#Fiber and Fabric Protection

[vastiitas]

last ooc post of the night, but cole also used to carry a ojo de dios, or tsikuri, in his early years of travel. despite his dispossession to religion at this pt in time, it was a gift from another kid at the orphan homes before he leaves for good. he adds to the woven yarn over time after stealing his first horse, maintaining it now and then in the quiet hours. I think he still posseses it during his years in Deadlo.ck, yarn by then softened by wear and age.

[conductive-fabric]

Silver Fiber vs. Nickel Copper Fabric: A Comparative Analysis of Conductive Textiles

In the world of innovative textiles, conductive fabrics have gained significant attention due to their ability to integrate electronics and enhance functionality. Among the various conductive fabrics available, silver fiber fabric and nickel-copper fabric are two popular choices. In this blog post, we will compare these two materials and explore their characteristics, applications, and benefits.

Silver fiber fabric, as the name suggests, is a textile infused with silver fibers. Silver, being an excellent conductor of electricity, imparts conductive properties to the fabric. The silver fibers are either blended with other fibers or woven into the fabric to create a conductive pathway. This unique composition allows for the efficient transmission of electrical signals and currents across the fabric surface.

On the other hand, nickel-copper fabric consists of a blend of nickel and copper fibers. Nickel provides excellent corrosion resistance and durability, while copper offers high electrical conductivity. This combination makes nickel-copper fabric an ideal choice for applications where longevity and conductivity are crucial.

When comparing these two materials, several factors come into play:

Conductivity: Both silver fiber fabric and nickel-copper fabric exhibit excellent electrical conductivity. However, silver is known for its highest electrical conductivity among all metals. This gives silver fiber fabric an edge in terms of overall performance in conducting electricity.

Durability: Nickel copper fabric is renowned for its exceptional durability and resistance to corrosion. It can withstand harsh environmental conditions, making it suitable for applications where longevity is important. Silver fiber fabric, although less durable than nickel copper fabric, still maintains good overall durability.

Cost: Silver is a precious metal, and consequently, silver fiber fabric tends to be more expensive compared to nickel-copper fabric. The cost factor is an important consideration for large-scale production and cost-sensitive applications.

Applications: Both silver fiber fabric and nickel-copper fabric find applications in various industries. Silver fiber fabric is commonly used in wearable technology, smart textiles, and electromagnetic shielding. Its high electrical conductivity and antimicrobial properties make it suitable for applications such as medical garments and electronic accessories. Nickel copper fabric is often employed in applications that require robust grounding or electromagnetic interference (EMI) shielding, such as protective clothing, aerospace, and military equipment.

One notable application worth mentioning is the grounding recovery bag, which is used for electromagnetic radiation protection during electronic device usage. This bag utilizes conductive textiles to create a Faraday cage-like enclosure, effectively blocking external electromagnetic signals. Both silver fiber fabric and nickel-copper fabric can be used for this purpose, depending on the specific requirements of the application.

In summary, silver fiber fabric and nickel copper fabric are two types of conductive textiles that offer unique advantages and applications. While silver fiber fabric boasts superior electrical conductivity, nickel-copper fabric excels in terms of durability and cost-effectiveness. The choice between these materials ultimately depends on the specific requirements of the intended application.

As technology continues to advance, conductive textiles like silver fiber fabric and nickel-copper fabric will play an increasingly significant role in enhancing the functionality and performance of various products. Whether it's wearable technology, medical garments, or electromagnetic shielding, these conductive fabrics open up a world of possibilities for innovative and integrated solutions.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Heat Intolerance

This disability pride month I'd like to talk about heat intolerance. Because honestly although it's not the first health issue that presented symptoms in my life. It was the first time I was like "I don't think my body works right".

And honestly given disability pride month is during one of the hottest months in the year. It seems fitting. Especially because there's a lot of disabilities and medications that cause it.

What is heat intolerance?

Simply speaking it's the inability for the body to regulate it's temperatures especially in hot settings to cool itself down.

Why is awareness important?

Because gaslighting people or worse not providing them a place to cool down just because you "feel fine" is extremely fucking dangerous.

What are the medicines that can cause heat intolerance?

Antihistamines (Allergy medications) . Decongestants (Sudafed or any medication that has the D at the end of it). Stimulants (ADHD medications. Steroids. Caffeine.) Beta-blockers (blood pressure medications). Overactive bladder treatment. Psychiatric medications (including but not limited to medications for depression and anxiety). Pain relievers. Antibiotics.

What medical conditions can cause heat intolerance?

EDS (Elhers-Danlos syndrome). Autism. ADHD. Migraines. Brain/spinal-cord injury. Sensory processing disorder. Chronic fatigue syndrome. Endocrin problems. POTS. Menopause. Hypothyroidism. Diabetes. Heart Disease. Multiple sclerosis. Mental health disorders.

What should I do if I suspect I have heat intolerance?

Reduce time outside during hot months. Keep your electrolytes up. Drink plenty of water. Stay out of the sun whenever possible if outside. Be aware of the symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

Clothes that are best worn for heat intolerance. Loose lightweight breathable fabrics. Natural fibers. Long sleeves that protect from sunburn as sunburns will increase your risk. Light clothes that reflect light. Wide brimmed hats that shade the face and neck.

Cool. So what are those symptoms I'm supposed you be looking for?

Headaches. Excessive fatigue. Mood changes. Muscle cramping or weakness. Nausea/ vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Excessive sweating or not sweating at all.

When should I do to the doctor?

If you suspect you have heat intolerance you can go to your PCP to discuss what medications you may be on and what you can do about it. Otherwise, please go to the emergency room if you have symptoms of heat stroke.

This is good information and all but why are you making this post?

To raise awareness. Not just for the people that have it but weren't aware of what it was called. But for all of the idiots that tried to gaslight me when I was in school because I was like "I don't think this is normal. Every time we do our mile run outside I vomit all over the place but other kids aren't doing that."

Also because people always blame me for over heating if I wear long sleeves or pants. I always like to take notes from what people in the middle east wear because they literally live in the excessive heat and spend long hours in the excessive heat. Often in clothing that covers most of their body. They've gotta know what they're doing, right?

I have some type of xenophobic comment about why people from the middle east cover up

Shut the fuck up 😊

-fae

[theartingace]

Been working on some centaur clothes, exploring more options- especially for my much more clothing-focused Mountain Culture and Merchants And then for funzies DRESS-UP DOLL and way too much chatter!

First a couple Runner outfits - first the average casual harness most Runners would wear around home base, allows family members to rider comfortably at any time but more importantly the make and decorations are personal and declare group affiliations. Wearing no harness or at least a girthband basically says you are unridable or unaffiliated with a herd. Second image is an above-average armored battle harness- front end is plated for protection while charging, back end harness is all about additional contact points and stability for the rider to hook a foot in for their acrobatics.

Next, a comparison between Mountain robes and Merchant robes! The first, Mountain robes are heavy expertly woven rugs with lots of fiber decorations and fur and wool linings to keep comfy in their alpine homes- our model is quite a bit lankier than the usual Mountain folk so he gets less coverage but he'll stay cozy regardless. Second is the more svelt Merchant Trader robes! These are more light and loose linen fabrics, meant to block the sun in their more Mediterranean climate and more importantly- show wealth and status. Wrapped legs are common and almost entirely decorative.

And lastly: some assorted armors- this would be an EXTREMELY uncommon sight in my own headworld as the interactions between the metallurgy-rich eastern human kingdoms and the centaurs is usually pretty tense or business oriented at BEST and hostile to exploitative at worst so the chances of them crafting such large difficult pieces of fitted armor for any of them would be rare one-offs at most. But it's still fun to think about!

