’s peeping like it’s getting paid for it, holy shit it’s so fucking cute.

“I came here wonderin’ if I might I borrow the, uh, the book Andrea just lent you?”

Ha, called it! The second Y/N found out he had contraband, she came to the rescue.

The chick quiets down, appearing to relax in his hand.

Maybe it’s because he’s in a good mood, but he smiles like a dipshit for a few moments before saying anything. “Nah, I wouldn’t dream of checking it out ’til you said it was fine.”

“Oh ha-ha,” she play-mocks, assuming he wasn’t being serious.

Eh, okay, maybe he was sorta razzing her, too. But he wants to come out on the other side of this whole concussion bullshit on the up, and if reading is still off-limits, it’s still off limits. He’s not gonna full-on disregard somebody who gives a shit.

“How’d ya end up dressed like that?” is his second question while he pets the chick lightly along its head with the feathers on his bolt.

“I wear this, like, all the time.”

“Oh right, yeah, you do,” he sarcastically responds. He tries to reach with his left arm to pick up the book under his cot, but gets a sharp twinge and surrenders that he can’t do that move yet.

Y/N snorts at the sarcasm and tells him straight, “The Greenes had some giveaways, so Beth gave me this outfit. Oh, thank you,” she says when he instead points in the direction of the book. She picks it up and hugs it to herself. “I do believe Carol put a few things aside for you to try on, too.”

“’Kay.”

Y/N looks pretty.

It’s nothing new, obviously her face is nice, but it's the whole blushing things that's annoying. Seems he's started blushing like a belle over all the damn women in camp these days. That really was some smack to the head he got.

He’s imagining himself as being back onstage again, forgetting his lines. He can ad-lib. “How you gonna search in that?”

“Ain’t like my ankles are tied together. Women have always been able to move, play, do manual labor of all sorts in dresses, corsets, stays, stockin’s, you name it,” she serves back with just enough fire that his belly did one of those good flippy-floppys. “That reminds me, Nervous Nelly came back! Did any of us tell you? She’s fine as can be, I fed her half a peach yesterday!”

Some of them baby hairs around her face are coming out of the braids. Her skin's got a sheen to it. And did she put pink stuff on her cheeks or something? Or is that because she was moving around a lot and it’s gotten warm out? Because her lips don’t look like there’s nothing on them but they’re nice and —

“—Dare, you okay?”

“Yeah. Tired.”

“You must be.” Why is she frowning? “You looked like you’d just got hypnotized or — you sure you feel normal?”

“M’fine, I just spaced out.”

She’s gonna have him do a thing, isn’t she? “Follow my finger for a little, please?” Ah-ha, see?

Pointer finger extended, he goes along with it for the 10 or so seconds it takes for the slight crease between her eyebrows to relax.

“Please stick out your tongue for me?” is her next request and, uh, why?

Well, he goes ahead and does it for her anyway. The hook ’em horns he makes at the same time are a sure sign he’s in a good-ass mood.

Y/N lets herself smile, then elaborates: “If it came out tilted, it’s a sign of stroke.”

Stroke? That’s a little much.“C’mon, you’re worried I had a stroke?”

She nods once. Her chest expands big as if she were inhaling really deep. “A smoker, extended bed rest, head trauma,” she quietly counts.

Is he hearing things, or does her breathing sound a little too fast?

“Can you point your toes three times?”

He point his toes three times, and yes, her breathing is a little too fast.

“Now please lift both arms parallel to the bed.”

He lifts both arms. The baby chicken is sleeping now and doesn’t wake with the motion.

“Okay,” Y/N whispers to herself.

“Tell me you’re not stressing out about nothin’.”

She blinks a few times and deadpans, “I would never.”

“Here,” he holds the chick near her face. “Get zen like this pipsqueak.”

“But you ain’t ‘nothing’ and you are at an elevated stroke risk.”

He’s only got the one word for her: “Zen.” The hovering motion he made with the chick was a fun touch, the little thing didn’t even mind.

Her expression suggests she’s trying to not smile, and, in a move he doesn’t anticipate, she leans forward to rub her nose on its beak. Her lips brush against his fingertips when she does and his train of thought derails.

Next thing, her hands are overlapping his as she gently takes the chick back and re-wraps it in the washcloth. “’Lil buddy you’re fine, you’re fine,” she coos. “I’ll grab you the hand sanitizer and leave you to some peace, alright man?” she addresses to Daryl, who's still a little distracted, so a grunt and a chin tilt is how he acknowledges this.

Merle would be laughing his ass off right now, goddamn. ‘Sweet lil virgin Darylina’ sounds about what he’d be cackling about.

Y/N flips open the cap with her thumb and squirts the hand stuff onto his palm. Smells like lemons.

So, he didn’t have that stuff before, meaning she’d likely been the one to put it in there when she’d cleaned his tent with Carol. “Hey, um, thanks for the surprise.” Damn, he’s awkward. Smells way better in here.”

“Carol is so wanting to help you in any way she can. I was in it just to see you end up with that pretty floral pillowcase. I had to stop her from hangin' the matching curtains,” she snickers, then waves him goodbye and, boom, leaves.

So…how long until his heartbeat and head stop racing?

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

You

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

Yet another stage performance today. You had to act like you weren’t distracted by how boyishly charming Daryl looked lounging there with his shirt unbuttoned to his hecking waist, good Moses. Then the way he snuggled the chick, how your legit lips bumped into his fingers?? He noticed your panicking and was all soothing and shit? Dude, and you were trying to sit like a dainty lady the whole time, too, what a poser.

Still, you think you were convincing. Oscar-worthy. Golden Globe. Emmy. Tony. Somebody hook you up with your EGOT.

Oh, and that little jab at his new pillowcase, aw yes, that was top tier friendzoning! Or — oh, it wasn’t interpreted as flirting, right? No way did you intend that! And hold up, no way he'd even care. It's Daryl.

You've earned a B- so far at being chill, you've got to get that grade up.

So, you are going to go pick fruit, alone, and you’re going to stuff your face because the show is over, you’re off stage for the rest of the day!

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[leilanihours]

# SHE WAS CRYIN' ON MY SHOULDER, ALL I COULD DO WAS HOLD HER

pairing: paige bueckers x ex-gf!reader

word count: 851

warnings: arguing, crying, mentions of abandonment/past relationship

summary: you and paige both have things you need to get off your chests one year after you break up.

⭑ from lani: to that anon i told my next fic would be for kate im so sorry 😭 i was crying to this song earlier and i just needed to write paige to it - so heres my first ever angst fic i hope its not horrible 😛

masterlist !

"Y/N, YOU LEFT me, remember? you left!"

"you didn't even bother to stop me, to fight for me- for us!"

neither of you knew how this escalated so quickly. how a friendly reunion turned into a screaming match.

"it's not my job to pick up the pieces of the shit you broke! so i'm sorry if i didn't feel like working myself over for someone who had no issue leaving."

you know her apology is insincere, sarcastic. but for a split second when you hear her say "i'm sorry," your heart aches for the words you've spent the past year mourning.

"paige," you sigh, trying to calm down before you say something you don't mean, "i know it seems like it, but i did not want to leave the way i did. i didn't have a choice."

"bullshit-"

"can you just be quiet and let me talk?" you snap, immediately shutting her up, "last summer when i disappeared, it was because of my parents. they forced me to come home to them even after i told them i wanted to stay here in connecticut. i swear to you, paige, i fought for us. you didn't see it but i went through hell fighting. and i'm sorry for ending it the way i did but, paige...we were bound to end it at some point. we both knew that. i had to go home eventually."

you both had tears streaming down your faces at this point, chests heaving from not being able to breathe properly.

you stood in front of paige, slowly pacing back and forth as she sat with her arms crossed on the cold park bench absorbing your words.

the darkness of the night engulfed the atmosphere, contributing to the inevitable breaking of your once-intertwined hearts. the only light was dim from the far away lamp post, rusting away from its former beauty - similarly to how you and paige used to be a work of art together, but were now nothing more than a mess of spilled emotions and pent-up grudges.

"and i understand that, y/n, but i deserved an explanation- a goodbye, at the very least. or at least i thought i deserved that."

"don't do that," you challenge, referring to the way she degraded herself in front of you, "is that why you didn't try? to save us?"

"why else wouldn't i? i thought you hated me, i thought-" she pauses to catch her breath and wipe some of the tears that had fallen on her pink lips, "i thought you didn't care about us. as if that summer didn't mean shit to you."

"paige i-"

"no, now it's your turn to listen," she demands, pulling you to sit next to her on the bench, both of her cold hands holding yours, "i never felt so strongly about someone the way i felt about you. i couldn't imagine spending my time away from you, i mean, it literally hurt. so i took advantage of that summer, i took advantage of the little time we had together. and then when i found out you left without a word to me, it broke me. and i know you didn't see it but ask literally any of my friends. i didn't get out of bed for days in a row. i didn't eat, i didn't practice, nothing. it was like you stole the good parts of me, took it, and ran. i needed you, y/n, but you were on the other side of the country. what am i supposed to do with that?"

she's full on sobbing now, shoulders shaking as she doesn't even try to hold in her tears now. you swear you can hear cracks in your own heart and bones forming as she confesses what she went through.

you can't bear watching her suffer anymore, tightly wrapping your arms around her shaking frame. hugs like these were second nature, but this time was different. there was more meaning behind it.

your embrace acted as a shield against any future problems that were to be thrown onto your paths. your embrace acted as a glue repairing the broken pieces of your relationship that laid destroyed for the past how many days. your embrace acted as a genuine embrace.

"paige, i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry, baby, i never wanted to leave you, you have to know that. i'm so sorry," you whisper into her hair.

one of your hands stroke her head buried in your neck. you feel her tears drip onto your thin jacket, soaking you with guilt as it hits you how desperate you were to spend the rest of your life making it up to this girl.

it was clear to you that she actually did care, unlike how you thought last summer. and because of how she was crying on your shoulder, you needed to forget about that version of her you spent so long hating - the version that constantly haunted the back of your mind.

you needed to hold her. and hold her. and hold her. and never let go.

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[lust4life01]

literally anything with donnie is fine! just wanted to tell you how much i love your writing too!! :)

Awe thank you sm qt!! I whole heartedly appreciate that, it means so much to me💘 This is a little rushed <3

Baby, Sit.

(Not my image!!). 18+

Warnings!!- Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, dom x sub, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, slight chocking, possession and teasing.

Dom Donnie x f/reader

(Donnie and reader are both 18!) Disclaimer/ this is purely fantasy, if somebody is cruel to you irl it does not mean they like you, they’re scum :)

Summary: You were hired by Rose and Eddie Darko to baby sit for their youngest child Samantha, little did you know you would be sitting for some else.

Being an eighteen year old student, you were painfully broke, so when your mother had referred you to her friend to baby sit, you immediately accepted.

When your mother had told you the name of the woman who’s child you would be looking after you felt a wave of anxiety rush through you.

Rose Darko. As in the parent of Donnie Darko.

You and Donnie had been in the same school, you were the same age. And unfortunately you couldn’t stand him and vice versa. There was something about the pair of you that didn’t work. He was always so uptight and had to be right about everything, it was infuriating. There was one main factor that contributed to the continuous clash between the two of you, which was the fact you dated his best friend up until pretty recently. You hadn’t seen Donnie since then considering you had no reason to be around each other anymore but the thought of seeing him again made you want to scream into a pillow.

Whenever you two would be in the same vicinity he would just straight up ignore your presence or when he did acknowledge you he would be blunt and snappy. You had no idea why but this lead to a lot of animosity between the two of you.

So when your mother had told you you would be babysitting for Samantha Darko you immediately wanted to call up Rose and tell her you wouldn’t be able to do it. However you were pretty broke and you assured yourself you probably wouldn’t see Donnie, not if there was no one to baby sit his younger sister. Plus what was you supposed to tell her? Sorry I can’t watch your child that I’ve already agreed to watch because your son hates me? Yeah no.

———————————————————-

“Hey (y,n) yeah we’ll be gone for a couple hours but we left some money for pizza.” Mrs Darko told you as you stood in their kitchen.

You already knew Samantha from when she would bug Donnie at school and run up to the friend group. She was a sweet kid and she liked you well enough so that definitely eased your nerves.

“Okay great, does Samantha need to be in bed by a specific time.” You asked sweetly, knowing full well you’d probably let her stay up regardless.

“Um nope just not too late and by the time we get home. Oh and she has homework to do.”

Rose sterling looked at Samatha as a warning.

“Boringgg.” Samantha protested whilst stood directly by your side.

“Okay well we’ll see you later, have fun” Eddie spoke as they made their way out of the door.

Rose returned and popped her head into the door before leaving .

“Oh (y,n) I’m sure Donnie will be glad to see you again.” She smiled and quickly left before you could even form a response.

Your mind paced. Was Donnie supposed to be here? Why did they need a babysitter then? Did they know you two used to be in the same friendship group? Had he mentioned you? Was it negative? Did he express how much he hated you? Would you actually see him again?

“Can you paint my nails?” Samantha snapped you from your spiral of anxious thoughts.

You turned to her and smiled. “Of course”

You had painted her nails, watched her dance rehearsals and told her how good she was, ordered pizza and now you were helping her with her homework.

She had to write about the character of Pony boy Curtis from ‘The Outsider’ by S.E Hinton.

You had loved studying this book when you was her age and literature in general. So it was absolutely no bother helping her complete her assignment.

“Well, he’s obviously very different and unique to the other characters which can be inferred through-“

You were cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

“Pizza, thank God!” Samantha cried out holding her hands together.

Laughing at her childhood silliness you walked over and opened the front door with cash in your hand, your stomach very exited to finally eat.

However, you were not laughing when you opened the door to someone that was not the pizza delivery man. In fact you no longer felt hunger but complete nausea. Instead a tallish guy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes stood on the other side. Donnie.

You didn’t say anything, just moved to the side to let him through. He didn’t say anything either. Simply walked past as if you weren’t there, the smell of cigarettes trailing behind him.

“Ugh it’s just my stupid brother, not pizza” Samantha whined.

Donnie pulled a face at her as he made his way through the house.

“Hey Sam, when she goes home tonight, Freddie Kruger is gonna craw out from under your bed.” He teased through a creeping voice, obviously trying to upset her.

Samantha in her upset state, Freddie Kruger clearly being a touchy subject, yelled out whist nearly in tears

“SHUT UP DONNIE, NO HE WONT!”

He then made his way over to her homework and scoffed, picking up her copy of The Outsiders and mumbled “mediocre.”

He then proceeded upstairs, leaving the minute he’d managed to make someone else feel bad. Typical.

You rolled your eyes at his cruelty. Of course she wouldn’t be reading fucking Dostoevsky at her age.

Remembered what it was like being in an English class with Donnie gave you a headache. He had great ideas but god forbidden you had an opposing idea. He would scoff and roll his eyes. It drove you crazy. He wasn’t always like that thought, at one point he used to encourage your ideas and even swap notes with you.

You were cut from your thoughts once again when the door bell went again, fortunately this time the pizza man was the one on the other side.

Sam ate some pizza, you no longer felt hungry but you did eventually managed to calm Sam down. The pair of you just chatted about whatever she wanted. She was telling you about some childish drama in her friendship group and you nodded your head pretending like it wasn’t the funniest shit you’d ever heard. Childhood drama is always hilarious when you’re no longer a child.

Despite being distracted by Sam, you kept thinking about the boy upstairs. “Do you think your brothers eaten?”

Sam shrugged her shoulders “who cares?” annoyance laced in her voice at the mention of her older brother.

You said nothing and proceeded with her homework.

Once she had finally finished she was ready to sleep. Her expression exhausted and she yawned after almost every word of her sentence.

“I’m- not even like- that- tired.”

You giggled at her before telling her she should probably head up to bed but you did promise to braid her hair first.

“Thanks for keeping me company (y,n), you were always my favourite out of Donnie’s friends” she smiled and hugged you at the bottom of the staircase.

The word ‘friend’ lingered for a while in your head. It was true, you were friendly at a time. It sucked because he felt good to be around for a time.

You stayed downstairs as she marched off to bed, whispered a sweet “goodnight” as she made her way to bed.

There was still around an hour and a half until Eddie and Rose were supposed to be home and you hadn’t seen anything of Donnie since he had come home. It was weird, you felt like you hated him but you also wanted to be around him. You especially wanted to know why he hated you. A part of you hoped that maybe he’d go back to his old self but instead you pushed him into the back of your mind and stared to clean up a little.

Once you had cleared up you sat onto the couch and grabbed a book from your bag and stared to read. You only had a few chapters left so decided to try and finish them tonight.

You were so drawn into the book that you didn’t realise a familiar figure loomed behind you. Donnie stood behind the couch reading over your shoulder. After a couple second of you not noticing his presence, he leaned down to your ear.