[mommynott]

Taken

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You never believed in the stories of abductions happening to mafia heiresses, but when it happens to you everything changes. Theo had calculated his moves with you carefully and capturing you at the perfect time. You learn quickly what his motives are with you…and you aren’t against them in the least.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, CHARS 18+, DARK THEMES!, mafia!theo, dom!theo, mafiaboss!theo, mafia au, abduction, slight coercion, choking, slapping, gunplay/gunkink, rough sex, manipulation, dom&sub, toxic themes overall, Theo obsessing over us and destroying us but he’s in the mafia

You’d always heard the stories: the heiress of a Mafia boss…abducted for her fortune and held for ransom. You never believed it could happen to you. After all, you were always careful. Your father had made sure you were constantly surrounded by bodyguards. But now…here you were. Taken from your own bedroom in the dead of night. Tied up in some random basement. How was this even possible? This was your worst nightmare coming to life.

The coarse fabric of the bag over your head was itchy against your delicate skin. You tried to keep your breathing steady under the material, but your heart was racing with fear and adrenaline. Who were these guys? The weight of the unknown pressed down on you as the men spoke in a foreign language. Their voices were too low to understand, the only word you could make out was a singular curse in Italian. “-Cazzo”

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists, the fibers biting into your skin. You tried to steady yourself, Taking yet another deep breath. But the sound of footsteps on the floor startled you. Most of the men left the room but you could hear the sounds of chain jewelry rattling together. You weren’t alone.

The bag was finally ripped off your head, revealing none other than Theodore Nott. One of the most notable members of a rival mafia organization. His cold and calculating gaze met yours. He let out a low chuckle while leaning against the brick wall, smoothly crossing one leg over the other. "Well well…well," His voice mixed with amusement and danger. "Look who we have here…Little miss heiress….caught like a rabbit in a trap."

You tried to keep your expression collected, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. But you knew that he held all of the cards– tall, broad, muscular… and handsome. The sharp all black suit he wore only emphasized his intimidating yet seductive presence. "What do you want, Nott?" you gritted out, struggling against the ropes that held your dainty wrists behind the chair.

His lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, bella…don't play dumb with me. You know exactly why I've got you here." Theo paced the room slowly, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey, wanting to play his games with you first. But even if you didn’t show it, you were filled with nothing but confusion. Why me? The two of you had never met formally but you’d heard of him of course. You kept quiet at first, squinting your eyes up to his.

"You think your little daddy can protect you?…. Don't be so naive." Theo taunted as His hand reached out to grasp your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. That icy stare of his etching into you, for some reason making your heart flutter. What the fuck?

You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his fingers digging into the softness of your face. "Let me go, Nott," you spat, your voice coming out almost growl-like. A rush of four different emotions starting to pump within you. Confusion, anxiety, anger, and…arousal. Why the hell am I feeling turned on by this? By him?

Theodore chuckled again, his eyes darkening with malice. "Oh, you're feisty…I like that." He released your chin, his hand trailing along your jaw, tracing a path until his thumb brushed over your lower lip. For a split second his cold glare softened as if he was admiring you….your beauty.

"I bet your father would pay a pretty penny to get you back…But I'm not interested in money. I want something much…much more valuable." he murmured, his voice low, hinting with something of danger. Your brows furrowed, once again unsure of where this was heading.

He leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something rich and woody. His darkened stare trailed down your neck, lingering on the rapid beating of your pulse. Obviously, you were nervous…but there was something else too. You swallowed hard and tried to keep your voice steady before repeating yourself. “What…what do you want?”

Theodore let his thumb play at your lower lip, caressing it before pulling it away, towering over you. He found this all too amusing as another deep laugh escaped his throat, letting it fade into a sigh. “You.” He growled out with a need, your eyes widening with surprise. Me? The fuck? Was this really happening? “I’m not under-“ Your words were cut off by Theo’s, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“-Ti voglio, Tesoro.” The Italian slipped through his lips with ease, his smirk only growing wider. But you? You weren’t having it…not yet. A brow shot up as annoyance painted your face. “I don’t speak Italian, Nott.” You spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep that power you always held together so well. But It seemed to crumble under his presence. You saw Theodore's jaw clench, clearly getting irritated with your behavior.

“I really have to spell it out for you…Don’t I, ereditiera?” He shoved his anger down, swallowing it whole for the time being while he teased the Italian nickname for heiress. But still, you were unamused, rolling your eyes in the usual bratty manner. Theo started to pace around you once more, his internal hunger only growing.

“…I…”

One of his hands dropped to your exposed shoulder, pushing over the silk strap of your nightgown. But you weren’t hating this, not at all. Your gaze following his every movement.

“…Want…”

His face grew closer to the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. This sheer move causing goosebumps to prickle down your body. Fuck…he was attractive…would it be so bad?

“…You…”

He finally spoke the truth, the real reason for your abduction. It wasn’t for money nor for fortune. It was all for you. You could feel your chest rise and fall with each breath you took while he grazed his hands down your arm, swiftly untying your now bruised wrists. Hissing from the blood flowing back to them you turned your head back to meet his blueish eyes.

“You….you want me?” You asked softly, feeling your heart thump against your chest. Theodore bit his lower lip subtly but before he could get another word out, you spoke again, keeping that breathy manner. “…In what way?” You asked him, your eyes flickering up between his. I could escape…run..but hell…now I don’t want to.

“Well…I could tell you…” Theo stalked back around to the front of you, his hands trailing across your exposed flesh while he knelt in front of you. Now running his rough hands up your bare thighs, underneath the silk pajama. “-Or…I could show you…your choice, Cara Mia.”

With the options he gave you, there was only one choice you wanted. Fucking hell, show me. Nodding your head slowly you felt him start to press kisses up your leg. “…Show me…” You whispered as Theo parted your thighs, his gaze met with your leaking cunt. Fuck…I wasn’t wearing any panties.

“Good fucking girl, ereditiera”

He groaned, his eyes fixated on your pussy finding nothing but perfection in it. He snaked his hand to his back, grabbing his Matte Black pistol and wiggling it in front of you with a mischievous grin. Your heart sunk. Fuck was I wrong about this? Is he going to kill me? Theo could tell you were spiraling in your mind, laughing under his breath and shaking his head. “I’m not going to hurt you with it…”

A sigh of relief freed from your lips but now you were met with confusion again. Then what the fuck is he going to do with a gun? You tilted your head to the side, cocking a brow at him. “Then…what are-“ He cut you off once more, his tongue gliding across the inside of his cheek while he teased the pistol up your inner thigh. “I’m going to fuck you with it.” His tone was alluring, slowly dragging you to the darkest and filthiest places of his mind. And soon enough? Pleasure.

“O-okay” Choking your words out, you agreed to it. The danger of it fueling the arousal within you. Theo didn’t hesitate any longer once you had given him the green light. He teased the muzzle of the gun at your wetness. The cool slick metal causing you to shudder from under it. “Breathe, Tesoro.” He mumbled before slowly pushing the barrel into your entrance, your head tilting back as you took in the foreign object. Inch by inch, he pushed the pistol in deeper just until the trigger touched around your hole.

Theodore dragged the gun in and out of you slowly at first, letting you adjust to the difference. But fuck, your little whimpers were already driving him mad. His lips fell onto your mound, smacking little kisses across it. “How’s that feel, ereditiera? How’s it feel being fucked by my gun?” Theo asked in a taunting tone, pumping the barrel faster than before. You never expected to feel this fucking sensational by being fucked with a gun, yet here you were.

“It feels-Fuck!… It feels amazing…” You shuddered, biting back a loud moan just as Theo’s lips found their way to your swollen little bud. Sucking on it with an aching need while he continued to pump that cold metal inside of you, your wetness coating around the black barrel. He could see it…feel it…taste it. The sheer amount of pleasure he was providing you. “I see I’ve found my new addiction….Cum for me.” Theodore demanded into your soaked flesh, knowing you were on the brink of climax.

The risk of it. The taboo of it. The spontaneity. This was something you could only ever read in books, yet here you were. In a position you could only dream of. The foreign sensation mixed with Theo sucking on your clit like a starved man was sending your body into overdrive. A pulsating, vibrating need coursed through your veins as your body complied with Theo’s words. Your juices spilling onto his gun while he watched it progressively get more soaked. Your moans you tried oh so badly to hide were slipping freely from your lips now.

“The noises you make are incredible…” he husked out, his deep voice rugged as he slowly withdrew the pistol. A dragged-out whimper escaped from your throat as the afterglow began to hit you. Theodore stood up, unbuttoning his shirt quickly before letting it drop to expose his chiseled torso. He then moved over to his pants, unbuckling his belt and shuffling them right off, Theo’s massive length popping out fully erect, clearly turned on by what had just happened. He took his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly while his precum coated it. You were still trying to catch your breath, your legs already starting to shake from post-orgasm bliss. “…But…I want to hear those noises while I destroy you with my cock.”

You threw off your silk nightgown, tossing it to the concrete floor and leaving you fully exposed to Theo. His pupils dilated with desire as he strode toward you. Immediately picking you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “P-please….please fuck me.” You gasped just as he teased the tip of his length at your slick entrance. A groan of approval came out from Theo. He wanted you. Craved you. Needed you.

“I love to hear those sweet lips of yours beg for me.”

With that, he slammed himself deep inside of you. Not giving you any time to adjust to his huge throbbing cock. The feeling was almost spiritual-like, sending you into another dimension of pure ecstasy. Your fingers found their way into his locks, tugging at them teasingly. But Theo fucking loved it, his grunts with each thrust getting louder by the second. “ereditiera….you feel so-cazzo….so good-so fucking wet and tight for me.”

Your wet walls clenched around his cock as you slammed your lips to his, huffing into each other's mouths at this point. The sounds of groans and slapping of wet skin echoed around the dark basement. This kiss, this sex…it was as if it ignited your entire bodies, fusing into one. I have never experienced something like this before…Theo’s nails dug into the skin of your ass cheeks, helping you bounce on his cock right as he slammed you up against the brick wall. One hand remained on your now marked-up ass but the other snaked its way up to your neck, wrapping around your throat in the perfect amount of pressure. You never understood desire, that was until Theo’s hand was wrapped around your throat.

“T-Theo…I’m so close-fuck!…. Can I….can I please-“ Theo’s hand squeezed your throat a bit harder, causing your eyes to roll back. Again right on the edge of your sweet release. “Don’t hold back….finish…for me. Right fucking now.” With that, he tugged his hand away from your throat, bringing it up to give you two slaps across the apples of your cheeks. A yelp grasping from your lips, your moans turning into screams of pleasure. Fuck…I really liked this..a little too much. Fuck.

Theo railed into you forcefully, his precum already leaking and dripping right along your cervix. He was close too but he wanted you-no….needed you to finish again. Wanting to see how HE made you feel. The power he held from seeing you squirm, moan, cum….from him. Your tired body erupted into overwhelming pleasure. Your wetness squirting out onto Theo’s shaft and the sound of it trickling onto the hard floor. “Fuck…that’s mia ragazza. Cumming all over me-Fuck!” He growled, pushing his cock as deep as he could inside of you, feeling it throb within your pussy.

A mess, you were a mess. Small little marks covering your body. You were barely hanging onto Theo as he mercilessly pounded into your limp body, not holding back. “I’m going to fill up that juicy little cunt-fill it with my seed” his voice held that domineering tone that seemed to never stray away, Theodore thrusted inside of you a few more times before jolting himself against your body. Groaning through his gritted teeth as his seed exploded inside of you. Feeling the warmth of it spread and drip out the sides of his dick.

His length slipped out of you with ease, his sticky cum slowly dripping between your thighs before he shifted you over in his arms to carry you bridal style. He had worn you out and it was evident by your body's reaction. He stroked your hair, brushing it out of your face while he walked you two to a nearby bathroom. “Fully mine…You are fully mine now. Marked up by me…filled by my seed. Mine.” He whispered but those once cold eyes seemed to soften as he fixated his gaze on yours.

Theo wanted to care for you now, making sure you were alright. But at those words you couldn’t help but lazily smile, hearing the sound of water pebbling before he helped you into the marble walk-in shower. “Am I?” You teased slowly as you felt the hot water bead down your body, even tired, showing that bratty side that Theo oh so adored. He chuckled, grabbing some soap as he helped clean you up. Carefully tracing his hands around your entire body, taking his time to not miss a single section and to also provide you with relaxation. “Yes, ereditiera….You are.”

Perhaps you had been taken, kidnapped against your will….but slowly you were starting to see Theodore Nott in a new light. He had a softness to him. A yearning to protect you, to please you, to be with you. For now, he may have taken you sexually, giving you a desire for new things you couldn't even fathom before, but…soon enough he would also take your heart.

I had to do mafia!theo🖤 I hope my smut sluts enjoyed💋

Requests are open!🌙

Divider pinned in my master list

[cedarmoonzz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a small continuing to your Ford fic? I really enjoyed it and tugged my heart strings. I love you work so much and if your able to do that without any issue, I'd love that!😭💜

yes! i love that six fingered cartoon dilf with every fiber of my being!

once more to see you •｡ꪆৎ ˚

continuation of: between the bars followed by: slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford x reader

content: angst, stanford's poor attempt at comfort lol

summary: when your fiancé’s episodes of paranoia spiral out of control, you come to a difficult realization.

You’ve always seen yourself as someone grounded in logic. Pragmatic to the bone, you’ve relied on reason and science to navigate life, finding comfort in facts and the concrete reality they bring. But lately, that sense of security has started to unravel. 

The cabin was frigid, its icy air wrapping around you like a shroud, seeping into your very bones despite your efforts to ward off the chill. The socks you wore—a secret purchase made without Stanford’s knowledge—offered little warmth, though they  greatly softened the sound of your steps as you quietly drifted from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the closet, nursing your third cup of coffee that night. Each breath you took was quick, shallow, as if the cold air was stealing it away. As you finally settled at the desolate kitchen table, a wry thought flickered in your mind: could the layers of plywood and fiberglass beneath you truly muffle the frantic beating of your heart, hiding it from your fiancé’s ever-watchful ear? In your own, the rhythm pounded, echoing like a circle of drums, impossibly loud in the oppressive stillness of the cabin.

Stanford’s paranoia didn’t burst into your lives all at once; it crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow growing longer at dusk. It all began when he developed a peculiar fascination with triangles—a simple, geometric shape that, in his hands, took on a life of its own. He transformed the cabin, once a place of warmth and refuge, into a gallery of trigonometric stained glass, each piece more elaborate, more intricate than the last. At first, you found it endearing, even charming, and you laughed it off as just another of his harmless quirks. You told yourself it was just Stanford being Stanford, his brilliant mind forever chasing new ideas.

But as the days turned into weeks, the triangles began to multiply. Their sharp, precise edges cast strange, fragmented light across your home, turning familiar spaces into something alien, almost unrecognizable. You began to notice how the once-welcoming cabin now felt distorted, its atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. And yet, you didn’t see it for what it was—not at first. You didn’t want to see it. You told yourself it was just the glass, just the way the light hit it, just the way Stanford was channeling his creativity. You ignored the way your stomach twisted with unease, dismissed the creeping dread that settled in your bones.