“Good choice.”

You jumped and your head snapped round to Donnie, almost slapping him out of instinct as a small yelp slipped past your lips.

“What the fuck Donnie. I could have woken up your sister. What’s wrong with you?”

His face was close to yours, and a small smile crept onto his face as he watched your second of distress. “Hello to you too (y,n)”

“Why are you being so friendly? Thought you couldn’t stand me?” You asked with your brows furrowed and your tone daring. You weren’t even with his stupid friend anymore so you had no clue why he was still such a dick.

“I’ve never said that.”

His answer was short and blunt but he had that smug grin on his face. Not one that radiated happiness or flirtation but something else. Power maybe? Like a wolf who had corned a bunny and laughed hysterically as it tried to escape.

You didn’t try to escape from him though. You kept your eyes locked onto his, not daring to dart your eyes away as a sign of weakness.

“You didn’t have to.”

He however did not have any snarky remarks in response. Instead he made his way round to the spot on the couch next to you and snatched the book from your hands.

“Ah 1984. George Orwell. You know when I tried to explain to your small minded boyfriend. Oh no. Ex-boyfriend, the concept of this book it was exhausting.” He rolled his eyes dramatically with that mean playful look on his face.

Why on earth was he doing this? Mentioning your ex boyfriend, calling his own friend small minded, even speaking to you. You racked your brain on why he was doing this. Sure you had known he hated you but that usually manifested itself through his lack of interest in engaging with you or his need to argue with everything you ever said. Now it was like he was taunting you by giving you this almost flirtatious, slightly sadistic attention. It was so odd but so hypnotising.

“But then again, I never did understand why he was with someone like you.”

You couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult. Someone like you? What exactly did that entail.

“What are doing Donnie?”

Your brows were furrowed slightly and your eyes a little sad, completely fed up of trying to work out his cruel ways, or even justify them to yourself.

You and Donnie had been somewhat friends before you started dating his best friend, but as soon as you did he became a new person. When you’d occasionally chat in the library about whatever book you were studying he’d always smile or when you’d catch each other on the way home and he’d be a little awkward but totally engaged with whatever you were saying, it was nice. That all came to a stop when his friend had started to pay you attention. You thought maybe Donnie felt as though you’d stolen his best friend and for that you did truly feel sorry.

You were now face to face in the dimly light room. Just a lamp illuminated the two faces.

“What were you doing (y,n)?”

He was no longer smug but he had caught and attitude with you. There something underlying in this anger in his voice. A deep irritation sat on his tongue.

“What do you want me to say Donnie? Sorry I didn’t live up to the expectation of being your friends dream girl, or sorry that you felt abandoned by him?

He shook his head and let out a hysterical laugh. As if your words were a pathetic joke.

“Ugh (y,n) I honestly thought you were smarter than this. I didn’t give a fuck about losing ‘crucial friend time’” He mocked.

“It frustrated me that someone as smart as you would even consider giving someone like that your time of day. Someone who you couldn’t converse with about anything slightly philosophical or opinions on a new book or poetry, because ‘books are useless, or ‘metaphors are stupid’. Mimicking his best friends voice as he spoke.

You said nothing. You were speechless and your brain hurt from trying to work him out. You just thought to yourself after his little outburst. Then it hit you. Was this jealousy?

“Why do you care so much Donnie? It’s not like I could talk about poetry or a new fucking book with you. You wouldn’t even talk to me.”

You snapped back, testing him. Was he truly jealous of not you, but your ex?

You were both still face to face. Inches away from each other.

“Only after you climbed into bed with someone who didn’t deserve you.” His voice was assertive and filled with envy yet his voice was low.

The realisation on how close you two had gotten finally hit the both of you. You were staring at him with your lips slightly parted and a slight confusion brushed your features. Why did you find this hot? God, you told yourself this was wrong but the sound of jealousy in his voice made your chest heave with excitement.

The sound of your heart beat was loud, it felt as though your heart had been placed to your ear. His lips were so close to yours. But you were upset, with another overwhelming feeling aching in your chest. Lust?

His eyes were still fixed on yours. “It should have been my bed you were climbing in.”

He brought his fingers up to your jaw possessively.

The two big black holes that had replaced his usual pupils drew you in. His eyes trailed down to your slightly parted lips. There was a part of you that wanted to cry and shout at him for being such a dick, but you couldn’t. It was like you had been hypnotised. Or maybe you’d just awoken from the trance you’d been under. This complete and utter blindness towards Donnie’s feeling towards you, or yours for him.

Amongst your silence he crashed his lips to yours. The kiss was hard and desperate. He pushed his tongue past your lips and you let a small moan slip. His hands cupped either side of your jaw as his teeth sank into your bottom lip.

A small hiss left your lips at the sharp pain that send a shock through your body. Donnie’s hand trailed down from your jaw to neck and his hand slowly snaked it’s way around to your throat. He added a little pressure, not enough to hurt you but just enough to make you feel everything more intensely whilst his other hand brought some hair behind your ear.

He pulled away from the kiss, keeping his hand exactly as they were and just admired the mess of emotions plastered along your face. Anger, confusion, fear and lust. To him you looked like a beautiful oil painting, so many different things happening at once and he got to be the observer. The artist even, controlling what you felt next.

“Donnie” You whispered.

“Shh baby. I’ve got you now.” There was an element of comfort in his voice but mainly possession. A wider grin played on his face as he said those words, violently bringing his lips to yours once again.

The feeling of his long fingers inching closer up skirt and thighs made you want to cry out and tell him exactly where to touch you. But you didn’t.

The slight pressure from his veiny hand wrapped around your neck and the near brushes to your clit through your underwear, were getting you so worked up.

“Donnie, please.” you whispered against his lips, your voice quiet and needy.

He practically growled in response “Oh now you want me? Such a slut.”

As you whimpered underneath his tough he chucked into your ear. “Bet he couldn’t make you feel this good.”

You came quickly under his palm, your head was a mess. There was so many emotions running through, it was like ecstasy. He was a drug.

“Mhm, good girl. If only you hadn’t been so stupid, could have had this ages ago.”

He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips.

Taking them into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his fingers while he starred at you intently, made him throb hard.

Snatching his fingers from your lips he grabbed your jaw harshly.

“Now be a good girl and sit.” He motioned to the spot on the floor between his legs. “Cmon baby, sit.”

You obligated, desperate to hear him feel good. Desperate to win his approval by being the cause of his pleasure.

Sat on your knees in between his thighs, he sat on the couch and wiped the mess from the corners of your mouth with his hand. The same hand in which his fingers had been inside you.

Reaching for his zipper, his hand caught your wrist tightly as he peered down at you.

“Did I say you can touch me?” From your angle he looked so much bigger than he was.

You huffed out a small whine, “Please can I touch you Donnie. Please?” You looked up at him with doe eyes, it used to work on him when you wanted him to do something for you. Usually homework. And it did.

He now brought his lips in between his teeth, admiring how pretty you looked on your knees.

He nodded his head and you quickly undid his zipper and brought his jeans down to his ankles.

The hard erection confined to his underwear made your mouth melt. You kissed him over his tight underwear and he groaned quietly.

Staring up at him innocently, he nodded his head, giving you permission to take off his underwear. Immediately you pulled down his underwear and grab him by his base.

You licked him from his hard base to his red tip and started to kitten lick around the top of his cock.

Donnie breathed heavily and grabbed your hair into a make shift pony tail roughly.

“Stop teasing (y,n) or I swear-“

The warning was enough for you to cut him off by taking him into your mouth suddenly. You bobbed your head and licked his veins as his grip on your hair got tighter.

“Fuck. Gonna cum soon. Look at me.”

He pushed you onto his dick deeper, it violently hitting the back of your throat as your eyes watered.

The sight sent him over the edge, shooting his cum down your throat as you swallowed submissively.

He let go of your hair and offered his hands to help you up, once again wiping away the mess he’d made from your lips with his finger.

“It was nice to see you again (y,n).”

(Not proof read) 🙏

[misspygmypie]

Beyond Biology

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader, Lando Norris x Baby Maebry Words: 1701 Request: I absolutely love the meet and greet series, can you please write one like Noah felt left out and thinks Lando is not going to love him anymore because he is not his (biological) but his sister is? With a happy ending please. Sorry for my bad English I'm from Argentina Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Despite the loving environment in the Norris household there was an undercurrent of tension that Lando and Y/N had been trying to address. Over the past few weeks Noah had become increasingly withdrawn, refusing invitations to play with Lando and preferring to stay in his room over family activities. It wasn’t lost on Y/N that this change coincided with Maebry’s milestones like her first crawling and first mumbled words, moments that seemed to draw Lando’s attention.

One evening Y/N suggested it was time for the children’s bath. Lando, eager to contribute to the evening routine, volunteered to handle Maebry, knowing how much she enjoyed splashing around in the tub.

When Lando filled the bath with warm water and playful bath toys Noah wandered into the bathroom, hoping to join in. He had been excited to help with Maebry’s bath, thinking it might be a fun way to spend time with Lando.

However, when Noah entered the room, he saw Lando completely absorbed in the task of making his daughter giggle. The young man was making silly faces, floating bath toys in front of her and engaging in playful water splashes that elicited adorable squeals from the baby. Noah watched quietly from the doorway, his enthusiasm waning as he felt like an outsider to this moment.

When Noah slowly approached asking if he could help with anything, Lando just smiled. “Just a few more minutes, Noah. I’m almost done here with Maebry. How about you go pick out a bedtime story for us to read later?”

Noah, feeling disappointed, nodded silently and retreated to the living room. The attention Lando gave to Maebry during bath time seemed to highlight Noah’s sense of being left out.

One morning a few days later when they all gathered for breakfast Lando couldn’t help but notice Noah’s distant demeanor. The boy barely ate any of his cereal, his usual cheerfulness absent. Lando tried to engage him.

“Hey, Noah,” Lando said, slightly concerned, “How about we build something with the Legos later? Maybe a new spaceship or a cool castle?”

Noah shrugged, not meeting Lando’s eyes. “Maybe,” he mumbled, his tone flat.

Y/N, who had been quietly observing, decided it was time for a deeper conversation. After breakfast she took Noah by the hand and led him to a cozy corner of the living room where a soft blanket was draped over a bean bag. She sat down and patted the spot next to her.

“Noah, can we have a chat?” she asked softly.

Noah hesitated, looking slightly uneasy. “Okay,” he said, finally sitting beside his mother.

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart heavy with concern. “I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet and distant lately. You haven’t been as excited to spend time with Lando or join in with the family activities. Is there something on your mind?”

Noah stared at his fidgeting fingers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I feel like dad loves Maebry more than me. She’s his real daughter and I’m not. Maybe that’s why he’s been spending more time with her.”

Y/N’s heart sank at her son’s words. She took his hand in hers trying to be reassuring. “Noah, love isn’t about who’s biologically related to whom. It’s about the connection we build, the care we give and the moments we share together.”

Noah kept looking at the floor, the doubt still evident in his eyes. “But lately, it feels like dad has been so focused on Maebry, playing with her, taking care of her and I’ve been left out. I don’t know if he still wants to spend time with me.”

Y/N sighed, understanding the weight of Noah’s feelings. “Sometimes, when a new baby comes into the family, it’s easy to feel like the older child is left out. But that’s not because you’re loved any less. Dad’s attention on Maebry right now is because she needs a lot of care as a baby but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

“So, you’re saying it’s just because Maebry is a baby?” Noah asked quietly, his eyes welling up with tears. 

“Exactly,” Y/N nodded, brushing a tear from Noah’s cheek. “It’s not about how much love there is, it’s about how we balance our time and attention and sometimes we need to make an extra effort to show that love to everyone in different ways.”

“But what if Lando doesn’t really want to play with me anymore?” the boy asked, still a bit sad.

Y/N squeezed his hand gently. “Lando loves you deeply, Noah. Just because he has to care for Maebry doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. It’s important for us to talk about our feelings and not let misunderstandings grow. If you ever feel left out, you need to tell us. We want to make sure you always feel loved and included.”

Noah looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Do you think we could talk to dad about this?”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled softly, relieved that Noah was open to communicating. “It’s important that you share your thoughts with him.”

After sharing a long - and much needed - hug Y/N led Noah back out to the balcony where Lando was setting up a huge pile of Legos. Lando looked up, his face lighting up with a smile. 

Noah still looked a bit unsure but Y/N gently nudged him forward. “Why don’t you talk to Dad for a moment before you start?”

Lando noticed the serious undertone in his wife’s voice. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked gently and guided Noah to the seating area while Y/N went back inside to entertain her daughter with a snack and a book. 

Noah fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before speaking. “I was talking to Mom, and… I’m worried that maybe you don’t love me as much as Maebry because she’s your real daughter and I’m not.”

Lando’s heart ached hearing those words. For a second he wasn’t sure how to respond, he never thought Noah would even think of such a possibility. He gently placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Noah, I want you to know something very important. Being a parent isn’t just about biology, it’s about how we love and care for each other.”

Noah nodded, his eyes still unsure.

Lando took a deep breath. “When I married your mom and adopted you I made a choice. I chose to be your dad. I chose to love you, protect you and be there for you and that choice is something I will never, ever regret. You mean the world to me, just like Maebry does.”

Noah’s eyes widened and he looked down at the floor, his emotions swirling. “But sometimes it feels like Maebry gets more attention.”

Lando placed a comforting hand on Noah’s back. “Maebry is younger and she needs a lot of care right now. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less important, it just means we have to balance our attention. I promise you, I love you and your sister both so very much and that love grows bigger every day.”

“Really?” Noah’s lip quivered and he looked up at his dad with a hopeful smile. 

Lando smiled gently at the boy, trying to put as much love into it as possible. “Really.”

Noah’s worry began to fade as he listened to Lando’s words. He threw his arms around his dad in a tight hug, feeling the reassurance he so desperately needed.

“Thanks, Dad,” Noah whispered, his voice muffled against Lando’s shoulder.

Lando hugged him back, his heart swelling. “Anytime, buddy. Whenever you need to talk or if you’re ever unsure, remember that you’re my first child, Noah, and that means you hold a special place in my heart. Every moment we spend together is precious to me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A few days later Y/N was out with some of her girlfriends, leaving Lando in charge of bedtime for Noah and Maebry. Lando decided to make it special by setting up a cozy spot in the living room with pillows and blankets, preparing for an evening of storytelling.

He began by reading to Maebry, choosing a vibrant picture book full of colorful illustrations. Lando’s animated voice and playful expressions made Maebry giggle and reach for the pictures. Noah, holding his favorite bedtime story, watched from the edge of the blanket fort, feeling increasingly left out as Lando’s attention again was entirely on Maebry.

After finishing with Maebry, he gently lifted her from the blankets and placed her in her crib. He then turned to Noah with a warm smile. “How about we turn your favorite story into a special adventure tonight?”

Noah looked up, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, Dad?”

Lando’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “We’ll use the blanket fort as our magic castle. I’ll be the storyteller and you’ll help me make the adventure come alive. What do you think?”

Noah’s face brightened, his sadness fading. “That sounds fun!”

Lando helped Noah into the blanket fort, arranging the pillows and turning on a small flashlight to create some extra magic. He began reading Noah’s favorite story about a brave knight and a dragon. He asked Noah to help with sound effects like the dragon’s roar and the knight’s sword clashing.

The longer they read, the more of Noah’s initial shyness melted away. He joined in, making the story come to life together with his dad. At the end of the story, Lando wrapped up with a triumphant finale where the knight saved the kingdom. He looked at Noah and said, “You were an amazing knight tonight.”

“Thanks, Dad. I had a lot of fun!” Noah smiled brightly at his father who pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, Noah and even though Maebry needs extra care right now, that doesn’t change how important you are to me. We’ll always have these special moments.”

With their special bedtime adventure complete, Lando helped Noah get tucked into bed, promising more adventures in the future and Noah drifted off to sleep feeling loved and cherished.

________

AN: First of all Anon, your English is amazing!!! Sending so much love to Argentina. I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining��on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Brainrot Housekeeping: An update

I don't know how many times I've tried to find the best way to say this, but I'll put the major updates upfront and go into detail under the cut :')

To get straight to the point, I'm going to be retiring from this blog in a few days.

No, I'm not leaving the fandom

Yes, I'm going to keep creating! Just not on this blog

No, I'm not going to delete this blog

Yes, I'm still going to be relatively active as far as regular fandom activity goes

To go a little more into detail, I've had an ongoing situation at my workplace that quickly spiraled in all the wrong ways over the last month. I ended up having to resign as a last-ditch effort to preserve my physical safety, which obviously means that now my life is going to look very different from what it has for nearly the last two years.