You shook your head, trying to banish the haunting thoughts that swirled in your mind. There was no time to dwell on what had already happened; what mattered now was moving forward. Rising from your seat, you made your way to the bedroom you and Ford once shared, a space now overshadowed by his office chair, which had become his sanctuary. You reached into the closet, your fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of your thick army jacket. The worn texture offered a rare comfort, a tangible reminder of a time before everything had shifted. As you fumbled through the pockets, your hand closed around a pack of cigarettes—an old habit you had left behind during your second year of graduate school. A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingled with regret for the time lost. You slipped the pack back into your pocket and donned the jacket, its sturdy fabric promising some semblance of protection against the biting night winds and the snow that still whirled outside the closed window.

Your gaze then fell upon your boots, left carelessly on the closet floor, caked in mud from past forest excursions with Stanford. You reached down, lifting them with a mixture of sentiment and practicality. With the boots in hand, you carefully descended the stairs, each step deliberate to avoid the creaking floorboards. At the kitchen door, you set the boots down and slipped them on, their familiar weight grounding you in the present. Quietly, you opened the door, the chill of the night air meeting you as you stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

You stood on the porch of your home, clad in baggy sweatpants, an oversized coat, and your old brown army boots. The cold night air wrapped around you, but the weight of the familiar clothing offered a small measure of comfort. You instinctively reached into your pocket, a gesture that felt oddly nostalgic, like reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been missing. Pulling out a cigarette, you brought it to your lips, and then you fumbled into your other pocket, searching for a long-abandoned lighter. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal as you hoped to find one still with fluid.

After a moment of fishing, you finally found it. With a deep breath, you shut your eyes, the cigarette resting between your fingers as you brought the lighter to your face. The small flame flickered to life, illuminating your face in the darkness as you lit your former vice. You’d given up smoking years ago, recognizing it as a bad coping mechanism, though it had always managed to calm your nerves better than any of the so-called remedies Stanford had suggested—yoga, green tea, or otherwise. Stanford had never missed an opportunity to chide you about it, yet in moments like these, when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain, the familiar warmth of the smoke provided a fleeting solace, a small rebellion against the chaos of your thoughts.

You couldn’t shake the image of your fiancé from your mind. The one person you had always relied on as your rock, your steadfast partner in all things logical and real, now seemed a stranger. He had become obsessed, shining a flashlight into your eyes, searching for something hidden in the depths of your pupils. Each time that harsh beam flickers across your eyes, it chips away at your sense of reality, leaving you to wonder if his strange behavior is a sign of something far darker lurking beneath the surface. The familiar comfort of the cigarette seemed almost to mock the confusion and dread that now defined your days, as if trying to find stability in a world that had become increasingly alien.

“[Y/n].” Ford’s voice sliced through your reverie, its suddenness filling you with an indescribable anxiety. The feeling was sharp and unsettling, a gnawing presence that you couldn't quite classify as rational or otherwise. It wrapped around you like a cold fog, clouding your thoughts and intensifying the sense of disorientation that had already taken root.

He stood behind you in the doorway, the light from behind casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around him. From this angle, you might have thought he looked perfect, a vision of calm and composure that seemed untouched by the chaos of your shared reality. The gentle halo of light made him appear almost otherworldly, a serene figure caught in a moment of stillness.

Yet, his appearance betrayed a different story. His hair was frantic and messy, a wild tangle of curls that seemed to reflect his inner turmoil. The bags under his eyes had deepened, etched by sleepless nights and relentless stress. Despite the disarray, there was a softness in his gaze, a look of tenderness you had missed with all your heart. It was a fleeting reminder of the warmth and affection that once defined your relationship, now overshadowed by the encroaching distance and disquiet that had come to dominate your lives.

You had tried so damn hard to stay quiet, to remain out of his way. You'd let him overwork himself to the bone if that’s what he wanted, even though it felt like a slow erosion of everything you once knew. You’d had the argument too many times to care by now, the words always seeming to fall on deaf ears. All you wanted was to avoid the inevitable confrontation, to give him space, even as his obsessive behavior grew ever more unsettling. 

"Stanford," was all you said in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. You lifted the cigarette from your lips, the smoke pooling around you like a hazy veil. As you exhaled, you cast a glance up the staircase, the familiar sight offering no answers, only a silent reminder of the space between you both.

“You’ve started smoking again,” he observed, his tone carrying a note of quiet surprise. The statement lingered in the air, the drifting smoke accentuating the distance between you. It was as if the sight of the cigarette in your hand was a reflection of the changes he could no longer ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

The cigarette met your lips once more. You took a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs as your eyes remained locked with his. In that moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving you both suspended in the delicate space between old familiarity and the evolving distance that now defined your relationship.

“Of course I would,” he said, his voice carrying a soft tinge of regret.

You dropped the cigarette into the snow, watching as it hissed and sizzled against the cold ground. With a decisive step, you crushed it underfoot, pressing it into the snow for good measure. The smoldering embers were quickly extinguished, leaving only a faint trace of smoke lingering in the frosty air.

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to utter, the word feeling woefully inadequate in the weight of the moment. It hung between you, a simple apology for the complexities that neither of you could fully address.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch your death out here,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of concern and weariness. He stepped aside from the doorway, making way for you with a gentle gesture. The warmth from inside seemed to beckon, a stark contrast to the frigid night air.

You looked into his eyes, and he stared back, the moment stretching between you as if everything else had come to a halt. The world outside faded into a blur as snapshots of your relationship flickered through your mind—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and fleeting happiness. With each memory, you found yourself questioning what had gone wrong, what could have been different, and what measures you might have taken to alter the course of events.

In the midst of that frozen silence, a question slipped from your lips before you could even stop yourself: “Ford, are you still in love with me?” The words hung in the air, unexpected and raw, their weight adding a new layer of complexity to the already tense moment.

His head snapped towards you, eyes widening with a shock that seemed to crystallize in the cold night air. His gaze pierced into yours with a fierce intensity, as if your question had struck a chord deep within him. His eyebrows knit together in a furrow of confusion and apprehension, while his mouth tightened into a thin, resolute line. The change in his demeanor was palpable; his posture straightened as though he were bracing himself for a storm.

With a determined stride, he marched to stand beside you in the snow, the door to the house slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed through the night. The two of you stood together, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow upon the snow, which reflected a bluish light that danced across the scene. The snow-covered ground sparkled faintly, but the surrounding darkness clung to you both like a shroud.

He stared down at you as you stared at your feet, standing only an arm's length away, the proximity intimate and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the soft shushing of dormant branches swaying in the wind, their gentle rustling mingling with the quiet stillness of the night. The cold air wrapped around you both, creating a palpable silence that stretched between you, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

His hand reached out, fingers closing gently around your chin. With a deliberate motion, he angled your gaze upward, drawing your eyes away from the snowy expanse at your feet and into his. The touch was firm yet tender, guiding your focus to the depth of his own eyes. It was just like he used to do moments before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your eyes met his, and in that brief, suspended moment, you saw the glistening, unshed tears pooling in his gaze. They shimmered in pale light of the moon, their potential to fall betraying the fragile veneer of his composure. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual facade, revealing a depth of sorrow and vulnerability that seemed to unravel the very essence of his being.

“Don’t you ever ask that again,” his voice cracked, the words trembling as they escaped his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours, the closeness both intimate and overwhelming. In that tender contact, you felt a deep ache, missing his touch more than you had admitted to yourself. The warmth of his skin against yours, the vulnerability that he seldom showed, was a poignant reminder of what you had longed for but also feared.

Your breath caught in your throat, the tightness nearly choking you as emotions surged within, rendering you on the brink of tears. Frustration twisted inside you, mingling with a deep-seated ache as you grappled with having surrendered so effortlessly to the solace of his presence. The warmth of Ford’s touch, so familiar and comforting, had shattered your defenses with an almost unbearable intimacy.

In that raw, exposed moment, you recognized a profound truth: you loved Ford with a depth that went beyond reason. You understood him completely, and you would remain steadfast by his side. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process, he would always draw you in. It was a certainty you could not escape.

[theambitiouswoman]

Clothing has frequencies

Clothing, like everything in the universe, carries frequencies that affect your energy. Different materials, colors & production methods influence your mood & your well being.

High vibrational fabrics:

1. Silk: (10,000+ Hz)

Known for its luxurious feel, silk is considered one of the highest vibrational fabrics. It helps keep spiritual & emotional balance, while also being breathable and moisture absorbing.

2. Linen: (5,000 Hz)

Linen is known for its healing & grounding properties. It regulates energy flow and enhance your overall well being making it one of the most beneficial fabrics to wear.

3. Hemp: (5,000 Hz)

Hemp, a strong natural fiber, known for grounding and durability. It vibrates at a frequency similar to linen, enhancing stability & balance.

4. Wool: (5,000 Hz)

Wool is valued for its warmth and grounding energy. It has a protective frequency, which helps to maintain balance, particularly in colder climates.

5. Cotton: (100-500 Hz)

While not as high as silk or linen, cotton is still considered a high vibrational fabric. It promotes comfort and balance. Organic cotton is has an even higher frequency due to its natural cultivation.

6. Cashmere: (5,000 Hz)

Like wool, cashmere is known for warmth and luxury, offering a high vibration associated with comfort & peace.

Low vibrational fabrics:

1. Polyester: (15-70 Hz)

Polyester, being synthetic, is believed to have a very low vibrational frequency, which can block the natural flow of energy through the body. It causes emotional or physical discomfort over time and its production involves harsh chemicals contributing to low vibrational energy.

2. Acrylic: (15-70 Hz)

Another synthetic material that is associated with a low frequency that may lead to feelings of disconnection or imbalance.

3. Nylon: (30-70 Hz)

Often found in activewear, nylon has a low vibrational frequency and feels out of sync with the body’s natural energy flow.

4. Rayon: (30-70 Hz)

Rayon is also considered low vibrational because of the chemicals used in its production. It doesn’t offer the same energetic benefits as natural fibers.

How low vibrational clothing affects energy:

Blocks natural energy Flow: Synthetics like polyester can trap heat, moisture, and energy, blocking the natural flow through your body, which may lead to imbalance or discomfort.

Negative manufacturing practices: The production of low-vibrational fabrics often involves environmental harm and poor working conditions, which may carry negative energy that can affect the wearer.

Disrupts skin earth connection: Natural fibers like linen and cotton are thought to maintain a connection with the Earth’s energy, while synthetics can disrupt this connection, leading to a sense of disconnection.

Holds onto energies: Synthetic fabrics don’t breathe well and can hold onto negative energy from the environment or wearer, making you feel energetically weighed down over time.

Choosing high vibrational, natural fabrics can help improve your mood & energy flow, while low vibration synthetics will lead to you feeling disconnected and imbalanced.

[translunaryanimus]

A Nhâchchech [Naak'kek] hunter shows off typical daywear. The Nhâchchech (weaver) culture is the most prominent culture of the northern polar regions. The Nhâchchech are also sometimes called the Eshtchchonh [Eshtk'kon], or 'pattern folk/pattern people' due to their brightly patterned outfits. Ssereâch [Sareaat], a hunter, displays typical daywear for teens and adults. Garb is conveniently labeled for our sake. More in depth description under the cut.

Ssereâch is wearing a Ghelâmach, a Nhêdchchonh, a pair of Mhshêchchonh, Dhlesfa and Dhlepach, and a Ssamhnhâl. She also wears Ffâpecha and a few Bhearpaf as accessories. A Ghelâmach [Gelaamat] is the skinned, tanned pelt of one or several polar Ghelâ turned into a warm, insulating cloak. Perfect for colder environemnts. Traditionally Ghelâmach are handmade and use real fur, but faux fur dupes can be found in tourist heavy polar cities. Ssereâch's Ghelâmach is split into two parts, with a more typical overcape 'mach' and a separate waist wrapped section sometimes referred to as a Shochghelâ [Shotgelaa], Ghelâ skirt, when worn apart from the mach. Together though, the two piece ensemble is collectively called a Ghelâmach. A Nhêdchchonh [needk'kon], literally 'pattern shirt', is common upper wear following the same vein as Mhshêchchonh. The patterns of a Nhêdchchonh are typically reserved for the collar, sleeves, and bottom border as opposed to trailing up the entire side of the fabric as is common for Mhshêchchonh. The bright blue color of the body fabric is due to the dye of an aquatic plant rather morbidly called Fôlachemhêsh [Fulatemeesh], "Blood Root". This name comes from the plant's tendency to 'bleed' a vibrant blue sap that heavily resembles Chenesht blood when wet, and when dry, can be boiled down to make a liquid pigment.

Mhshêchchonh [msheek'kon], literally 'pattern pants', are common legwear for polar cultures. Their patterned bands traditionally contain information about the individual wearing them such as name, job, and family but can also contain folk stories, poems, or legends, though purely decorative patterns have come into style among younger generations. Ssereâch's Mhshêchchonha have purely decorative patterns.

The patterned borders of Nhêdchchonha and Mhshêchchonha are woven either through the loom weaving method or the more typical card weaving method and made of dyed sinews, braided plant fibers, or spun fur. They can take months to years to complete depending on the complexity of the pattern. Dhle [Dle] is the common word for any sort of hand or foot covering, typically translated as either 'boot' or 'glove' depending on the context for its use. The Dle being worn here are Dhlesfa [Open Dle] on the forelimbs and Dhlepach [Closed Dle] on the hindlimbs. Dhle were near exclusively worn by the Nhâchchech culture prior to the Three Beasts War and the subsequent cultural merger that led to global leaps in technological advancement. Their once niche use as protective coverings from harsh elements became common use as comfortable footwear for walking along the artificial sidewalk pavements and streets of most modern cities.

Ssamhnhâl [Samnal] literally translates to 'bone glasses' [ssamh - glass, nhâl - bone]. Ssamhnhâl are carved from bone and serve as eye protectant from winter storms or harsh light gleaming off of the snow. The primary eyes look through horizontal slits in the bone, while the secondary eyes are shielded by a carved in 'flap' that they can look under or over. Ssereâch's Ssamhnhâl is carved with decorative patterns as well.

Ffâpecha [Faapeta], or 'twin rings', are a common decorative accessory among teens used to show their devotion to one another. Each ring is made of carved bone and sealed together by animal sinews mashed into glue once they've been linked, and typically have the first name or family name of their beloved carved into one, and their own name into the other. Ffâpecha have long been a source of drama and contention among especially young teens, and broken or cracked sets can often be found littered around the grounds of majority teen camps. Bhearpaf [bearpaf/bearpaw] is the general term for any good luck charm taken from an animal and worn on the hunter's person. Bhearpaf literally translates to 'blessing' or 'lucky charm', but is quite often misinterpreted as the english term 'bear paw' when speaking to humans. Shortening the word to Bhear (gift) has not helped the jokes, and has instead spawned a new tradition of gifting carvings, drawings, or anything with images or patterns of earth bears to your chenesht friends during birthdays or other gift-giving holidays.

[marzipanandminutiae]

giant bags of thread collected by old ladies over their lifetimes and never used, then donated to antique shops or sold on FB Marketplace, save me

image source

protect and preserve me, immense ziplock bags full of 50 years' "oh but I have to have the EXACT SHADE of this fabric even though I'll never use 300 yards of thread!"