My job (which I did love doing) involved a setup that allowed me the kind of time and space to pump out the amount of content that I have since I started this blog. Now that that's changing, I won't have the consistent, scheduled blocks of idle time to keep up my past posting schedule. Creativity will happen irregularly in my free time, and I'll want to spend it differently.

Which brings me to the future of my creative endeavors and involvement with the fandom - I don't think I'll be able to truly understand the impact this has had on my life for years to come. Having a community with all of you, getting back into my passion for writing and storytelling and creating after six years of giving up on it, finding out what it's like to watch a shared love and enjoyment for characters unfold into something real and exciting ... it's meant the world to me, and I can't thank every person who's been here for it enough. There's no way I'll leave any of this behind if I can help it.

So, no, I won't be writing for the Arcana M6 anymore, but I'm not leaving. I will still be running the Vesuvia Weekly event blog (and, if I have the brain farts for it, occasionally contributing my own submissions) and I will still be active in the Arcana Renaissance server. Not only will I be keeping this blog up, I'll also continue moving all of my writing posts onto Ao3 as well for a more cohesive, effective archive for anybody who just wants to browse M6 content. I won't be taking writing prompts anymore, but I'll do my best to stay on top of answering asks!

As for what I'll be doing next, to be honest, I'm actually pretty excited. I've had an idea rattling around in my head for a while that's begging to be written and illustrated and composed for, and I've finally reached the mental space to do it. I'm already in love with my main cast of characters and the dystopian, fantasy-punk-ish world they live in. If I ever manage to get my ideas off the ground, I'll be more than happy to invite anyone interested to watch it develop and unfold. :D

(And no, this will not involve Dorian at any point lol. I'd rather learn to code and build my own website)

If you've read this far, I can't thank you enough. You've taught me life lessons and prompted me to grow as a person in creativity, kindness, community, and joy. I've learned what it means to hold love and space for others in new ways. You've enriched my life in important and tangible ways and you'll always have a piece of my gratitude. I never would've imagined an experience like this, but boy am I glad it's happened.

Until next time!

brainrot

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 11.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: the events of ch 11 in jk's pov

☆word count: 1.2k

☆a/n: this one made me sad :( hope you guys like it! I've purposefully not put the full explanation bc it hits better later in the story sooo sorry about that. also just a note that depression sucks and I hope none of you guys have to deal with it and, if you do, please know that you aren't alone <3

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook is annoyed. He’s been annoyed all day, and he really just wants to go home.

To go home to you.

“What’s got you sulking?” Jimin asks, and four pairs of eyes shoot towards Jungkook.

Indeed, they are at the restaurant for lunch, Gabrielle having joined them to eat on her lunch break from her internship. 

“Nothing,” Jungkook says, grabbing his glass of water and taking a long sip.

Taehyung frowns, yet remains silent. It’s been happening a lot frequently, and Jungkook has truly, really been annoyed by it.

“Missing OC?” Jimin teases, wiggling his eyebrows and earning a punch in the shoulder by Sera.

“Shut up,” she says as Jungkook clenches his jaw.

“Will you please fucking stop with that?” Jungkook lets out, unable to keep his ire from his voice.

Jimin’s gaze widens, and then he laughs. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

“Maybe because you’ve been a little shit about this the whole week?”

“You’re aware it’s making it seem like it’s true…”

“Stop, Jimin,” Sera intervenes, her tone stern and authoritative.

The only tone Jimin ever listens to. Indeed, Jimin stops, pouting, and he mumbles an apology. Jungkook ignores it, his gaze shifting to Taehyung, and he doesn’t miss the muscle feathering under Taehyung’s skin as he clenches his jaw.

“What?” Jungkook spits, unable to help himself.

“You fucking my sister?”

Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh, his heart clenching in his chest. “Nope. You guys need to fucking leave me alone is all.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. This time, it’s Ariane’s turn to talk, and she does so with a pointed glare at Taehyung.

“I thought we said yesterday that we weren’t going to talk about her anymore.”

They did. Because scenes like this one have been happening the whole trip, and Jungkook really just wants to go home. The thought sticks around all day, up until they’ve had their shares of drink back at the Air Bnb, not feeling like going out.

Maybe Jungkook’s foul mood has been contributing to everyone’s lack of enthusiasm about going out, but he wouldn’t complain. He’d much rather stay at the Air Bnb, where he doesn’t have to avoid girls coming up to him trying to flirt.

Except Gabrielle. Though it’s not like that with Gabrielle, and he knows she’s a safe space. As much as someone can be without knowing about you - he reckons his only true safe space is you.

Perhaps that’s why he ends up sitting in his room with Gabrielle while the others chill in the living room. Partly to catch up, but also mostly to laugh at the absurdity of their parents wanting them to marry, as if they ever would.

“They’re crazy,” Gabrielle repeats for the hundredth time. “Complètement fou.”

Jungkook nods. “It’s nothing new. They’ve been like that since high school.”

Gabrielle chuckles, turning her head towards Jungkook. “Is your dad still an asshole?”

Jungkook winces, because he feels like his father has only been getting worse and worse with time, finding new ways to put Jungkook through hell all the time. Though the ignoring has been better than the fights and the constant insults he’d used to receive when he was younger, if he’s being honest.

“Yup. You really think someone like him could change for the better?”

Gabrielle slightly shakes her head. “Nah. People like our parents will die as shitty as they were the day they were born.”

Jungkook likes to think that his parents weren’t always like this. That, perhaps they were just corrupted by money growing up. But then again he can’t reconcile the image of his parents being kind to the one that he knows, that he’s known all his life.

So instead, he raises his beer. “Cheers to that.”

There’s a silence as Gabrielle drinks from the wine bottle she carried to the bedroom when they left the rest of the group back in the living room. Jungkook’s thoughts trail to you, and he wonders what you’re up to right now. You mentioned you were going out with your friends - are you already with them, or are you at home thinking about him like he’s thinking about you, too?

“What’s going on with Taehyung’s sister?” Gabrielle asks out of the blue.

Jungkook freezes like a deer in headlights. And though he wishes to say everything, to tell Gabrielle about what he feels for you, he knows he can’t. Not as long as you haven’t said it’s okay to talk about it.

And not when Gabrielle would likely tell Ariane, and Ariane would then tell Taehyung.

“Not you too,” Jungkook grumbles, and he hopes Gabrielle can’t spy the blush slowly dusting his cheeks, up to the tip of his ears.

“I’m just wondering!” Gabrielle says, and she lets out a small laugh before pushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve seen pictures, I feel like she would be your type.”

Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound as he shrugs his shoulders.

“So?” Gabrielle presses.

“So what?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing again. “Is something going on between you and her?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, preparing himself to lie to the one person that he’s never had to lie to before. “No.”

Gabrielle remains silent, the weight of her gaze on his profile heavy, and then she sighs. “Then, can I ask for your help?”

He stiffens. “What for?”

He knows what to expect - it’s the same as back when they were in high school, and she’d needed his help more than once then. Though he’d used not to mind, this time he hates it. So much so that he gets up, heading towards the door.

“Please,” Gabrielle says, stopping him with a hand on his wrist. “S’il-te-plait, Jungkook.”

“No,” he reaffirms, turning to face her. He thinks of you, thinks of the last time he kissed you, and wishes he was with you right now. “I can’t do this again.”

“Just this once,” she insists. “And then I will never ever ask that of you again.”

He thinks of the years. He thinks of Gabrielle defending him when his father insulted him during a dinner, or that time at the charity. He thinks about every night they’d fallen asleep in the same bed dreaming about a day where they wouldn’t have to worry about their family’s influence anymore. He’d thought she’d be okay now, independent as she was, but it seems she hasn’t escaped the pressure of her family yet, much like him.

“Gaby, I really can’t…” he trails off, scanning her features, hoping that she’ll understand, that she’ll know you are in his life and would never do something like that to you.

“Please,” Gaby says, her gaze begging.

He hates himself. He always has, more than he’d ever care to admit, but Jungkook hates himself too much for what he says next.

“Just this once.”

It’s like the universe was planning for this to happen anyway. Indeed, there’s laughter behind the door, and Gabrielle immediately grabs his face, pulling him down into a kiss. Jungkook closes his eyes, tells himself that you’ll understand, that he won’t lose you. 

When Gabrielle pulls away, looking just as uncomfortable as him, Jungkook whispers, “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

It’s easy, after, to pretend that the tears in his eyes are caused by Gabrielle. Even as Taehyung claps him on the shoulder as if to congratulate him, Jungkook doesn’t have to hide how much he aches from the inside out.

Gabrielle leaves, and Jungkook goes to bed right away, wishing to be able to skip time until he can see you again.

Until he can prove to himself that he hasn’t lost you.

Read chapter eleven here!

☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( i hate myself for hurting the babies so much.. please come scream at me

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[neiptune]

slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

cw: 700wc, female reader, modern au, sanemi is your grumpy situationship on the verge of becoming more, i squeezed in a lil surprise :) sponsored by the angel that is @strawberrystepmom who put her trust in my writing and contributed to @ficsforgaza!

“What?”

You smile at the faux harshness, the embarrassment Sanemi still tries to clumsily conceal to no avail.

“That was very sweet of you” part of you wishes you still had the pink phone you used to keep in your room as a teen, just to twirl the landline cord around your finger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Really? So I guess it was a total coincidence that your younger brother stopped by to bring what looked like a homemade soba noodle stir fry”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, a cautious pause. You know he’s pondering whether to keep up his dumb act, point out that they were evidently homemade or simply admit the obvious truth.

Sanemi clears his throat and chooses a secret fourth option, sidetracking.

“I’ve been stuck in stupid meetings all day. He happens to know you’re always too tired to fix yourself something to eat when you’re back from a business trip”

You giggle.

“Genya is the one who knows that?”

“Not hard to guess. You’re notoriously lazy”

“Careful now, Shinazugawa”

He deflates, a stupidly big hand running through silver locks, ruffling them up in the stressful process.

“I—” you think you hear a quiet murmur, something strangely similar to god fucking damn it “—they were homemade”

“I know they were” you can’t fight off the exasperated, smitten smile rising to your lips “thank you”

“Whatever” he gruffly mumbles “had a good trip?”

You hum, indulge in small talk that is still somehow safe territory for whatever it is you two are. Friends with benefits doesn’t really apply to the situation anymore, the friends part making you scrunch up your nose, heavily outweighed by the benefits part for some time now.

But there’s more to it. It’s in the way you stay over to take care of him when he’s sick, knowing all too well you’re gonna get sick in turn. It's in the way his hands hesitate when he greets you at the office each day, they're always aching to rise up and cradle your sweet face to kiss your lips good morning. Just like he’s been doing more and more often, in the comfort of his apartment, kisses and breakfasts a consequence of arms wrapping around you at night, to stop you from leaving.

While it feels like you’re both tiptoeing around something that started with no formal agreements and only a handful of boundaries, while you wonder if Sanemi is ever going to take the initiative with the same confidence he claims you in private, there’s only so much time you can spend exhausting yourself with silly questions.

“Hey, Nemi, what are you up to right now?”

“Hmm?” he doesn’t complete the grumpy story of how lavishly they were forced to greet a potential new partner visiting from Tokyo just that morning, some pretentious guy called Satori or Satoru “was reading a book when you called, why?”

“So, hypothetically speaking, if I was just outside you would open the door, right?”

There’s a pause and your cheeks are already hurting from how much you’re smiling. You can hear how he throws himself off the couch and toward the door, he swings it open right as the line goes silent, the reliance in that lavender stare not faltering for a second. Sanemi always believes you, doesn't ever spend useless seconds wondering if you're being serious or not. If you wanted to convince him that the sun wouldn’t rise anymore unless he kissed you, he’d click his tongue and gravely argue that he’d never want to leave the earth in the dark for a second too long.

“What are you doin’ here?” he’s already pulling you inside, tugging at the hem of your lilac skirt, features softening as it always happens when you’re there to give him a reason “thought we were supposed to go out later tonight”

“I wanted to see you. Tonight was too far away in time” you grin when Sanemi playfully rolls his eyes and lazily wrap your arms around his neck as he shuts the door behind you with a kick.

“That’s not very patient of you” he mumbles into the curve of your shoulder, words barely audible from how tightly he has you enveloped in his arms, tight enough to squeeze a little oof and an airy laugh out of you.

“Forgive me, but I’m not feeling very patient right now” you whisper back, tousling your fingers through his hair. You’re pretty sure Sanemi conceals a groan against your skin, or he tries to, as he pulls you flush against his hard body.

“Neither am I”

[lucy90712]

Not enough- Jude Bellingham

Dating a footballer is fun until he becomes incredibly successful and all of a sudden there are rumours left and right of him dating someone that isn't you. That's what my life is like Jude and I got together 3 years ago now when we were 17 and have been together since but we never made our relationship public because until the summer we were still long distance and didn't want the extra pressure. Having our relationship private has been so nice as it has meant when we do see each other we get to just enjoy being together but it also means we have to deal with rumours of who Jude might be dating. Those rumours never really got to me while Jude was at dortmund but since he's moved to Madrid things have just got so much more intense it seems that every few weeks there is a million new articles and tweets. 

Having to read all of this and seeing how pretty all the girls has really started to get to me. All the girls Jude is rumoured to be with are either models or just incredibly pretty which makes me feel awful about myself. All these girls have made a name for themselves in some way yet here I am with my job in a cafe while I try and find a job in the area that I studied. Jude likes to tell me that he doesn't care what I do for a living or how much I make but I can't help but feel guilty when I can't contribute much to the house or get him expensive things like he does for me. I'm also definitely no model I'm definitely not as pretty or as skinny as a model which I used to be ok with but now I don't feel so confident in myself. The other wags are also so pretty I definitely don't fit in with them either which makes me feel even worse about myself. 

Jude doesn't seem to have any clue that this is all going on he wakes up goes to training then hangs out with the boys leaving me until late at night so he doesn't see all the rumours or how they affect me. He's not here for the time I spend scrolling through social media or looking in the mirror judging everything about myself. Even when Jude is home he always seems to have something else on his mind so he never really gives me compliments anymore. I'd like to think that he still loves me but at this point I'm really not sure I mean he's young and he's attractive why would he want to be tied down with someone like me he can do so much better. I simply don't think I'm enough for him. 

A few days ago Jude went out to celebrate a big win for the team while I stayed at home but the next morning all I could see was rumours that Jude was flirting with multiple girls all night letting them dance with him and since I haven't really spoken to him. I spent all of last night laying awake thinking about everything and I decided that I just think I need to break up with Jude so then he's free to do all the things everyone thinks he's doing anyway. It's hard to decide to end a relationship especially one that has been going on for so long and one you are so fond of but I don't see any other way forward. This is why I've been so distant with Jude because in my head if I didn't talk to him that would make all of this easier. 

As always Jude left for training just as I got up for work but by the time I got back he was home which only happened the first few weeks I arrived so it was strange to see him here. Like always I headed upstairs to shower and change and when I came back out the bathroom Jude was sat on the bed waiting for me. I still didn't say anything to him because I'm trying to stay strong until I find the right time to tell Jude how I feel. 

"Babe are you ok you've barely spoken to me the last few days" he said 

"Yeah I'm fine just been busy had a lot on my mind that's all" I replied 

"Please don't lie to me I know there's something more going on I see the way you look all the time I just couldn't figure out what was wrong and now I give up so please tell me what's going on" he begged 

"I didn't want to say this yet because I'm still figuring things out but I think we should break up I just can't do this anymore" I said 

"Please no baby no I can't live without you whatever I've done I can fix it and I'm sorry just please don't break up with me" he said 

"It's nothing you've done it's just me" I said 

"Then what is it please tell me if you really want to do this at least tell me why" he said 

"I'm just not good enough for you every day there is new rumours of you being with someone else and all of them are prettier and have more going for them than I do and you deserve to be with one of them or to just be free to do what you want" I explained 

"But I want you that's what I want I don't want any of these girls nor is there anything going on with any other girl incase that's what you're thinking I like that you live a more normal life you keep me grounded and I think you are the prettiest girl in the world" Jude replied 

"Then why are you never home and why do you never compliment me anymore?" I asked 

"I-I'm sorry babe you're right I haven't been home much but I will change that I will come home after training and I will invite you to more things and believe me I could sit here for hours and compliment you and I'll do that if I need to" he said 

Jude did exactly what he said he started listing all the things he loves about me while giving me kisses. It felt so good to have his attention again it felt like we were back to how we were before I came to Madrid. After he complimented every single part of me he asked if I'd like to go out on a date like a proper date outside where people could see us and I didn't hesitate to say yes. Even if people see us who cares it's about time that we went public with our relationship then the rumours can be true for once. We have talked about going public a few times but now feels like the right time just so we can stop the media getting too far out of control 

I got all dressed up in a pretty dress and my makeup and hair all done for once I actually felt really pretty. When Jude walked in he had a white shirt and some black trousers on which he looked so good in. He stopped as soon as he saw me and I think his jaw actually hit the floor which made me blush and that was before he started complimenting me. The entire drive Jude didn't stop telling me how beautiful I looked which honestly made me feel so good about myself. 

At the restaurant there was people taking pictures of us walking in which Jude tried to protect me from a bit but we wanted to be seen together. It was weird being in front of so many cameras as I've spent years trying to avoid all of this but now I'm happily letting them all take pictures and stare at me trying to work out who I am so they can get their exclusive headline. The people in the restaurant were lovely though they showed us to our table then left us alone as much as possible which was nice as we were able to have a proper date night together. As we finished dessert Jude showed me all the pictures all over Instagram and Twitter then he showed me a post he had drafted to tell everyone about our relationship and put an end to everything. He had a beautiful caption written which nearly made me cry and all the pictures he had I hadn't seen before as they were ones he took secretly but they were all so cute. He let me click post so that it was my decision to go public then he took my phone and turned it off so we could enjoy the rest of our evening together without having to see what everyone has to say.

[reasonsforhope]

I can't take the state of the world anymore, every day things constantly get worse and there's literally nothing we can do. Every time things get better they're immediately undone by forces more powerful than us. I just want things to go back to the way they were before when it felt like there was hope, now it feels like humanity is doomed and will never, ever get better. I just want to die so I can finally know peace from this evil.

Hey. I'm really, really sorry you're having such a hard time. That sounds like an incredibly painful headspace to be in.

Please find someone you can talk to and who can help you - whether that's a peer counselor or a good friend or a trained mental health professional. Especially a trained mental health professional, if you can. You can find a really thorough list of crisis hotlines listed by country here.

Also, I realllllly recommend getting off any websites or social media that are contributing to you feeling like this, or at least block all the people/tags posting things that are making you feel like this. Negativity bias is real - the news/internet doesn't accurately reflect the world and neither does the way your brain perceives it

In the meantime, a few quick words/facts of comfort. I hope they can give you at least some reassurance or solace.

We literally have more reason to hope we can solve climate change than ever before x

Starting about six months ago, major international energy reports have come out for the first time showing that we have a visible, concrete path to staying under 1.5 degrees celsius x

Twenty, even ten years ago, scientists talked about whether we could possibly manage to limit global warming to 4 or 5 degrees Celsius. Now, those numbers aren't even on the map - we're talking 1.5 or 2 degrees Celsius. We've cut expected warming in half in under a decade x

Renewable energy is growing so exponentially it's now "unstoppable" x

Two hundred years ago, in 1800, there wasn't a single "liberal democracy" - a democracy that gives all citizens the right to vote - on the planet. Just over one hundred years ago, in 1900, there were five of them. Today, roughly half the countries (aka roughly 100) on the planet fall into this category. International politics is so often two steps forward, one step back, but this is actually an astonishing pace of progress in the grand scheme of things x

For all of human history, until just over 200 years ago, roughly half of all children died. Across times, across cultures. Half of all children died by the age of 15. Half of them. Today, globally, that same child mortality rate is only 4%. We did that. We changed what was previously an eternal, inescapable, and horrific condition of human existence, and we are going to keep making that rate go down x

Two steps forward, one step back, is still moving forward. There are so, so, so many reasons that we are not already doomed. There are so many reasons to think the future is going to be bright

To anyone struggling with thoughts like this: please, please give yourself the chance to see it

[luffysscraps]

YANDERE MONKEY D. LUFFY; HEADCANONS

Cw; Yandere.fem reader.Manipulation.Gaslighting.Enabling crew.Stockholm syndrome. Not proofread.

You’ll never know until your caught; He reels you in with his smile, his playfulness, his curiosity. All of his jokes make you laugh! He’s so kind and nice to you. He’s always thinking about you! He shows you every little thing he picks up and stuff from his adventures! Speaking of which you should come with him! Life at sea is great! Plus there’s no telling whether he’ll ever come back to this island again. So join his crew! You don’t need to feel like you have to contribute anything! Just do what you can and you’ll be a true straw hat! He gives you a few days to think it over and like every member before you, you fall for his romanticized version of the sea and set sail as the newest member of the straw hats.

“Gotcha~ ;P”

He’s got you right where he wants you; You’ll soon see the dangers of the sea a month into the vogue. Sea kings, other pirates, marines, scurvy. Almost every day you’re fighting for your right to breath! A bounty on your head for just being spotted with the straw hats. You’re in over your head! You’re not much of a fighter! You’re going to die if you stay here any longer! You’ve got to get out of here! You take it up with Luffy and he simply crosses his arms and smiles at you. “Leave? If it’s what you want, I won’t stop you! We’ll be at the next island in three days. It was a pleasure being your captain and I’ll never forget you.” He gives you a hearty smile as a send off. You’re relieved he’s being so nice about it.

He knows you can’t leave, well alive that is; marines flooded the next island. They got an anonymous tip that the straw hats would be porting in the next week and jumped at the opportunity. You’re captured and almost executed if it wasn’t for Luffy saving you at the last moment. Your traumatized, hugging onto his red vest and crying into his chest. So much fire, so much gun shots, so much blood shed… Luffy simply rubs the back of your head and smiles. “Don’t worry bout it… with me here no one will harm you.” You cry even louder and won’t let go of him for the world. How could you ever think about leaving him?

He knows your weak and uses that to his advantage; “Stick by me okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.” You nod, taking his hand easily. The fear of what if lurks down the corner and fills your body. Ever since you were captured you don’t feel safe without Luffy around. The rest of the crew try to get you to feel more comfortable but nothing works. When Zoro suggests you train with him to hold your own, Luffy just glares at his green haired friend and talks to him behind closed doors. “I don’t want her to get hurt. Don’t worry about her I’ll be here to protect her.” Or when Usopp offers to build you a weapon, Luffy shuts him down as well. The crew is beyond confused on why Luffy’s apposed to this… but he is the captain so what can you do? The crew watches on in concern as you grip Luffy tightly and the male laughs and teases you about how he’ll always be there for you.

Expect when he’s not. It’s not a coincidence or mistake. He planned this; “L-Luffy!? L-Luffy!” Your voice strained out as you walk around the ship looking for him. Did he fall in the water?! Did we leave him at the last island?! Did he leave you?! Your panicking and hyperventilating as you can’t find Luffy anywhere. The crew tries to reassure you that he’s alright but you curl up into a ball and begin to sob in despair. You don’t feel safe anymore without him near. He’s missing for around three days until he randomly appears like nothing happened to him. “Yeah I fell asleep on lookout duty, that last fight messed me up more then I thought! I was right there in the tower!” He makes up a silly story. You’re squeezing him tightly, crying and yelling about how you’ll never let him go. And all he could do is smile and hug you back. He’ll never let you go.

He can’t control himself when others talk about his behavior or you; They’re not blind. You’re attached to Luffy 24/7 and it’s not healthy. They think he doesn’t understand you’re not well, that he just thinks you want to play or cuddle with him all the time, but he’s well aware of you not being well. “Yeah so what? If it’s what she wants, what’s the problem?” “Luffy she won’t even eat if you’re not present! She can’t function without you around! We tried to get her to go get treated with Chopper but she won’t leave without you!” Nami tried to reason with her captain, she couldn’t go on any longer watching her friend turn into a husk of herself. Luffy’s eyes glare at Nami holding your hand close to his face. “There’s no need for Chopper to treat her. I like her this way~” He said with a sharp smirk the crew had never seen before. Just what’s gotten into him?

You slowly become Luffy’s lap dog, never seen a second away from him, always by his side; Hey at least it’s fun. He’s not as heartless as some others. You can drink, laugh, party, dance, you can do whatever you want as long as you’re next to him. It’s like the two of you are attached by the hip and it’s honestly creepy for the crew to witness. He’s always playing with you, tickling you, telling you stories and jokes. There isn’t a second you two are separated and it’s jarring whenever you two are. You seem hollow and distant without Luffy near and Luffy’s… off. There’s something about him that changes when you’re not around but no one can put a finger on it.

He didn’t think he’d ever hurt one of his crew… until; That pesky little Robin stuck her nose into a place where it didn’t belong. The captain’s quarters. The first thing that set her off were the walls, they were covered in crude drawings of you and Luffy. And tons of your wanted posters scattered the walls as well. Her mouth hung open in disbelief, her instincts telling her to leave but she couldn’t help but look through more. On his desk was a diary of some sorts, and plastered through the pages were just your name written down over and over again, frantic heart doodles, scribbles and ramblings of a mad man going on and on about you. It then clicked in her mind, No one had actually entered the captain’s room since you joined the crew… and as she turned around to finally leave she felt nothing but a rubbery punch to her stomach sending her flying back into the wall. “I thought I told everyone… the captain’s room is off limits.”

Then he flat out tells everyone, without sugarcoating it; “Y/N’s mine! I was the one who called in and told the marines about us docking so Y/N can get captured! Oh yeah and I did a bunch of other things to her too :p . I made her this way and we’re both happy about it!… if anyone else ISN’T happy about it, well. We’re pretty far out in the water. I dunno if anyone will find your body~!” Luffy let’s out one of his contagious laughs but nothing is funny. The crew is staring at him in horror. Robin clutches her broken ribs with wide, teary, eyes. Everyone had their mouth agape, in utter shock. They all knew something was wrong but never in a million years would they have thought Luffy was capable of doing this. To someone he claimed to love. You heard his words but didn’t react. You didn’t care anymore, Luffy knew best. You hugged him closely, putting your head into his chest, accepting your fate. “See? She likes it! Now anyone opposed to this?”

Well of course everyone’s opposed to it; But… what can you do… It’s Luffy. His power is too great, he’s nothing less then a god. Any attempts to help you escape or fight him off are shot down in seconds. Luffy has no remorse when he’s beating Sanji’s body blue because he thought it would be a good idea to try and help you sneak away on an island they were docked in. “Sanji… you’re a really good cook, and I don’ wanna loose you but if you want to come between us I’ll have no choice. So will you be nice and stop trying to take her away from me? :D?!” He asks him with a large smile, despite the blood running down his knuckles and the blonde underneath him that was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness.

The crew suddenly start getting injuries. Robin’s ribs, Nami’s throat, Usopp’s arm, Sanji’s leg, Chopper’s antlers, Zoro’s ear, Franky’s backside. Every pirate crew they come across is confused to see why the great straw hats are injuried so badly, all expect you of course. No longer do they smile in the face of their captain, instead they shake with fear. They soon stop trying to escape and fight, instead they all give in and comply with their captain’s orders.

So join his pirate crew, come live at sea with him! It’ll be fun! And once he haves you, he’ll never let you go~

[weirdplutoprince]

Hello, everyone! Here are some Meg Updates!

As stated above, we have surpassed our surgery goal! Thank you so much for helping Meg recover! Her surgery was originally to happen this week (08/26) but she's been having diarrhea for a few days and the vets thought it better to wait and see if she can recovers - as it would be risky for her to poop over her stitches if we did the surgery anyway. Since her condition is stable, they think it's alright to wait a maximum of one more week before going through with it.

The extra 600 BRL have so far been used to pay for the appointment with the specialist who is going to run the surgery, medicine and gas for all the driving we've been doing back and forth to Meg's foster house and our own ( they are unexperienced and agreed to help us, since it would be dangerous for Meg to be around my animals at the moment). Bellow, I have posted the receipts for these bills.

There is no need to donate for her surgery funds anymore. Though you are welcome to contribute for the likely possibility that she will be held in another day at the clinic after surgery, which would amount to 320 BRL per extra day - as well as the medicine we are likely to be prescribred for the post-operational care.

Thank you so much for helping Meg get through this. Her recovery would not have been possible without your help, and we are eternally greateful for it! <3

Stay cool, Megheads!

[pinkseas]

(bighugemassive isat spoilers vvv)

thinking about loop in the sif is out au has me experiencing a very special kind of agony

just. just. siffrin, alone!! looping completely alone, none of their party members, not a soul in all of dormont, no star under the favor tree. only them, for years-decades-thousands of loops, until they finally, finally give up. until they can't do it anymore. and then waking up. in a world where their entire party is stuck in that time loop EXCEPT for them.

having to watch themselves over, and over, and over again, messing up and being utterly useless and holding every single one of the others back. the only idiot who doesnt remember. loop, working with a party that is no longer theirs to save a version of themselves who has never known a day of real hardship or suffering. a stupid, aimless traveler trapping each and every one of them here, loop included, who doesnt even have the decency to know theyre doing it! funny how there are two of them, now, and yet BOTH of them have completely and utterly failed their entire party in such drastically unique and awful ways. forcing them to relive this for eternity.

at least none of loop's party remembered. at least loop was useful in that they could take away the other's pain, shoulder it all on their own. siffrin can't even do that. all they're doing is hurting everyone more. and they don't know.

they're the reason, they're the key, it's their fault everyone is suffering and they dont even know!!!! useless. worse than useless. if only one of these loops they would just stay dead. it'd be better for everyone, that way, for their party and loop and even themselves. loop knows how it feels. loop understands. yeah the others have each other and loop had no one but at least loop is capable of helping the others now!!! at least loop can remember!!! siffrin doesnt deserve this he doesnt deserve the love and care and affection (affection he doesnt even RECOGNIZE, doesnt appreciate or cherish, takes for granted over and over and over again) he doesnt deserve to wake every day in blissful ignorance of the way hes ruined everything and everyone around him!!!!!!

loop who knows it all and who gets to watch the entire party except for siffrin work together and support each other. gets to see just how much better off they are without sif in the way. loop isnt even siffrin, anymore. theyre Good now theyre Useful now they Understand now. siffrin doesnt and never will. watching the careful, quiet way siffrin falls further and further behind. another timeline and still completely alone. thats just what the universe wants from them, loop thinks. for every siffrin out there to suffer.

and ohhhh if/when they break the loops depending on how that goes... siffrin who did nothing to contribute who did nothing to deserve this who shouldnt even EXIST being handed victory and unconditional love on a silver fucking platter and loop who just has to watch............

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Five

Ongoing Silco x fem!reader fic (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Fear, insecurity, break-in, threats to personal safety, mob mentality, time skips, guns, bludgeoning weapons, veiled threats, references to sex as a form of payment, drug references, mentions of previous bribery

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You were woken by the sound of bells ringing. 

There was no bell system at the Haven for patients to alert that they needed attention - though in the part of your mind that wasn’t focused on getting dressed, it wasn’t a bad idea - so that wasn’t what had launched you out of bed before you had fully woken up. 

No, the bells were the temporary, low-cost security system you had put into place when Silco had pulled his guards away from the Haven. 

Since Silco had decided to use the knowledge of your connection to destroy your life, you had never been sure what the security guards were there to do. Were they a parting gift, meant to console you as you adjusted to a less-protected life in the Undercity? Were they meant to keep an eye on you and report back to Silco? Were they just waiting until the most devastating possible moment to leave? 

It was your best guess that the last possibility was closest to the truth. HexTech had taken over financial support of the Haven after most of the other donors had withdrawn their contributions, but they were a young company. They didn’t have the money to support themselves and pay for external expenses like security guards. You had just been thrilled to be funded, so you had agreed to those terms. 

A little over a week later, Silco had pulled his security guards from the Haven. 

One of the two in-house doctors had resigned the next day. His safety could not be guaranteed without guards. The other doctor had stayed, but he was running himself ragged trying to help all the patients through withdrawal alone.

The original Haven staff would have been able to help - most of them had seen enough to function as makeshift medics when absolutely necessary - but they had long since left. The scandal of you accepting donations from Silco had been too much for most of them, and the others hadn’t been able to handle the increased stress of the new workload. 

In short, the Haven was still afloat, but you were left trying to cover large gaps in staffing, services, and security. Hence the bells. 

You had installed bells over every external door to the Haven, plus a few trip wires and pressure plates that would ring a bell in your room if they were set off. Residents and the new staff knew where the wires and plates were so they could avoid activating them. It wasn’t a particularly elegant system, but it was enough for you to know when someone was in the Haven who didn’t belong there. 

As was currently the case. 

A baseball bat was your only protection as you moved down the stairs as quietly as possible. There was a dim light coming from under the door in the front room, the door slightly ajar. That was what had set off the bells in your room, then. 

With the baseball bat up and over your shoulder, you gently toed the door open and stepped inside. 

You halted almost immediately, startled by the way you had been greeted by name. “Yi? Fletcher?” 

Fletcher had rushed toward you, handsome face happy, but he paused before he got within touching distance of you. “Are you okay? What’s with the bat?” 

“We don’t have security anymore,” you explained shortly. “Never knew when someone is going to break in.” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Yi explained. “The lack of security, not to break in.” 