("Marzi why not buy new thread?" 99% of it is plastic and finding more than a handful of colors in cotton thread is incredibly rare in brick-and-mortar stores. let alone thread in fibers besides polyester and cotton, or buttonhole twist)

("come on, now, Marzi- THREAD can't possibly make you sweat more or catch fire and stick to your skin while burning, and isn't that your reasoning for using only natural-fiber fabrics?" listen. Irrational Brain Like When Zero Plastic. don't @ me)

[alyrasturnz]

hear me out. i feel like the triplets would wna keep their relationship private bcz the fandom is just crazy.. so can u write a matt x reader fanfic about illicit affairs by ts and jst make it abt matt wanting to keep his relationship private w/reader but reader is just absolutely fed up

 ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ILLICIT AFFAIRS

❐ summary » matt, a figure of immense fame, fears the wrath of his fans. he hides y/n away to protect her from their potential scorn, but this veil of privacy leaves y/n feeling unwanted and ashamed, as if matt is embarrassed to acknowledge her as his girlfriend.

❐ pairings » influencer!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » toxic relationship, suggestive at the beginning but no smut, arguments (resolved)

❐ a/n && w/c » double update tn! • 2.81k

your fingers, like delicate tendrils of ivy, were entwined in matt's tousled hair, each strand a silken thread in the fabric of your connection.

your back pressed firmly against the cool, unyielding wall, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body. his hands, with a mind of their own, traced a path of desire, finally resting at your waist, anchoring you in the moment, a silent promise of intimacy and unspoken words.

your lips were entwined, a union of fervent longing, as your tongues engaged in a bittersweet dance, swirling together like two celestial bodies caught in an eternal orbit, each movement a symphony of passion and unspoken desire, a delicate balance of tenderness and intensity.

"matt..." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, as his lips embarked on a journey down your neck, each kiss a tender exploration, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, a testament to the unspoken bond that tethered your hearts together in that fleeting moment.

"i know, baby, i know," he whispers, his hot breath fanning your neck, sending shivers down your spine and making your insides tingle with a mix of anticipation and longing, each word a caress that resonated deep within your soul.

you let out soft sighs, each one a whisper of your growing desire, feeling your core heat up with an intensity that seemed to ignite every fiber of your being, a slow burn that consumed you from within.

but the fragile moment was abruptly shattered by the intrusive ringing of matt’s phone, a jarring reminder of the outside world that pierced through the delicate cocoon of intimacy you had woven around yourselves.

matt's lips reluctantly departed from your skin, leaving you to groan softly at the sudden, aching void where his touch had once ignited a symphony of sensations.

matt retrieved his phone from his pocket with a swift, almost reluctant motion, bringing it to his ear. "hello?" he uttered, his voice tinged with a hint of impatience, the single word breaking the spell of the moment.

"where are you?" nick's voice crackled with exasperation, each word laced with urgency. "come to the warehouse! you're late," he demanded, the frustration palpable in his tone.

matt's eyes widened in sudden realization, swiftly ending the call and hastily shoving his phone back into his pocket, his movements marked by a frantic urgency.

his eyes met yours, lingering for a fleeting moment before he pressed one final, tender kiss upon your lips.

then, with a reluctant sigh, he turned and walked away, each step echoing the unspoken words left between you.

your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you trailed after him, "matt! where are you going?" you called out, your voice a blend of concern and bewilderment.

"i'm sorry, i have to go to the warehouse," matt said hurriedly, his hands fumbling to put on his coat.

you stood there, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern, watching as he prepared to leave.

"i can go with you?" you say softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, as he turns to you with an expressionless gaze, his eyes betraying a hint of inner turmoil.

"we both know that you can't," he murmurs gently, his voice barely above a whisper, as he retrieves his phone, the action a silent punctuation to his words.

"why can't i? it doesn't have to always be like th—" you begin to protest, your voice tinged with desperation, but your words are abruptly silenced as he captures your lips in a sudden, fervent kiss.

matt broke apart, his lips lingering just a moment longer before disconnecting from yours. he glanced at his phone one last time, a sigh escaping his lips.

"i'll make it up to you, i swear," he murmured softly, his voice filled with a blend of regret and determination.

with a final, fleeting look, he pivoted and left your apartment, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts.

you roll your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you make your way to the couch. with a resigned slump, you plop down onto it, the cushions embracing your weary form.

you stare at the ceiling, your mind a turbulent sea of thoughts racing at breakneck speed, each one colliding and merging into the next in a relentless cascade.

you were good enough to be with him, to share those intimate moments cloaked in secrecy, but not good enough to be seen with him, to be acknowledged in the light of day?

everything about him was a labyrinth of contradictions, each twist and turn leaving you more bewildered. it irritated you to no end.

but you weren't sure if it was his erratic behavior that grated on your nerves, or if it was the haunting realization that you would willingly shatter yourself into a million tiny pieces for him, over and over again.

and you knew, with an unsettling clarity, that he was acutely aware of this truth.

he was the axis around which your world revolved, yet he moved through his existence as if you were but a fleeting shadow, an inconsequential wisp in the vast expanse of his indifference.

you would find yourself ensnared in the labyrinth of his bedsheets throughout the night, only to awaken to the cold, empty expanse where his warmth once lingered, a silent testament to his absence.

he sought the sanctuary of secrecy, believing it to be a fortress shielding you from harm, yet this very concealment has only served to fracture your spirit further, each hidden truth a dagger driving deeper into the chasms of your heart.

»--•--«

matthew.sturniolo sent a message: Hey sweetheart

matthew.sturniolo sent a message: Just got out of my meeting. I’m on my way

matthew.sturniolo sent a message: See you in a few

the doorbell echoed through the house, a resonant chime that seemed to ripple through the very walls, heralding the arrival of matt.

you sprayed on your perfume, the delicate mist swirling and dancing in the air, leaving a fragrant trail that lingered in your room like an ethereal presence. with a graceful motion, you carefully placed the bottle back on your vanity, its glass reflecting the soft light as if capturing the essence of the moment.

you reserve this perfume for the clandestine rendezvous with matt, each spritz a silent oath to the secrecy of your bond. the scent, meticulously chosen, never clings to your clothes, a deliberate act to preserve the veil of mystery that shrouds your relationship.

you gaze into the mirror, eyes tracing the familiar contours of your reflection. with a measured inhale, you draw in the air, feeling it fill your lungs, fortifying your resolve before you rise from your seat.

your heels resonate against the hardwood floor, each clank a rhythmic prelude to your approach. as you reach the door and open it, your eyes meet the sight of matt, casually leaning against the doorway, his presence both familiar and electrifying.

he smiled, his eyes twinkling with a secret understanding, and extended his hand towards you. with a gentle yet deliberate motion, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch as you both stepped out of your apartment, the world beyond awaiting your shared journey.

on the descent, matt animatedly recounted the details of his recent meeting, weaving tales of ambitious plans for his channel. yet, as his words flowed around you, your mind drifted to distant realms, consumed by thoughts that lay far beyond the present moment.

you harbored a quiet hope that you could broach the subject of going public with matt, the weight of your unspoken words pressing against your chest as you sought the right moment to voice them.

»--•--«

"alright," matt murmured, his voice tinged with an unspoken melancholy as he gently shifted the car into park. you sat beside him, your gaze lost in the horizon, the distant landscape a silent witness to the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

matt observed your demeanor, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "hey, are you alright? you seem a bit off..." he inquired, his voice laced with a subtle blend of worry and curiosity, as if trying to unravel the intricate tapestry of your thoughts.

you sighed, turning to face him, your eyes reflecting the weight of unspoken burdens. "i'm tired, matt," you confessed, your words cutting through the silence with a raw honesty, laying bare the exhaustion that had settled deep within your soul.

"are you sleepy? i can take you back home and we can just go again tomorrow—" he began, his voice tinged with confusion, but you cut him off before he could finish.