Your tired brain was struggling to make sense of that. “What-? What does that mean?” 

“Can we sit down?” a vaguely familiar young man requested. You hadn’t spotted him behind Yi and Fletcher, but he seemed to be the last member of the group.

Wordlessly, you motioned them through the door into the kitchen, then followed them inside as they sat at the small table at one side of the room. 

“We heard the Haven doesn’t have security anymore,” Yi explained. “We all wanted to come back and help out.” 

“Why?” you asked, helpless to disguise the suspicion in your voice. 

The familiar man glanced at Yi and Fletcher, then spoke. “I don’t know if you remember me, ma’am. I was part of the security detail that Silco assigned to the Haven.” 

You secrets had been laid bare, exposed before the entirety of Piltover, but you still cringed at the casual way he announced your connection to Silco. “Yes, I remember you. You were fairly new. I don’t know if I ever met you officially.” 

“Okkan,” he volunteered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Nice to officially meet you, then.” 

“Likewise, as long as Silco didn’t send you so he could have someone inside of the Haven,” you countered, voice a little too sharp to be considered polite.

Okkan’s face grew grave. “It’s too late for that. He’s had people here all along. If you haven’t seen him here yet, it’s because he hasn’t wanted you to.” 

Fletcher touched gentle fingertips to Okkan’s arm. “That’s probably not as helpful as you meant it to be.” 

With a sheepish grimace, Okkan nodded. “I’m sorry, that was supposed to prove that you can trust me. My point is, Silco has no reason to send me here as a plant since he already has people doing that. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Then why are you here?” 

Okkan shrugged. “This is the right thing to do.” 

You hummed suspiciously, glancing at Fletcher and Yi. “And you two?” 

“I need to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die fighting off anyone who might attack the Haven,” Fletcher told you. Yi and Okkan both snorted - Fletcher’s skills with combat were as limited as everyone else’s, but augmented with a rich vein of jumpiness and a hatred of blood and dirt. 

Yi answered your question with ease, offering it as soon as your eyes rested on her. “I like an underdog.” 

You sighed, trying to bury the surge of relief coursing through you. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of them. At least, unless they specifically knew what they were agreeing to. 

“If you’re looking for a fight, there are good odds you’ll find it here,” you warned. “Silco has made it clear that he considers the Haven a detriment to his plans for the Undercity. I haven’t seen any signs of an attack yet, but the fact that he pulled the security guards away from here is hardly a good sign. I need to know that you’re aware of the dangers of being here. More importantly, that you know the dangers of being on my side. 

“We all know,” Yi assured you. “Okkan was very blunt about the things he saw as part of Silco’s crew.” 

“More importantly, we know you,” Fletcher insisted. “You were always good to everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. That’s worth something, even if everyone in the city seems to have forgotten it.” 

You nodded. It seemed like the safest choice. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you tried to speak. 

By the time you had stood from your chair and crossed to the door, you had recovered enough to say, “You’re welcome to stay, then. Pick any rooms in the employee quarters. Most of it is empty, so you have options. Goodnight. Thank you.” 

—

Unfortunately, the new arrivals didn’t have to wait long for the fight you had promised. 

The break-in happened at night. You had always suspected that it would - after all, that was the time of day when the Undercity residents were the most active. 

The chiming of the bells was desperate and chaotic, nearly masked by the scuffing feet you could hear throughout the first floor of the building. You had been awake late, sacrificing hours of sleep in favor of writing grant requests and reports for the few grants you had left. The Haven’s progress had slowed significantly since your association with Silco had been made public, and you were struggling to frame the work you had done in the most positive light possible. 

You had drilled every resident of the Haven with what the sound of the bells meant. All the doors on the lower floors were locked when you ran down the stairs, clenching the grip of your bat in your fist. If even one of the residents managed to remember what you had taught them to do, they were trying to contact the Enforcers.

There were more intruders than you could hope to take on alone. Getting an accurate count was impossible in the gloom, but you counted at least eight. They saw you immediately, watching as you came to a stop a few stairs above the ground floor. 

You cleared your throat, letting the bat dangle at your side. “What do you want?” 

“Shimmer.” 

The answer - called from somewhere in the crowd - made you snort rudely. “You seem to have missed the fact that this is an anti-Shimmer establishment.” 

“Addictions are treated with microdoses of the drug,” one of them pointed out. “We’re here for any Shimmer you have.” 

“Well-informed,” you noted. “Except that Shimmer addictions can’t be treated with the drug. It takes over the central nervous system, even in small amounts. There is no Shimmer here, microdoses or otherwise.” 

“Then maybe we’ll tear this place down,” another threatened. “That’ll send a message to Silco.” 

Your heart was in your throat, but you did your best to keep it from being too obvious. “And why would you do that? In case you hadn’t heard, Silco doesn’t have anything to do with this place. Not anymore.” 

“No, but he did.” One woman stepped forward, eyeing you suspiciously. “The Shimmer left this place all at once. It was right around when Silco gave you that money. I think that’s important. It means something.” 

You stared at her. “You are too smart to waste your mind on Shimmer. But no, it doesn’t mean anything. Silco bribed me with money. He didn’t need to get rid of Shimmer to bribe me a second time.” 

“Silco is part of this place,” a large man told you. “Either he hates you and wants it destroyed or he still cares and losing it would make him weak.” 

“You should probably figure out whether you’re trying to give the drug lord a gift or a threat before you do it,” you warned, tightening your grip on the bat. “He’s erratic at the best of times, and you might not like the reaction you get.” 

From the dissatisfied murmur of the crowd, that was a valid point, but one they didn’t want to acknowledge. You weren’t sure how to proceed. Letting them tear down the Haven wasn’t an option, but telling them to leave might be the thing that pushed them into violence. 

The decision was taken away from you when someone grabbed the baseball bat, using it to tow you forward. You stumbled down the stairs, catching yourself only to be pulled into the depths of the crowd. The baseball bat was ripped away from you almost immediately, thrown to clatter across the room. 

Immediately, there were shouts of encouragement to kill you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears and you struggled to hear past it. The crowd seemed to agree that Silco may or may not care about the Haven, but he certainly didn’t seem to like you. 

You tried to free yourself - it would be stupid not to, when they were audibly planning your death. But there were so many hands. Hands on your hips, hands on your waist, hands on your arms. All of them gripped you tightly, leaving bruises in your skin. You could only hope you would live long enough for them to heal. 

“Kill her,” the large man ordered. He was the loudest, which you assumed made him some kind of authority in a crowd like this. “Everyone else, strip this place for anything you can find. Burn the rest.” 

“Should she die fast?” the woman who had spoken earlier asked. The way her eyes studied you sent a chill up your spine. “Or slow?” 

“Slow.” 

The hands squeezed tighter, trying to lead you deeper into the Haven. You fought them, squirming and kicking as you shouted for them to leave you alone. 

“Let her go!” 

Yi’s voice was the sweetest thing you had ever heard. A close second was when she swung your confiscated bat into the knee of the group’s leader.

He screamed in pain, dropping to the floor. One of the people holding you glared up at Yi. “You can’t fight all of us. Not and win.” 

“We aren’t looking for a fight,” Okkan countered. You searched around the room for a moment before you found him standing in front of the door that led to the residents’ rooms. “Between the three of us, we can stop any hope of whatever you all planned to do.” 

For a wild moment, you thought he was counting you as one of the three people who would stop the fight, but you were still held firmly in place. Okkan nodded toward the stairs and you saw Fletcher there, holding another gun. 

Yi brandished her bat, holding it over her shoulder as if ready to take her next swing. Fletcher was aiming his small handgun at the crowd, hands steady. Okkan was holding a gun that looked almost as big as he was. It looked dangerous, and not purely because of its size. 

Okkan cocked the gun loudly, aiming at the crowd. “Time for you to leave.” 

“Fine, we’ll go,” the leader said, standing. It was clear that putting weight on his leg was painful, but he was still an imposing figure. “But we’re taking her with us.” 

To your surprise, a gunshot came from the top of the stairs, putting a neat hole in the doorframe beside one of your would-be kidnappers. 

Yi twirled the bat in her hand. “No.” 

“That was your only warning,” Okkan explained, a menacing smile shining bright in the gloomy room. 

The attackers were gone in a moment, leaving you sprawled on the floor. Ridiculously, the first thing that came to mind was, “Fletcher, I didn’t know you could shoot that well.” 

Fletcher grinned. “I’m not very threatening and I can’t fight. How else did you think I survived in the Undercity so long?” 

You were spared the need to respond when Okkan helped you to your feet. “We need to prepare for another attack.” 

You frowned, running your thumb over the fresh bullet hole in your doorframe. “Are you sure? It seems like you all scared them pretty badly.” 

Okkan shook his head. “Those people broke in. They’re not part of Silco’s group. If random people on the street feel safe breaking into the Haven, that means that word about Silco’s lack of protection has spread. The attacks are just going to happen more often from here. And they’re more likely to get more violent, as well.”

“I don’t have the money for security,” you reminded him. Much as you tried to keep the state of the Haven’s finances from Okkan, Fletcher, and Yi, they had picked it up over the previous weeks. 

“But there are other things we can do,” Yi argued. “Move more people into the upper floors, gather together the ones who can’t climb stairs. We’ll put a sturdier door between their rooms and the main areas. One person on guard would be able to lock the door when there’s a break-in.” 

“And a few more guns wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Fletcher told you, locking the safety on his own handgun. 

You nodded. “Let’s get it done.” 

—

The changes you were making to the Haven weren’t exactly secret, especially since Yi, Okkan, and Fletcher told anyone and everyone that there were even more security advancements to come. 

You knew what it was - posturing. By talking openly about the defenses in place and positioning themselves as guardians of the Haven, they were discouraging people from attacking without doing so in a way that would seem too close to a dare. 

It was clever, though you all knew that moving patients, adding a door, and buying additional weapons were the extent of your security planning. Still, it seemed to be working. Two weeks had passed since the break-in and you hadn’t had a scare in that time. Maybe any would-be attackers were waiting for you to get comfortable and lax, but you were hopeful that the Haven simply seemed like more trouble than it was worth. 

All of your optimism disappeared in an instant as you stepped into your office late one night. You couldn’t keep up the pace you had been, but you were fairly certain you could manage one more night of grant-writing before you collapsed into an exhausted heap. 

The figure sitting at your desk made you jump, though the lit lamp on your desk should have been the first clue that you had a visitor. 

“Close the door, pet,” Silco commanded. “We need to talk.”

You dropped your hand from where it had reflexively pressed over your heart. It was difficult to glare at someone when they could see how badly they had just frightened you. “I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Silco. And you’ve already said everything I was willing to listen to.” 

He smirked. “I have missed your backbone, darling.” 

“That’s nice.” You pointedly held the door open, waiting for him to leave. 

Instead, Silco sat forward, leaning his elbows on the surface of your deks so he could study you more intently. “You can imagine how relieved I was to hear that you survived the first attack on the Haven.” 

You didn’t remember closing the door, but the sound of it slamming beside you was unmistakable. “First.” 

Silco nodded at the word you had repeated. “I am certain you are clever enough to know that more attacks will come.” 

“And I’m sure your memory is good enough to remember that this is the second time the Haven has been attacked,” you countered. “However, we handled this one far more effectively than the last.” 

Silco inclined his head in a silent concession of your point. “You defended yourselves admirably. But will you manage the same next time? And the time after?” 

“I’m sure there’s a purpose to this conversation.” You glanced outside of the window, using the brightness of the neon signs against the darkening sky to gauge the time. “The Last Drop must be open by now. You have a business to run and I need to get back to mine. Make your point.”

“I am here to offer my assistance, of course,” Silco said smoothly. “It would be simple enough to reassign a security detail to the Haven.”

Your laugh was unintentional, but you didn’t mind it. It was a sharp, ugly sound, leaving no doubt about the sincerity of your amusement. “Considering all of this started because of you, I can’t say I’m inclined to accept your help.” 

Silco tilted his head, a dangerous flash of irritation crossing his face. “I am not the one who tried to defect to Piltover.”

“Defect?” you repeated. “Much as you want to believe in it, Zaun isn’t a real, recognized city. Right now, this place is just the lower half of Piltover - looked down on by the Upper City, if they think of it at all. And you ensured that they have no representation in the government.” 

“We do not need the scraps that Piltover deigns to give us,” Silco decreed. “We will demand the respect and status we are owed, as full equals.”

“And when will that happen?” You shook your head. “I think, if it were possible, you would have done it by now. Piltover is unaffected by the horrors of life in the Undercity, as strong as it ever was. More so, actually, if HexTech’s plans work out. Meanwhile, the people of the Undercity are eroded by pollution, mine accidents, and Shimmer. If there was ever a time when the Undercity could demand anything, it passed a long time ago.” 

Silco snarled. “The people of Zaun were cowed by their failures when they should have used them to spur renewed efforts. The next generation-” 

“The one who survives on the scraps that Piltover deigns to give the Undercity?” The sigh that escaped you was less irritated than you hoped, sounding almost mournful. “They are fighting too hard to survive to worry about a revolution.” 

“Zaun-” Silco paused, visibly collecting himself. He smoothed his hair back as he stepped around the corner of your desk. “I have diverted from my original point. Regardless of the myriad reasons we find ourselves here, I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

You snorted. “Have you forgotten how our last ‘mutually beneficial agreement’ went?” 

The back of Silco’s fingers brushed lightly down the length of your arm. You tracked their progress before looking up at Silco, who was watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Darling, I have thought of little else these past weeks.” 

Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. The instant your lips parted around a shaky breath, Silco closed the gap between you.

The touch of his lips against yours was achingly familiar and your body relaxed into the kiss without asking permission from your mind. And considering that he avoided kissing you as long as he had, Silco was shockingly good at it. He knew when to push, when to let you lead, and when to encourage you to deepen the kiss. 

And, to your dismay, you did exactly that. 

Somewhere along the line, the kiss had turned into something deep and desperate. Your hands roamed across his body as his did the same to yours. He felt wonderfully solid beneath your searching fingers, and you finally admitted to yourself that you had missed him. 

Perhaps it was because you had trained your body to expect to be fully satiated at least once a month for longer than you had ever expected. Perhaps it was because such a long time had passed since you had been touched by anyone else. Perhaps - unlikely and abhorrent as it was - you had started to grow fond of Silco. 

In any case, you gasped when his trailing fingers skated over the curve of one breast, rubbing unerringly against your nipple before he continued on a steady path downward. You pulled away from him when you heard the desperation of your moan, the fresh air of the room hitting you like a dash of cold water. 

“No,” you murmured, repeating it louder  when Silco started to tow you back to him. When had you entangled your fingers with his? “No, this isn’t- We have to stop.” 

“Why would we ever do something so foolish?” Silco asked, reluctantly letting your fingers slip out from between his. “I have missed you, pet. Have you not missed me?” 

“You-” You cleared your throat. “You came here for a reason, Silco. You were going to make me an offer of some kind. What was it?” 

“I have already made my offer,” he reminded you, dual gaze piercing. “I will reassign security to the Haven.”

You nodded slowly. “And what are you asking in return?” 

Silco spread his hands out to either side of himself. “Renewed access to your delectable body, of course.” 

Of course. As if it were clear without explanation, undeniable and irresistible. And it nearly was, damn him. You could keep the Haven safe, protect your people. In return, you only had to give him something you wanted him to have, anyway. 

You swayed. 

It was an ugly trait for a philanthropist, someone determined to minimize the amount of evil that existed in the world. Your ideals were so high, but you were only human. You wanted nothing more than to let Silco slake the terrible thirst that had overtaken your body. You wanted to fall back into the routine you had become so accustomed to. It would be so easy, so safe, so familiar. You ached for it. 

But at the same time, the thought of it made you recoil. For all that your relationship with Silco had gone better than expected - mostly because you had expected to die at the end - you’d had plenty of time to analyze it since your life had started to spiral. Your time together had gone as smoothly as it had because there was a profound power imbalance between you. When issues came up, they were resolved because you were paying him to keep Shimmer out of the Haven’s neighborhood. 

Yes, you could go back to the way things had been, but you would never find a better reason to leave. And this time, things could very well end with your death. Was this how you wanted to spend the rest of your life? Fearful and subservient because you missed sleeping with a chem baron?

Your shoulders eased as you realized that your subconscious had already made the decision for you. Silco misinterpreted it entirely, reaching to snag your hand again. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, drawing you closer. 

“No, Silco. I can’t.” Pulling away seemed like the most difficult thing in the world just then, but you managed it. “I can’t go back to the way things were. Not after the way everything has changed.” 

“Nothing has changed,” Silco pressed. “Nothing needs to. We can pick up precisely where we left off. The Undercity has already started to forget the news about the Haven’s donations and, under my protection once more, you can continue to impact this place the way you always wanted. Everything you want - everything we want - is waiting. The only thing you need do is agree.” 