"no matt, i’m exhausted. i'm tired of this clandestine relationship," you declared, your voice quivering with suppressed emotion. "i can't keep being someone you cherish only in the shadows! i want us to be so much more than—than this ambiguous existence!" you finally erupted, each word escalating in fervor, mirroring the depth of your yearning and dissatisfaction.

"y/n..." matt murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mixture of bewilderment and tenderness.

your eyes searched his for a glimmer of understanding. "i can't keep doing this—concealing our relationship as if it's something to be ashamed of," you confessed, your voice heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.

matt sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "it's not that i'm ashamed of you, y/n. it's just—my fans can be intense. i'm terrified they'll come after you if we go public," he admitted, his voice laden with a mixture of concern and helplessness.

your heart ached at his words, a mix of frustration and sadness welling up inside you. "so what? we just keep pretending we're nothing more than friends? i feel like i'm living a lie."

he looked at you, his expression torn. "i'm trying to protect you. you don't understand the kind of backlash that could come your way."

"maybe i don't," you said, your voice rising. "but what i do understand is that i can't keep being your secret. it feels like you're more concerned about your image than our relationship."

matt's face softened, but the conflict in his eyes remained. "it's not about my image. it's about your safety. i care about you too much to see you get hurt."

"and i care about you too," you replied, tears threatening to spill over. "but i need to feel like i'm a part of your life, not just a hidden chapter. if you truly care about me, you'll trust that we can face this together."

the room fell silent again, the weight of your words hanging in the air as matt grappled with his fears and your plea for honesty.

your voice steady but filled with sorrow, "i can't keep doing this. i've tried to understand your reasons, but it's tearing me apart." you say as you search for understanding in his eyes

he looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "y/n, please, you have to understand. i'm doing this to protect you."

you shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "i can't live in the shadows anymore. i need to be with someone who isn't afraid to show the world that they love me. i need to feel valued and seen."

matt reached out for your hand, but you pulled away, the pain too much to bear. "i love you, matt, but i can't keep sacrificing my happiness for your fears. if you can't go public with our relationship, then we can't be together."

his face crumpled, and he tried to find the right words, but they never came. with a heavy heart, you stood up, feeling the weight of the decision you had just made.

"goodbye, matt," you whispered, turning away from him and walking out of the car. as you closed the door behind you, a sense of both loss and liberation washed over you, knowing you had chosen to stand up for yourself and your worth.

outside, the night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tears streaming down your face.

you walked aimlessly, each step feeling heavier than the last. the memories of your time with matt played in your mind like a bittersweet symphony, each note a reminder of what once was and what could never be.

you found yourself at the park where you and matt had shared so many moments of laughter and love.

the bench where you had first confessed your feelings now stood as a silent witness to your heartbreak.

you sat down, the weight of the world pressing on your shoulders, and let the tears flow freely.

the stars above twinkled in the vast expanse of the sky, indifferent to the pain of the earth below. you gazed up at them, searching for some semblance of solace. "why does love have to be so complicated?" you whispered to the night, your voice barely audible.

as the hours passed, the pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve. you knew that this was the right decision, even if it hurt now. you deserved to be with someone who would cherish you openly, without fear or hesitation. and though the path ahead seemed uncertain, you felt a glimmer of hope.

rising from the bench, you took a deep breath and wiped away the last of your tears. the night was still, and the world felt vast and full of possibilities. with a newfound determination, you began to walk back home, ready to embrace whatever the future held.

»--•--«

as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, a soft knock echoed through the stillness of your home.

the house, usually so quiet in the early morning, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. groggily, you made your way to the door, curiosity mingling with the remnants of sleep.

the floorboards creaked softly under your feet, each step a gentle reminder of the world waking up around you.

there stood matt, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

the flowers, fresh with morning dew, seemed to glow in the soft light, their petals a vibrant contrast to the dim interior of your home.

his eyes, filled with a mixture of remorse and determination, met yours. they were the eyes of someone who had spent countless nights wrestling with his thoughts, someone who had finally found the courage to confront his fears.

"i couldn't wait any longer," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies. "i needed to see you, to tell you how sorry i am."

he handed you the flowers and chocolates, his hands lingering for a moment as if seeking reassurance. "you are so much more than someone i love in the shadows, y/n," he continued, his voice growing steadier. "you are the light that guides me, the strength that keeps me going. i've been a fool to ask you to hide, but it's never because i'm ashamed of you. it's because i'm terrified of what the world might do to us."

he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "but you deserve to be cherished openly, without fear. i promise we'll find a way to make this right. together, we'll face whatever comes our way, because you mean everything to me. you're not just a part of my life; you are my life."

he stepped closer, his presence warm and comforting. "i know words alone aren't enough," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "i want to show you, every single day, just how much you mean to me. i want to be the one who stands by your side, no matter what. i want to be the one who holds your hand through the storms and celebrates with you under the sun."

matt's eyes softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "you are the reason i wake up with hope in my heart. you are the melody that plays in my soul, the rhythm that keeps me moving forward. without you, everything feels incomplete."

he paused, his voice barely a whisper now. "i don't want to hide anymore, y/n. i want the world to know how incredible you are, how lucky i am to have you. i want to face whatever challenges come our way, hand in hand, heart to heart."

as the morning sun bathed you both in its gentle glow, matt's words wrapped around you like a warm embrace. in that moment, you felt the depth of his love, the sincerity of his promise, and the unyielding strength of his commitment. together, you knew you could face anything, because with matt by your side, you were never alone.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,218 Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language, Negan's mouth, violence, injury, fear and anxiety, frightening scenarios, Soft!Negan, Protective!Negan Summary: Negan has to figure out how to defend you when he's locked in his cell. A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this series!

Dante only laughed and walked over to the chair, scooping up your ring of keys off the seat. “Were you trying for these?” he asked, jingling them at Negan.

Negan stared back, a heavy shadow falling over his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I was.”

The silver of the keys glinted in Dante’s hand. Negan’s heart was pounding.

“Close, but not quite,” Dante said, pocketing them. His attention returned to you on the ground. Negan drifted along the bars to stand beside you as the doctor advanced. He crouched down and gently touched your face in a final attempt to wake you, but you didn’t stir. His eyes, narrowed and intense, landed on Dante again. If he could have burned a hole in that fucker’s face with his eyes, he would have been dead twenty times over. But Dante didn’t seem to notice.

The doctor stood over you completely still for a long moment. His expression and the feeling in the room, almost pulsing with tension, was unnerving. At length, he bent down and took hold of your ankles, dragging you away from Negan’s cell. Negan’s stomach churned as your head slipped off the blanket he’d tucked underneath it. The fabric was stained a deep, dark crimson. There was a bloody smear left on the floor where the wound from hitting the cell bars dragged along the cold concrete as Dante moved you.

“Hey—” Negan barked, gripping onto the bars with white knuckles. “What the fuck is going on?”

Dante straightened up and stared down at you before rubbing a hand over his mouth as if he was contemplating what to do. Then he looked up at Negan and smiled. He bent over you again and this time he rolled you onto your back. Your head lolled to the side like a rag doll and Negan’s stomach twisted again.

Dante stood over you, staring down again in a way that had Negan’s skin crawling. “It’s almost a shame,” he said, sighing as he bent over you again. “She’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Negan felt his entire body, every fiber of himself revolting as Dante suddenly latched his hands around your neck violently and began to compress them, squeezing. He was shaking with the effort. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!” Negan roared. In just a few seconds, which felt excruciatingly long, Negan saw you begin to stir and he realized that you’d woken up. Your brain, suddenly aware that you weren’t pulling in any oxygen, had kicked you into survival mode, probably dumping adrenaline and all kinds of chemicals into your bloodstream to wake you up. “Hey!” Negan yelled again, a vain attempt to distract Dante.