If he had said something like that when the indecisive thoughts were swirling through your mind, you would probably be kissing again and well on your way to more. But your swaying had left you stumbling back from the edge, suddenly capable of seeing the chasm yawning just in front of your feet. 

“Thank you for the offer,” you said, taking another step back and pulling your hand away from his. “But I must decline. If you don’t mind, I have other responsibilities to which I must attend.” 

You had turned to open the door when you felt Silco’s presence behind you. The skin at the back of your neck prickled at both the knowledge that he was behind you and the sudden tension in the air of your office. 

“Dismissing me is a mistake, pet,” Silco told you. The words and tone were genial enough, but there was a sharpness in it that made your nerves thrum. “My offer is the only way to avoid the misfortunes that will fall on the Haven. There are those who will tear this place down if they are not stopped. And I’m certain you remember the last time you chose to ignore my advice about an impending attack.” 

“Security is a smart idea,” you admitted, turning as Silco’s eyes searched your face. “But I can’t pay you for it. I have no money for extraneous expenses and my body is no longer available as a form of payment. I’m not saying you’re wrong about what could happen to the Haven, but the only thing I can do is stand strong against whatever may come.” 

“This is the only time I will give you the opportunity to continue our deal,” Silco warned, Shimmer-infused eye piercing as he stared at you. “The moment I leave the Haven, we are finished. Do not be foolish.” 

You bowed your head, hoping a show of subservience would be enough to push him out of the Haven. Silco was always a little more rational when he thought that he had succeeded in making his point. “I understand that the offer is only good for right now, but unfortunately, I cannot accept. Thank you for giving me the chance to make a choice.” 

“You will regret this,” he warned, anger flashing across his scarred face as he stalked through your door and toward the front door of the Haven. 

You closed the door a moment before you collapsed against it, a fine trembling in every limb and digit. Silco always took it personally when a deal fell through. And an offended Silco liked to soothe his indignation with a little murder. You were getting better about defending yourself against attacks, but you wouldn’t bet on yourself against Silco. It was all for the best that he had left in some semblance of peace. 

As you settled to work on the piles of paperwork lying across your desk, you had to push away another twinge of regretful lust. You had done the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.

---

Author's Note - This was not my most elegant chapter, but I needed to show how things are progressing in the Haven and the Undercity as a whole. If it helps, every remaining chapter is one I'm very proud of. This is just my awkward little baby who had to leave home before I felt it was ready.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'll see you next month!

[quack-quack-snacks]

Flaming Hearts

My Navigation and Masterlist

Pairing(s): Void Stiles x Phoenix!Fem!Reader Summary: You were always treated like an outcast by the pack. When the nogitsune takes over Stiles's body, he shows you how good being the outcast can feel Warnings: smut, pwp, mean McCall pack, EXTREME OVERSTIMULATION, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink (tehe), eye contact, vaginal penetration, masochistic Void (kinda for like half a scene), sweet Void, commentary during the deed which is lowkey cringe in some spots my bad y’all, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, reader is not on birth control, Void lowkey baby trapping reader, a lil manipulation but like not bad, updated to have no use of (y/n), I think that’s it lmk if there's more. MINORS CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK. YOU KNOW THE WARNINGS YOU’VE READ THEM A THOUSAND TIMES. Word Count: 10,086

This was a very self-indulgent fic and I’m not sorry.

Pt 2 will be linked here when done.

BRO IS BEAUTIFUL WHAT

(GIFs are by @scuddish thank you scuddish for your wonderful contribution)

Life was cruel, but it made up for it with gifts.

You were new in town, a transfer student, living in a single bedroom apartment that was provided for you by your mother as well as helped by the government of Beacon Hills. You’d felt a calling to be here for the longest time and you were relieved your mom let you go. All throughout the first two weeks of your time attending the new school, you were desperately searching for friends or somewhere to fit into with no luck. On one extremely anxious day, you escaped your class to go to the girl’s locker room and break down there.

Until you saw two boys in there. The shock of two boys being in the Female locker room was enough to shake you out of your panicked state and make you wipe the tears from your eyes. With your vision no longer blurred, you could see the claws on his hands and the intense sideburns and fangs.

When once brown eyes turned a bright glowing amber, your body decided that was too much.

And you fainted.

The pack took you in after that - almost as an apology for making you faint - and allowed you to join their group since you knew about the supernatural now. They let you sit with them, invited you to sleepovers - Allison and Lydia mostly but Scott and Isacc surprisingly asked once. You were so happy to finally find a place that you fit in.

Except they never really let you join completely. No trust other than friendly-non supernatural related matters trust was placed in you despite the continuous ways you proved yourself. Being human, you were outcasted in the group of outcasts. Stiles was human but he was the brains. He discovered things no one else could, he was the detective of the group.

You were more like an emotional support human that was only needed like 2% of the time.

Noah Stilinski, the sweetheart that he is and despite his son’s deepest complaints, took over your living situation and let you stay with them for the year while you attended school at Beacon Hills.

Perfect fucking precious Stiles. He was infinitely the worst one in the group. At first he just avoided you at all costs until his dad decided to room you in the same house as him. Ever since, he’d been sending you glares anytime you were in his visibility and would blame you for the simplest of things despite obviously being the cause of them. He was so hard to get along with. Seeing how he acted around everyone else besides you and how everyone else acted around each other made everything worse. You knew you couldn’t leave because of Noah’s insistence to stay here and your mother not paying for housing anymore since she knew of your improved situation.

You also didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to leave these people. The only friends you can remember having. Those who, despite how they cast you out, have treated you decently well, at the very least sometimes, and took you in at your most vulnerable moment.

Stiles just seemed to hate you for whatever reason.

You sighed as you walked through the front door to the Stilinski household. A sigh escaped your mouth as the door closed behind you.

You called out into the house to let anyone home know of your presence. “I’m back!”

The house was eerily quiet and no response hit your ears. You shrugged it off with the thought of all occupants just being out and were a bit relieved you could have the house to yourself for a bit. They barely let you off on your own. Even now when you spent your time out of the house, you were accompanied by Lydia.

You shrugged your rain coat off your shoulders and took off your muddied boots, not wanting to track it into the house and have an excuse for Stiles to hate you even more. Your bones ached from the long day, having been running around all day trying to do whatever you could to help find Stiles. He had been missing for a while and the group barely filled you in on what was happening, just giving you the quick and vague summary about a nogitsune and a missing Stilinski.

With a sigh, you plopped down onto the living room couch and leaned your head on the back cushion. Your eyes closed and you took a moment to just listen to the quiet around you, the only sound the pitter patter of the pouring rain on the roof and windows. It was calm, peaceful even. You couldn’t remember a time where your life wasn’t a chaotic mess since meeting the pack. You sunk more into the cushions and pulled your knees to your chest while grabbing the TV remote and switching it to your favorite channel.

It was all so dark. So dark yet so comforting. Calloused fingertips caressed your forehead and brushed the hair out of your face. You could feel yourself being brought out of the heavenly ignorant bliss the darkness gave you and groaned in complaint. The fingertips stilled on your hairline, slowly retracting and you let out another sound of complaint.

A soft chuckle that sounded familiar but just out of reach for your sleep hazed brain echoed through the room. You felt yourself slipping back into the darkness when the familiar voice spoke.

“They don’t treat you very well do they, dove?”

Your eyes opened almost hesitantly and when you saw the voice’s face you gasped.

There he was. Stiles Stilinski in the flesh, and yet he seemed so different. His skin was paler, his eye bags sunken in and were a light purple. He looked… hot.

You shook that thought away the moment it popped into your head.

His hand, now resting on your cheek with a gentle grip, was feverish, almost to the point of uncomfort, but not quite.

And then you realized.

It was Stiles.

“Oh my god! Stiles what the hell?” You shot up to sit straight but his hand holding your cheek quickly traveled to your throat and he forced you back down, not holding enough to restrict air flow or hurt, but enough for you to get the message not to move. That and the glare he gave you. A sound of surprise sounded from your mouth unwillingly. “Um.” your eyes traveled from his unnaturally dark eyes to the wrist of the hand wrapped around your neck. “Okay, haha, you’re really funny but you can let go now.” You tried to laugh it off and deescalate the situation despite your growing weariness.

“Now why would I do that, when you look so pretty wearing my hand as a necklace?” He tilted his head and his eyes ran over your body slowly, seeing you shift under his gaze and his smirk growing with each movement.

“Wha- huh?” That was about all the words you could say, nothing coherent coming out of your mouth as you weren’t sure if you were flustered, annoyed, or turned on.

Maybe it was all three.

“Stiles, stop messing around. Everyone has been worried sick about you, they’ve spent the last 2 days searching for you nonstop. We need to call Scott and let him know you’re here and okay.” Although ‘okay’ doesn’t seem like the correct term. Sure, Stiles seemed unharmed, despite the obvious lack of sleep showing on his face - although that was relatively normal for him and his insomnia - but his tone, posture, and manners were way different. It almost seemed as if he had become a different person overnight.

He chuckled again, even his voice seemed deeper. Darker. “Oh I’m sure Scott knows exactly how I’m doing, considering I was at school earlier today. Oh… wait, they didn’t tell you, did they?” His face shifted into a mocking pout. “Poor little dove, outcast even in a place surrounded by people of supernatural abilities. The outcast of the outcasts. A fitting title don’t you think?” His words stung a little but it was nothing you yourself hadn’t already thought of. Him saying it just confirmed your thoughts.

“I mean, they don’t trust you at all. Despite everything you have put yourself through to prove yourself to them, they’ve just pushed it all to the side just because you’re different.” You were getting sick of him taunting you, just approving everything you’ve been telling yourself for the past two months. You rolled your eyes in annoyance and, fed up, you raised your hands to his wrist and tried to pry it off your neck. As soon as your fingers touched the skin of his hand - with a speed you barely saw - he removed his hand from your neck, using both hands to grab your wrists and pin them above your head to the couch’s armrest. He smirked at your dumbfounded expression and shocked stutters.

“You see, I’ve been watching it for a while now, the faltered smiles when one of them would make a comment to the group and cast you out. When they talked about their plans at lunch when you weren’t sitting with them yet and immediately shutting up when you got into ear shot. The way when even you don’t know, they are always following you, always watching. Making sure you were being a good girl.” He smirked once again and shifted your hands to be held by only one of his. The, now freed, hand forced your curled up legs to straighten and then he moved to straddle above you. You were pretty sure your eyes could just pop out of their sockets by how wide they were. His face dipped down and he pressed his nose to your jugular, his lips just barely touching your skin and lightly brushing against it when he talked again.

“But you’ve always been a good girl, haven’t you?” Your breath caught as his teeth lightly skimmed over your neck, canines feeling more elongated and sharper than normal. A shiver went down your spine as his tongue peeked out and slid up your neck until he was right next to your ear.

“Will you be a good girl for me now, dove?”

A whimper almost escaped your bite swollen lips at the pet name, your cheeks heating up and a warmth swirling in your core. “S-Stiles, what’s gotten into you?”

He growled and bit down on your neck harshly, making you release a yelp before it transformed into a muffled moan as he smoothed his tongue over it. “Don’t. Call me that.”

“Call you what? Your name?” You asked, so confused by everything that was happening. Confused on why Stiles was acting this way, confused by why he wouldn’t call Scott, confused on why now of all times your attraction to Stiles had to come out.

You’ve always thought Stiles was attractive. The muscles he hid underneath his baggy flannels, the short glimpse you would see whenever he took his lacrosse jersey off after practice or a game before heading to the locker rooms, and that pretty face that haunted your dreams. Now, it seemed the attraction was even worse because of this new arrogant, cocky, full of himself, and confident attitude. He wasn’t pretty anymore, he was bewitchingly hot.

It also didn’t help that something unmistakable was poking your lower stomach.

“That’s not my name.” He said before quickly positioning himself to be kneeling on the couch in front of you between your legs, your thighs wrapped around his waist and his clothed erection so close to your heat a soft whimper escaped your mouth against your will. He grabbed your neck again, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he smirked and jutted his hips forward.

A gasp that quickly turned into a moan left you and you struggled against his grip on your hands as your cheeks heated, embarrassed by the sounds you were making. You didn’t necessarily want him to stop, you just wanted to cover your mouth so no sound would come out.

As if he could read your thoughts, he spoke. “Oh no no. You’re not going to hide those pretty little noises from me. In fact,” he leaned his face in close, your noses touching and lips inches apart. “I’ve decided I’m going to make you unable to stop making them.” His lips met yours as he thrust his clothed sex against yours again, swallowing the moan that left your mouth. He grinded against you, teasingly slow and you could feel his lips turning into a grin as you tried to quiet your whimpers and moans.

Just as his hand managed to unbuckle your pants, your phone rang from the kitchen counter. Stiles broke the kiss and stared at you with an outraged and lust filled look. He let you get up to go answer the phone with an eye roll.

It was Scott.

“Hey Sco-”

His frantic voice panically calling your name cut you off. “Where are you?”

“Uh, I’m… at home? Or- shit, not my home, the Stilinski home.”

A short sigh of relief was heard through the phone. “Okay, good. Stay there. Lock the doors and windows, do not let anyone in. Absolutely no one, do you understand me? No one! Not until we tell you it’s safe.”

“Scott, it's a bit late for that. Stiles came home a while ago, I’m not sure when bu-”

“Stiles is with you?” Scott’s voice yelled through the phone and you winced before replying.

“Yeah we’ve been… in the living room for the past 20 minutes or so.”

“Get the hell out of there,” Scott said sternly with a bit of fear and anxiety mixed in.

“What? Why?”

His voice broke a little as he spoke your name with a fearful tone. “That’s not Stiles.”

A hand landed over your mouth just as you were about to say something else while another gently took the phone from your grasp. The shock and slight fear of the situation took over both your flight and fight senses, leaving freeze as the only option. Stiles, or not-Stiles, brought the phone up to his ear as Scott shouted through it, his every word stated clearly despite being heard through the phone when not on speaker.

“Sorry, Scottie. Why don’t you call back later? Your girl's a little busy right now.” With that, he hung up.

You turned around slowly only to have Stiles, or not-Stiles, standing inches away from you with a massive evil grin shaping his face. You took a step back only to realize you had no room because of the kitchen counter. Not-Stiles took a single step forward and then grabbed the counter on either side of your body, trapping you. He stuck his face into your neck again, breathing deeply before speaking.

“And here I was wanting to drag it out for a while longer.” He leaned back and looked you straight in the eye with the most genuine smile you had seen from him all night, if not ever. “But alas, not today.” He raised his hand and swiftly brought it down to a pressure point on your neck, knocking you out instantly and catching you with a soft grip as you fell. “Until next time, dove.”

A violent shake and iron tight grips on your biceps violently woke you up, Allison standing above your lying position on the Stilinski couch and looking at you with frantic panicked eyes that calmed when she saw you awaken.

“Oh thank god. You had me worried for a moment there.” She grabbed your hand and lifted you more harshly than you would have liked and you rubbed your wrist when she turned away. “Something’s going on. We need to go to Scott’s house, everyone is already there waiting for us.”

You knew better than to ask any questions. They would tell you what they would tell you and nothing more.

Looking around for your phone, you noticed it was nowhere to be seen and you remembered the events of last night.

Last night…

It had been a whole night since you had seen him. Since Scott had called.

Did they really take a whole night to come see you? To make sure you were okay?

The car ride there was silent and you could feel your anxiety rising the more the silence dragged on. A breath of relief left you as you saw Scott’s house pull up. Allison rushed straight into the house, leaving you behind without a second thought and you rolled your eyes to hide the pain it caused you.

When you entered the house, the chattering from the pack in the kitchen stopped abruptly and they all looked at you. Scott hesitated before he took a few steps toward you and brought you into an awkward hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We were all worried.”

You looked around once he let you go and almost scoffed. Oh yeah, they all look really worried. Didn’t have enough time to send someone over to make sue I was alive but they’re so worried.

Over time, they casted you out more and more and became more distant. You were completely left in the dust. Not even just for supernatural matter. Lydia and Allison stopped inviting you for sleepovers; Scott and Isaac stopped having lunch with you outside underneath the apple tree near the lacrosse field; Stiles, funnily enough, was the only one who stayed the same, if not lessened up on the glaring.

You heard a soft speaking from behind you and whipped around to see a sight that made you gasp.

There was Stiles. He was sitting on the couch with a piece of black tape covering his mouth with Melissa sitting next to him, her head in her hands. His eyes shone brightly when he caught sight of you and he tilted his head slightly to the side in a way that made you shift. It was like yesterday’s events were playing on repeat in his eyes and you couldn’t look away.

“I think it’s time we filled you in.” Scott said from behind you and it brought you out of the trance like state Stiles/Not-Stiles had you in.

“Yeah, you’re goddamn right it is.” You said and crossed your arms over your chest. Scott looked slightly shocked at your behavior and scratched the back of his neck. Just as he was about to open his mouth, you interrupted him. “Don’t even. I am getting so sick of how you all treat me. I have proven myself over and over again and you all just refuse to believe that I am on your side. What do I have to do for you to trust me? Do I need to sacrifice a lamb for you to trust me, oh my Lord Jesus Christ?” The last sentence was uttered with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Your outburst left everyone temporarily paralyzed in shock - as you had barely ever raised your voice at them - before a loud, albeit muffled, cackle interrupted the odd silence. You didn’t even have to turn around to know the Stiles imposter was looking at the show with mirth filled eyes.

“We- we never meant-” Scott started.

“Oh shut up, now is not the time for your excuses. Not to mention you practically left me for dead last night after you called, Scottie.” You spat his name out with a venom coated tongue as you interrupted him again and rolled your eyes. “Just fill me in on whatever the hell has happened to Stiles so we can all move on in our lives.”

He nodded and started to tell you everything about the nogitsune, how he had taken over Stiles, how he had stabbed Scott, how he almost killed Kira. By the end of the story you were surprisingly not even phased, whether that be because your mind was used to everything being crazy in your life while involved with the pack or how you just didn’t care. It’s not like they ever treated you that well, sure they were your friends but they were your friends by convenience and force, not choice.

And Void, that is what the nogitsune possessing Stiles’ body was called, well, he was just something else. The events yesterday may be shifting your bias but it was undeniable. You had felt an attraction like never before during those short and blissful moments. It didn’t even feel like Stiles. You know that even if Stiles had ever done something like that, he would never have had the confidence like Void did. And it was a feeling that made you squirm in your seat on the kitchen stool.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled and you risked a glimpse behind to see Void already glaring into your eyes, his eyes darkened by a feeling you could only describe as complete and utter desire.

He wanted you. And if the chance were to come, who were you to deny him?

After 10 minutes of trying to figure out a plan and speaking in hushed tones to avoid Void hearing, Lydia had given in and called someone, you didn’t know who but it seemed everyone else did.

Once again they left you out. Even after you lectured them about how much they did that.

More waiting happened until the bang of the front door being slammed open interrupted your increasingly anxious thoughts. With a too gleeful expression for the situation on his face, the one and only Peter Hale stood in the doorway with his arms opened in a grand gesture.

You all gave him a deadpan stare.

He rolled his eyes and walked up to all of you, more specifically, to you. He tilted his head as he noticed your eyes. You turned your head to control yourself. When you were anxious, or just feeling any strong emotion, your eyes seemed as if the irises caught on fire. They were frighteningly beautiful.

And you hated them.

As your heart steadied and you raised your head back to the group again, Peter’s interested gaze had shifted away from you and to Lydia with a knowing look before walking to Stiles. As he crouched in front of him and inspected his state of being, he spoke. “He doesn’t look like he would survive a slap across the face, much less the bite of a werewolf.” You assumed Lydia already filled him in on what the situation was and what the plan was.

“You don’t think it would work?” Scott asked anxiously as he picked at the skin around his fingers.

“This is more a war of the mind than the body.” Peter stood back up to his full height. “There are better methods to winning this battle.” The mischievous glimpse in his eyes made you worried about what these ‘better methods’ were.

“What methods are you thinking of?” the veterinarian, Deaton, asked, his expression also showing concern.

Peter turned to face the rest of you. “We’re going to get in his head.”

As soon as he said that, he walked toward Lydia and roughly grabbed her by the elbow. With her being right next to me, you instinctively reached out and grabbed the wrist attached to the hand holding her. Peter’s loud unbridled yelp of pain made you rip your hand off him and he cradled his wrist as you caught a glimpse of it.

It was completely scorched.

Your face morphed into one of horror as your eyes flicker between the burn marks on his wrist that were, thankfully, already healing and the ashes on your palm.

“Oh my god! What did you do?” Lydia screamed at you and panicked as she grabbed Peter's arm, careful not to touch the wound.

“I- I didn’t- I don’t-” You kept trying to speak but your mind was panicking and your body was overwhelmed with shock and fear. Fear of yourself.

“It’s quite alright Lydia.” Peter said after a second when his hand had healed for the most part, it seemed the wound looked much worse than it actually was and all that remained was a red handprint and some ashes.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what happened.” You held the hand you used to your chest as if to protect everyone else from it. Deaton walked up from behind you and put his hand on your shoulder before flinching away.

“Your skin is burning. Scott, get her some ice.” Scott rushed to the fridge and brought out an ice pack. He practically shoved it into your hands before pulling his hand away quickly. He tried to hide it but his eyes showed fear.

It hurt, seeing them all looking at you like that. They tried to hide it but they looked at you the same way they looked at Void. They looked at you like you were a monster.

The ice pack in your hands was such a contrast to your burning skin that it forced your brain to focus on its contrasting temperature until you realized it was melting through your palms. You quickly hid your hands and the melted plastic of the ice pack in your pockets before anyone could see.

Anyone besides the boy sitting on the couch that is.

Peter reached for Lydia again, slowly this time and much gentler than before. You didn’t even look at them as they walked away, choosing instead to just stand there with your eyes focused on the hand you burned the man with.

After a while, they came back to the group and you all migrated to the couch where Stiles sat. You avoided his eyes like the plague, knowing they were zoned in on your every move and smiling in delight when he knew he’d gotten to you with just his mere presence.

Lydia was seated on one end of the couch, Void the other, with Scott standing behind the couch in the middle of them. Peter moved Scott’s fingers to align with the correct place to connect them all into Stiles’ mind palace.

“So what do we do if we do find him?” Scott asked.

“You’re going to have to guide him out somehow…” Peter replied vaguely which caused Scott and Lydia to both become increasingly annoyed and you rested your elbows on your knees before holding your head in your hands.

“Could you elaborate on ‘somehow?’ It’s not feeling very specific at the moment.” Lydia sighed with a slight roll of her eyes.

Peter shrugged, “Improvise.”

“Mm. Improvise he says.” you muttered under your breath but everyone ignored you.

Everyone except the murderous brown eyes burning a hole through your skull.

“What if this is just another trick?” Scott worried.

The grown wolf groaned in annoyance and exasperation. “When are you people going to start trusting me?”

You scoffed, thinking the exact same thing.

Scott’s eyes flickered between you and the hyena before he said, “I meant him.” And pointed to the possessed body on the couch. You finally raised your gaze to watch the scene unfold and felt your heart settle into your lower region when you saw Void. His head leaned against the back of the couch, tilted to the side as his eyes were focused on you, an enchanting and hungry look settling in his eyes as they gazed at you. He gave you a slow once over and everything around you tuned out as you felt your body heat up and pool in your panties. You could tell, if the black tape covering his lips was off, he would be sporting a very arrogant smirk.

A synchronized gasp from all three members near the couch broke your gaze with him as his eyes closed and his head fully fell against the back of the couch, face now facing the ceiling.

You almost stood up to go to him before a sigh from Peter faltered your movements and he spoke.

“Now we wait.”

And wait you did. It seemed like time was not in your favor when everything your life had become to know as normal was at stake. It couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes, but to you?

It felt like hours.

Blood dripped down Lydia’s nose and Peter ran up to her, shaking her as he screamed at her to concentrate and that she was stronger than this.

Personally, you couldn’t draw your eyes away from Void. His breathing was soft, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed and chest rising and falling with each inhale and outhale.

Meanwhile another Hale was pissing you off.

Just as you were about to call him out for being too loud, A collective gasp from the two non-possessed members near the couch once again interrupted you.

Melissa rushed toward Lydia to help her and Scott took a few deep breaths before focusing all his attention to the Stiles look-alike. “Did it work?” He asked frantically. You sighed and rested your head against your knees, arms wrapping around your shins to hug yourself in disappointment, the anticipation disintegrating into the thin air.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” Lydia stood up quickly and rushed to Peter, demanding answers he evidently couldn’t provide.

“Because it’s not science, Lydia, it’s supernatural.” Peter sighed before grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him menacingly and they spoke in hushed whispers before Void shot forward onto his knees to the floor.

Like a circus act, a seemingly unending length of fabric spit from Void’s mouth and he used both hands to pull it out. Unnerving moments went by as everyone watched before all the scarf-like material was out of his mouth and he scrambled back to sit on the couch again, panting with his head resting against the cushion and his eyes closed.

There was clattering and yells to the side but you just stood carefully and walked to where Stiles was sitting on the couch. You sighed in nervousness before touching his shoulder softly and attempting to comfort him since all the others of the pack were focused on the clump of fabric behind you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, everything will work out. Just calm down.” You went to pull your hand away as his breathing slowed but he reached up and grabbed it with a speed non-human. Your heartbeat started rising again as the realization dawned on you.

He opened his eyes and looked at you with a smirk and heavy lidded eyes. “You’re right dove.” He tugged on your hand and you fell forward into him, his free arm wrapping around your waist aggressively. Or was it possessively? “Everything will work out.”

You awoke in a cold concrete walled room, the only warmth over you being your clothes and a soft woven blanket that did a surprisingly good job at staving off the chill. A soft padded queen size mattress with no support laid underneath to separate you from the frigid floor. You couldn’t remember passing out but you knew exactly where you were.

Or rather, who you were with.

Getting a sense of deja vu, calloused fingertips traced over your forehead to your hairline before going back again in a figure 8 pattern.

Your heart beat rose and his fingers trailed from your forehead to your neck, right over your pulse. You opened your eyes and looked at him where he sat; he looked genuinely happy, in a sick, twisted way. Despite how comforting the smile was, it sent shivers down your back that you couldn’t tell were pleasant or not.

“Hi dove.”

His voice broke you out of the trance his hypnotizing eyes put you under every time. You sat up quickly and scooted away from him, falling off the bed - luckily not falling down far because of how low the mattress was to the ground - and looked at him with conflicted thoughts and emotions.

He looked faux surprised and hurt by your actions, standing up and walking toward you as you scrambled to your feet to get away from him. “What’s wrong? You were so enthusiastic about it earlier, what changed?” You gasped as your back hit the concrete of the wall and he cornered you, one hand going to rest against the wall next to your head and the other holding your waist under your shirt. His fingers against your skin felt incredibly hot compared to the cold seeping through your shirt from the wall. He leaned in to speak again and his breath hit your lips with every word. “I promise I won't bite.”

Liar.

He leaned into your neck but didn’t touch you, only letting you feel the heat emanating from his body but not the skin. He took a deep breath in and you had to bite your lip and clench your eyes shut to stop yourself from falling to his feet.

It hadn’t gone away. The undeniable urge to just jump his bones and feel more of that pleasure he seemed so willing to offer.

“But of course, it's no fun if you don’t consent…” he leaned back and the hand that was previously on the wall next to your head traveled to your neck which he tilted upwards to lengthen your neck and looked at you with a smirk and hungry eyes ready to devour you. “So why don’t you be a good girl and tell me how much you want this,” he leaned in and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, “I can practically hear you throbbing.”

A soft whimper left you when his hand on your waist drifted to tug your pants down the slightest bit but never went farther without you answering. A few moments of silence passed, only interrupted by your soft pants, and he sighed in disappointment, his grip on your neck and waist slowly being removed.

Your eyes shot open from their closed state, you didn’t stop to think about when they had closed, and you grabbed his hands before they could leave your body. He looked at you expectantly and you opened and closed your mouth like a fish a few times before answering him with a soft and whispered: “I want it.”

His grip returned to your skin but his hand tugging your pants traveled back to your waist to draw little shapes there, tickling you just the slightest bit. “Oh dove, I’m proud of you for trying, but that’s not what I want.” His hand around your throat tightened pleasantly. “I want you to beg.”

Your eyes widened and you forced your cheeks to cool and swallowed your pride.

“Please?” You tried, weakly.

“Oh I know you can do better than that. Try again.” He didn’t say it as a suggestion.

With a deep breath and your hand, still around the wrist grabbing your neck, tightening, you did what he wanted.

You begged.

“Please, please I want it. I do, please, just… just do something, please! Anything! Please… P-please.”

He had a pleased smirk on his face as he leaned in so you were only a few inches apart. You could feel his breath on your neck with every exhale.

“How much do you want?” He taunted.

“Everything. Whatever you'll give me.” You told him with a tone of desperation.

He smirked and looked at you approvingly before crushing his lips against yours in a brutal kiss that sent you to cloud 9. Your hands traveled to his hair and you pulled on it roughly as you kissed back with just as much fervor. You felt him groan into the kiss and you grinned, but it soon faded as a moan formed when he pressed his fingertips to your core through your pants.

“My, my. All this just from kissing? You flatter me.” He spoke against your lips in a low tone. You knew exactly what he was talking about. You were absolutely soaked. The moment he started walking toward you, you felt the warmth in your core building and it hadn’t stopped since. Your head fell back against the wall and Void kissed down your neck to your collarbone, leaving bruises and hickeys in his wake. Applying more pressure, he dragged his hand up your core, pausing momentarily to draw tiny intense circles to your clit before using his hand to skillfully undo the buttons and pull your pants down. He broke the kiss to kneel down before you and look you straight in the eyes as he dragged the pants down your legs excruciatingly slowly. You hadn’t noticed previously but now realized your shoes were gone.

Who would’ve thought Void wouldn’t want dirty shoes on the mattress. Huh.

He stood back up to his full height and looked down at you as he rubbed your heat over your panties. He studied every expression you made and committed them to memory. His expression soon changed to one of annoyance, angry at the lack of skin to skin contact between the two of you. He ripped the undergarment into pieces before taking a step back to strip off his shirt. He paused just as he was about to step to you again.

You squirmed under his gaze as he gave you a long once over and his eyes stopped on yours. Another emotion in his eyes, one you couldn’t quite recognize, clouded over his lust temporarily. “What?” You asked self consciously and moved your hands to cover yourself, thinking he didn’t like your body.

Before your hands could even reach past your hips, he reached out and grabbed each wrist, ignoring your shocked gasp and pinned them against the wall beside your head. “Don’t ever fucking do that again. You’re insecure? You don’t think you’re attractive?” He taunted angrily. He pressed his lower body into yours, his rather large, clothed, erection pressing to your bare clit as he grinded it into you. You moaned and he leaned into your neck again, being much rougher than he was a minute ago. “Ya feel that? That is all you dove. You fucking did that to me. You do that to me wearing baggy clothes and no makeup. You do that to me fresh out of bed in the morning with your hair in knots. You’re doing that to me right now, trapped between me and the wall, a silly shirt covering your divine breasts and nothing else.” He bit down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood and you let out a loud moan. “You’ll take responsibility for it soon enough.” He arranged your hands to touch and he grabbed them both with one hand, the other sliding down, spending time to caress your breasts and pinch your nipples through the thin shirt fabric. He moved lower and lower until he reached your heat and thrust two fingers in with no warning. Without even letting you adjust, not that you really needed to with how wet you were, he started pounding his fingers into you. You started moaning uncontrollably and struggled to get out of his grip to hold onto something. He humored you and released your hands. Immediately they fell to his shoulders and then wrapped around his neck to pull his face into your neck where he started to leave his love bites. He grabbed the back of your right thigh and lifted it, wrapping it around his waist which allowed him to hit deeper. With every thrust, he curled his fingers and they hit you right in your pleasure spot.

Soon enough you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. It built and built and you warned Void about what was incoming.

“Oh that’s right, cum on my fingers dove. Let me know who makes you feel this good. Stiles could never fuck you like this. He could never bring you to such pleasure. To the point where your every bone quakes and sings in an overwhelming amount of pleasure that I alone am giving you.” His grip on your waist tightened to the line bordering between pain and pleasure just as his thrusts sped up to a pace faster than you believed even possible.

“Cum.”

And you did just that. Your bones really did quake and sing with pleasure. Your body writhed and you thrust yourself against Void’s fingers, grinding yourself through your orgasm despite him not slowing down and riding you through too.

Your orgasm slowed down to a stop and you took a deep breath before another loud and unrestricted moan released during your exhale and you noticed Void had yet to stop or even slow down.

“Ah, st-slow do-down-! It’s-ah-it’s too much!” You begged and yet he just smirked and increased his pace.

“Oh sweetheart, isn’t this what you wanted? You told me you wanted everything, you wanted all of it.” You swallowed in a lust filled fear as he smirked even wider. “So darling, you are going to take all of it.”

He led you on to another orgasm by his fingers alone. Your puffy clit was begging for attention after being neglected for so long. When you reached your high, he slowed down and pulled his fingers out. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from whining at the emptiness. He brought his fingers to his lips and stared you straight in the eyes as he brought them into his mouth and moaned at the taste.

You blushed and tried to look away until his free hand came up to grab your jaw roughly and force you to face him as he licked and sucked at his fingers, prolonging your embarrassment.

When he was satisfied with how much embarrassment he could feel radiating off you, he pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a pop before he grinned. His hands gently placed themselves on each of your hips and he leaned in until your lips barely grazed each other’s.

“That little taste just makes me want to have more. Which reminds me, I haven’t had my dinner yet. Do you mind?” You tried to lean forward and kiss him but he just leaned his head back until you gave an answer. You nodded your head no and he grinned.

“There’s my good girl.”

He leaned in and kissed you softly, so softly it distracted you from the hands on your hips traveling to your butt and quickly lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. Without moving his feet an inch, the wall behind you suddenly disappeared and he threw you down onto the queen bed mattress. You landed with a small bounce.

You looked at him in shock and confusion but he just grinned and winked.

Teleportation. Huh. Must be a nogitsune thing.

He kneeled down in front of the bed and ripped your shirt off before grabbing your thighs to bring you to the edge. You yelped and stared as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, the backs of your knees curving over them. He gave another little wink before diving in.

You moaned as his lips finally gave attention to your clit and a shock of pleasure swarmed through your veins. Your head fell against the mattress and your eyes clenched shut when the euphoria became too much to your, still sensitive, core.

A loud slap and the stinging on your outer thigh caused you to flick your eyes open and look at the man between your legs.

“The next time you look away from me I will edge you for three new moons.” He spoke right against your cunt and you could feel the vibrations surging through your clit. With a moan, you nodded and adjusted yourself to lean on your elbows and look at him. He brought his tongue out to lick a long stride up your cunt and collected your slick in his mouth before going straight back into his meal.

You had no doubt he would stay true to his word if you looked away, so you kept your eyes firmly on him, despite every protest in your veins to close your eyes when it became too much.

When the coil in your gut built up again, he could feel you approaching your orgasm and looked you right in the eyes. You blushed and were so tempted to look away but he tightened his grip on your thighs in a warning.

You came again for the third time. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him but they fluttered shut every few seconds as he kept licking and sucking at your overstimulated clit.

When he seemed satisfied two mind blowing orgasms later, he climbed up your body, one of your legs falling to surround his waist while the other he kept suspended over his shoulder.

“You did so well. You’re such a good girl, following orders with no questions.” He kissed you and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “They don’t deserve you, they never did.” He murmured against your lips before his head traveled to the curve of your neck and shoulder.

He took his pants and boxers off in no time, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds and over your clit.

Your mind was racing with too many conflicting emotions to comprehend: want, fear, lust, panic. You looked down and saw him.

He was big. Bigger than any guy you’ve ever seen, not that that was many considering you were a virgin.

“I am going to ruin you. No one else will ever be able to make you feel the way I do. Every time you cum from this point on will be from my body, no one else's.” He spoke menacingly while he watched in awe as your overstimulated clit twitched whenever he ran the head of his dick across it. The mushroom tip of his cock caught along your entrance through every glide up and down until he stopped and pushed it fully in.

“Wait, wai-ngh!” You tried but got interrupted by your own moan when he thrusted all the way in to the hilt, his tip pressed against your cervix in a mind blanking way. The sting of the stretch was there but was completely oversighted by the immense pleasure that came with it. You gasped at the feeling and wrapped your arms around his shoulder to scratch at his back. His back quickly covered in nail marks and marks of ash and burned skin.

You gasped in horror at the unwilled release of your fire until he moaned loudly - filled with both pleasure at the pain and entrance of your slick walls. Any sounds he had tried to hide completely spilled out. “Shit, keep doing that d-dove. Mark me all you want. Make me yours. F-feels so good; you’re so tight. Are you a virgin or something? You’re squeezing me to death, I don’t know how much longer I can take with you so tight around me.”

You froze at the accusation and turned your head the opposite of his, not answering his question.

A sigh escaped you when he started leaving kisses on your neck, slowly dragging out of your entrance before entering back just as slowly. An elongated moan left your mouth when he hit a certain spot on his way back in.

“Oh it’s alright my sweet girl. This just means I’m able to take another thing Stiles has been longing for. If only I was able to take your first kiss too.”

You almost missed what he said when he snapped his hips into yours harder and you sputtered unintelligible words at the movement.

“He-agh-he what?” You asked him as he left a soft bite on your clavicle.

“Oh yeah, I don’t think there was a corner of his mind that wasn’t filled with the idea of you. Poor little Stiles couldn’t stop imagining you like this.” He mocked. “He would’ve fucked you with your chest to the bed and you ass sticking up all nice and pretty but I don’t think you’d like that, would you sweet girl?”

Your heart skipped as he rose to look into your eyes. “No, I don't think you would.” He roughly snapped his hips to yours again before putting on a mock sympathetic look. “You want them to look at you as you’re getting pleasure you’ve never before received.” Another harsh thrust and you moaned loudly which he silenced by sticking two fingers in your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. Your lips immediately wrapped around his and you grazed your teeth along the sensitive skin. He tasted like salt and your cum along with a hint of blood. “You want that skin to skin contact as they bring you within an inch of your life and back.” Another thrust. “You want someone to make love to you, no fucking around.”

You moaned especially loud at that. You didn’t want to lose your virginity for something that wasn’t going to mean anything. You’ve known Void for less than two days and yet you feel more connected with him than all the McCall pack combined. It seems he feels the same way from how he’s talking.

“I'm the one who took your first time, and I will be the one to look into your eyes as you receive the pleasure I am giving you; I will be the skin you feel against your own as I move inside you;” He paused for a second as he leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, biting softly on the nub, and smiling as you whimpered in return. “I will be the one to make love to you.”

You grabbed the hand thats fingers were in your mouth and pulled them out before grabbing his cheeks between and pulling him into an aggressive kiss. You whimpered and moaned as he sped up, reaching deeper and deeper with every thrust. The hand that was once in your mouth traveled down your body slowly, smearing your saliva across your nipples as he played with them before settling against your clit. Just the slightest graze from his fingers made your spine arch up into his chest in anticipation and pleasure. He started rubbing figure eights into the pleasure bud, matching them with the pace of his thrusts.

Your lips opened in a moan and Void took the opportunity to shove his tongue against yours. He took control of the kiss instantly and rubbed his tongue along every inch of the inside of your mouth, exploring it like looking for treasure marked on a treasure map.

You tried to speak and warn him about your upcoming orgasm but you couldn’t drive his mouth away from yours, needing to breathe in through your nose every minute or so so you didn’t pass out. He pressed the fingers against your clit down harder as if to encourage you to cum and and you came beautifully. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve experienced tonight if not ever. Your body was shaking in exhaustion after the multiple orgasm you’d received within the last 30 minutes, or was it closer to 2 hours? You weren’t sure but honestly didn’t care. You could feel by the way Void broke the kiss and pushed his head into the crook of your neck along with the tensing of his back muscles that he was nearing his orgasm as well.

Then it occured to you, this whole time he was using no protection.

And you weren’t on birth control.

“N-no-agh-you gotta pull o-out. ‘Might get pre-ngh-pregnant. I’m not on birth c-control.” You focused all your energy on speaking despite the overwhelming overstimulating feeling of him driving his dick into your cervix and his thumb making you lose every thought that came to your head with his torturous but amazing touches.

He suddenly came to a complete stop inside of you. His dick twitched as the only sounds heard were your heavy breath and whines of complaint despite your better judgment.

“You’re not on birth control?” He asked into your neck, skimming his lips along your carotid artery.

“No.” You whispered.

You felt him grin that same evil grin you’ve seen before against your neck before biting down hard on your neck and withdrawing his hips from yours. You cried out at the feelings of pain and emptiness overflowing your senses.

“You don’t wanna have my babies, is that it?” He whispered into your neck with a tone that sounded almost heartbroken. You knew it was fake yet something in you just wanted to comfort him.

“N-no that’s not-”

He sat up abruptly, his cock now only half an inch in your entrance. The leg that rested on his shoulder fell to surround his waist with the other one and he sat back on his heels while grabbing your hips. His face looked so sad as he gazed down at you and yet his eyes seemed to hold a completely different emotion.

“Why not, dove? I’d give you everything.” His grip on your hips tightened and he slowly pulled your hips into his using only the strength of his arms. He slid back into you easily and his tip settled against a spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and mouth opening in a low moan. Void grinned as he saw your reaction before returning to the pitiful look as he drew his hips back out again. His lips quirked up the slightest bit as you whined out. Pulling your hips into his roughly, he kept you there as you moaned louder. “I mean, if you really want me to stop…” He slowly started retreating out of your warmth as he trailed off before your arms wrapped around his neck.

“No!” You yelled before whispering almost like an echo, “No.” You breathed heavily in his ear, sputtering as you tried to get the next sentence out with his tip prodding against your cervix ever so delightfully. “Please don’t stop, y-you just can’t c-cum inside.”

He thrusted roughly into you again and your arms lost all strength as the mind blowing pleasure took over your mind. He repeated that cycle. Slowly pull out, roughly snap back in. Over and over and over. It made you whimper and cry out every time, wishing he would just bring you to the ecstacy you’ve been nearing instead of leaving you teetering on the edge of relief.

“Oh you feel so good baby, gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.” He repeated like a mantra as his hips fastened and he pushed into you even harder.

Your mind was fogging over as you finally got the pleasure you needed to reach your orgasm. You barely had the strength to move your tongue and speak out your protests that were weakening by the second, you actually wanted his cum. You want it to be spilling out as you stand up, soaking your underwear as you walk around. You just were so scared of being pregnant. Your sister got pregnant when she was around your age. Your mother completely freaked when she found out and banished - yes, banished - her from the house forever.

Would Void stay? You still weren’t exactly sure what his intentions with you were. Was he going to kill you after this? Was he going to make you pregnant and leave you alone to raise the child on your own?

Apparently, Void could sense the onslaught of fear and panic creeping into your mind because he shoved his face into your neck and dug the pads of his fingers into your hips even harder. There was surely going to be a bruise the next coming day.

“Oh you’re going to look so good pregnant with my kids. God it just makes me so hard thinking about it. I wonder what they’ll look like, will they have your eyes or mine? God I hope they have yours so I can stare into them all day no matter where I am. This is the one thing I need to do to make you mine. You gonna let me make you mine, Dove? You gonna let me cum inside?” His pace slowed to a comforting, intimate pace. It brought you even closer to the edge just thinking he liked you enough to stay, maybe even loved you from how he was thrusting into you now.

You took a few moments to think about it before your mouth outran your thoughts. “Yes! Yes, Void, please. Please fill me up.”

He kissed your neck softly as his pace fastened again but still kept the intimacy from before. He pushed back the hood of your clit and started rubbing harshly on the overstimulated puffy bud of pleasure, making you lose all coherent thoughts and abilities to do anything but moan out his name. With a stuttered thrust, he pushed in all the way and came inside you. The feeling was enough to make you fall over the edge right with him. You both laid there in each-others arms while you tried to catch your breathing.

Void caught his a lot faster.

With a chuckle, and his dick as hard as when you started, he grabbed both of your legs, raising them so they were resting on his shoulders and he had you in the mating press and pressed your thighs against your breasts as he thrust into you with no reprieve. He pulled out of you before pushing back in, a torturously slow pace that made your body writhing and squirming. You gasped at the feeling and squirmed in his hold from the overstimulation. This new position made it so he hit your g-spot on every thrust in with no effort. As he brought one hand down to your clit again and rubbed so deliciously hard and slow, just like the pace he had set for his thrusts into you, you couldn’t take it anymore and came yet again. He had brought you to another orgasm in less than 2 minutes.

“Oh, you didn’t think we were done yet, did you, Dove? We have to make sure it sticks, don’t we baby? Gotta get you nice and knocked up with my kids. We can’t just stop now.”

With each slow thrust and the overstimulation, it didn’t take long before you came again and Void had the biggest smirk on his face as he watched you.

“V-void! P-ple-I can-can’t take anymore. I can't, I can't, I can't!”

He just laughed at you and your protesting words, capturing your hands that were weakly trying to push him away and forcing them to stay above your head where they were restricted of all movement. He pressed down even harder on your clit and you let out a yelp of a moan as you could feel another knot forming. “Darling, you don’t get to decide what’s too much. I'm in charge here, Dove, and you’re done when I say you’re done. You’ll take as much as I give you.”

His words turned you on so much more which surprised you as you didn’t think you could be any more turned on. You came once more and could tell by how Void’s face scrunched up in pleasure that he was reaching his limit as well. His dick pulsed inside of you, each vein had a throbbing heartbeat that struck so painfully good against your walls.

“One more, just one more, Dove. Give me one more.” He groaned out as he held his own orgasm back and rubbed rigorously at your clit while his pace increased to an unfathomable level. Finally, as you came yet again, Void released inside of you again.

He collapsed on top of you, his head landing on your chest, pillowed by your breasts. He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth as his slick fingers resumed their torture of your extremely overstimmulated clit. They rubbed slowly but it felt so much more intense than all the previous times that he had brought you pleasure. It burned in the best way possible.

“One more, come on, I know you have one more in you.” He encouraged, again. It seemed like he would just never stop.

He was utterly insatiable.

You came once more for the final time of the night and Void rewarded you with kisses scattered all across your chest for all of your efforts.

With your eyes barely able to remain open. and your limbs drained of any energy, Void looked at you with a soft look and gathered you in his arms. He grabbed the blanket that had been kicked off during the time of your… activities, and covered the both of you with it.

With his cock still deep inside of you, keeping everything he spent trapped within you, he whispered, “Good night, Dove,” and pressed a kiss to your temple. That night, you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling more safe and at home than you have ever been before.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

after an extra busy weak covering things at the hotel so the morningstars can have some family time, vaggie wakes up with a blinding stress headache and charlie whisks her back into bed to rest because she, charlie, can TOTALLY manage the hotel on her own for one day! 100% there is nothing to worry about!

vaggie is worried. she has all the faith in her girlfriend and none left over for the other hotel residents. charlie spins it as 'please rest? for me??' request though so she let's herself be kept in their room listening to Very Concerning Noises from outside as charlie pops in regularly to bring snacks and smile tensely and swear things are completely fine she just felt like setting part of her suit on fire today! vaggie's not convinced. vaggie's headache is getting worse. around dinner time charlie is late checking in with her and then from somewhere below charlie is yelling FUCK!!! and vaggie is out of bed armed and downstairs in three murderously angelic wing flaps

there used to be a wall between the main hall and the kitchen.

there isn't anymore, so she can see exactly when everyone freezes in place and stares back at her.

what, she askes, are they doing. charlie tries to laugh and say nothing nothing just cooking but she's also got her horns out and alastor in a headlock, so vaggie turns to angel dust instead.

why is the wall missing? because cherri is here helping. why is there an empty wine bottle next to the ominously bubbling pot? because husk is helping. why is angel's ass on the countertop? because looking pretty is how he's helping. why is niffy stirring the ominous wine goop with a knife- no it's niffy never mind. why is one of sir pretentious' eggs teetering on the edge of the pot as if about to dive in? because alastor is here NOT helping

why, then, is ANY of this happening....? because everyone was bored, no one had been threatened at the end of a spear all day, they followed charlie into the kitchen and heard vaggie was sick. so.

the thing in the pot, charlie admits weakly as her hold on alastor's neck tightens, was supposed to be soup, to help her get better. sooner. bc charlie can run the hotel alone for a day but oh she REALLY doesn't want to.

vaggie checks the soup. the only way it's curing her headache is by making her dead. charlie drops alastor and droops dejectedly only to see vaggie smiling, a glint in her eye. everyone who is not charlie tries to edge away but it's too late- they are all going to obey their new kitchen commanding officer and follow her orders on how to actually make soup or they're gonna wish THEY were the ones being chopped up and caramelized on the bottom of a cooking pot (no niffty, you can't volunteer) (no angel, boosting moral is not a valid contribution, get off your ass and wipe down the counter top)

a few hours later dinner is raging with everyone fighting over second helpings (except alastor who's prodding his cooked food with a grin of horror) and vaggie leans in to thank charlie quietly. what for, charlie asks? for not telling everyone that the only 'sick' vaggie had really been was sick of them. she's feeling a lot better now. they're not so bad, really.... or at least they're kinda worth it anyway

charlie smiles softly. she'd almost let the truth slip when she'd gotten kinda sick of them too, at the point when they all crowed into the kitchen after her- then she'd realized they wanted to know why vaggie hadn't been around and had maybe been causing such a ruckus because they missed her, a little bit

they share a proud moment, gently holding hands. then they duck as alastor static shrieks and throws his soup across the room, revealing the egg bois who'd been soaking at the bottom of it like a hot tub

tomorrow it'll be charlie who stays in bed all day with a headache