You came to and began to struggle beneath his grip. Your boots slid against the concrete frantically and kicked as you writhed around, trying to get any purchase on the floor to get up, to reposition yourself to fight. But he was over you and had control. You clawed at his hands and arms, trying to pry him off your neck. Your eyes were wide and panicked and your face was turning red and then purple. You reached up in an attempt to scratch his face, to get his eyes, to do anything but Dante pulled back, avoiding your groping fingers. He lifted you slightly off the ground and then slammed you down onto the concrete, jarring you. The back of your head hit the floor hard. He did it again and again as you tried to fight. Your attempts got weaker and weaker, and all the while Negan was yelling, trying to distract Dante, trying to get him to let go. He was completely helpless, powerless to do anything, watching you die right in front of him, out of reach.

A few more moments and you were struggling to stay conscious again. Your face went from red to purple. Negan watched in horror, helpless, as you went limp again with Dante’s hands still around your neck. He looked around for something to use to throw but his scant cell had nothing that could even remotely be used as a weapon. Finally, his eyes landed on the tennis ball beside his boot. He stuck his arm through the bars and threw it as hard as he could at the side of Dante’s head. It struck him and bounced off. “Hey! Dr. Kevorkian!” Negan roared. To his surprise, Dante turned and looked at him slowly, and his hands lifted off you, still shaking slightly from the strain of throttling and fighting you.

You, however, stayed completely still, unconscious on the floor. The marks on your neck, raw and crimson and somehow looking almost bruised already, glared up at Negan. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest. Blind panic was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to get a hold of himself. He had to, if he hoped to save you. He drew in a deep breath and forced his mind to quiet. Think. Think. How the fuck could he deal with this fucker when he was locked up?

Dante straightened up, out of breath from the effort of you fighting him, and he stared right at Negan.

“You mind telling me what in the ever-loving holy fucking hell is happening right now?” Negan asked, forcing his voice to not betray his true fear and panic.

Dante wiped a dot of saliva from the corner of his mouth and stared down at you again beneath him for a moment, his chest heaving. Then, he looked back at Negan.

“I’m gonna kill this bitch. Slowly,” he breathed. “And then I’m gonna kill you. And I’m gonna tell everyone you did it, and I had to put you down,” he said, smiling. “Oh, sure, everyone will be real sad to lose Y/N here. She is a member of the council after all… but who the fuck is going to be care that you’re dead? I’ll say I tried to stop you but I was too late. And if people weren’t already divided over Michonne keeping you alive, how do you think they’re going to feel after this?” He laughed again. “No one will trust Michonne’s judgement anymore. Daryl will be broken to lose one of his closest family members. The council will dissolve. It’ll be a real shame what happens to Alexandria after that… And I’ll be here still, chipping away at it, helping it along.”

Calm. He had to stay calm. Negan gathered himself and then smirked at Dante through the bars. “That’s your plan?” he asked, throwing in a low chuckle as he stretched his tall frame out, leaning with his forearm against the bars just over his head, trying hard to look carefree. “I mean—you can try to kill me. That’s the first flaw in your grand scheme. I didn’t end up in here for playing fucking nice. I used to bash people’s heads in with a bat but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself without sweet little Lucille perched on my shoulder,” Negan said lazily. “Now, your second problem—” he started, watching carefully for Dante’s reaction. He smiled when he saw a flash of curiosity on Dante’s face. “—is that you have not known these fuckers anywhere near as long as I have. If you think you’re going to murder me and Y/N’s fine ass here, plant your little seeds of doubt, and water them with just a sprinkling of grief and come strolling home to a garden bursting with blooms of anger and division… I’ve got some bad fucking news for you, friend. That is not enough to get these people to tear this place apart from the inside out. Trust me, I’ve tried! Exhibit A: my goddamn current situation! When shit gets hard, these fuckers circle the goddamn wagons and somehow come back swinging. They are like a bad case of herpes. As soon as you think they’re gone, poof! They’re back! Trust me, it is fucking annoying, thing but they are resilient as fuck! It’s gonna take a little more than one bad inmate to tear this place down.”

Dante actually seemed to be listening intently. Negan felt some smug satisfaction that when he needed to switch it on, he could still switch it on… He hazarded a glance back at you lying on the floor behind Dante. You were unmoving, but breathing. He could see your chest rising and falling shallowly.

“So, let me guess. You’re going to tell me not to murder Y/N,” Dante said suddenly, suspicious.

Negan pulled a face and shrugged. “No, no, by all means, murder Y/N! Hell, I’ll fuckin’ help you! You think I’ve got any kind of warm and fuzzy feelings toward anyone here? They destroyed my fucking home, my community. I was king of my castle and having a grand old time. They’ve kept me locked up like an animal in here for six fucking years. And Y/N here is my most recent jailor. I can’t take a piss without asking her permission… Besides, you have to kill her now anyway because she woke up and saw you choking the life out of her... But I think the next part of the plan needs some adjustment.”

Dante glanced back at you, making sure you weren’t coming around again. He knew you were still alive. He was a doctor after all. It took time to strangle someone. As much as six minutes sometimes… and he knew you had begun to breathe again as soon as he lifted his hands. But he wanted to kill you slow. He liked the power, the fear, the control of it. He wanted you to suffer. He felt all of you, every one of you with your bloated egos deserved it.

Negan whistled a low two-toned note to get Dante’s attention again. “You still with me, doc?” he asked, smiling. Dante met his eyes again, so Negan went on. “I can help you. I think we can help each other. We kill Y/N here, and I help you make her disappear. A missing member of the council is a mighty fine distraction, don’t you think? I mean, hell—they’ll be sending search parties out to all ends of the earth looking for her. Spreading themselves thin… Meanwhile, on the home front, two determined assholes chipping away at Alexandria from the inside is better than one,” he smiled. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to want to see this place fall, and if that’s your goal then I’m fuckin’ in.”

“Why do I need you at all? I could kill her and make her disappear myself,” he retorted.

Negan shrugged and nodded. “Sure. If you think you can carry her corpse outta here and conceal it all on your own without anyone noticing something is amiss. Carrying a dead body isn’t exactly easy peasy lemon squeezy, especially when you’re on the clock. It sure as shit would be easier and faster with two people. We can probably get this shit done before the rest of Alexandria even wakes up. But,” he held his hands up and shrugged, “your call. If you’d rather fight her and then risk someone walking in while you fight me—because I promise you, I will not go down easily—that’s your choice. But I think there’s a way for this whole thing to work out the best for the both of us and I’m happy to get onboard.”

Dante stared at him. Negan could almost see the working of his mind. He hoped that his expression wasn’t giving away the sheer panic he was barely suppressing. If Dante didn’t buy in… you were dead and he was powerless to stop it.

But to his relief, the next moment. Dante reached into the pocket of his white coat and Negan heard the keys metallic tinkling as he closed a hand around them.

Negan grinned and clicked his tongue. “I knew you were smart,” he said, leaning on the bars again.

Dante approached and began fitting each key into the lock until he found the right one. It turned with a heavy scraping and thud as the bolt retracted. Dante stepped back and Negan grinned as he pushed the cell door open to sweet, sweet freedom.

Dante was standing over you again, his eyes focused on your face. The ring of keys was still clutched in his hand. Negan came to stand slightly behind him to the side and also looked down at your sprawled form. “Are you doing the job or am I?” Negan asked, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

Dante glanced sideways at him and stored the keys in his pocket again. “She’s mine,” he said.

Negan affected a low laugh. “Try not to enjoy it too much,” he said. Dante seemed to like that little comment, even while inside Negan felt sick, sick with rage, sick with the words he had to say, sick with how pale you looked lying still on the floor...

Dante bent over you and wrapped his hands around your throat again, squeezing, his hands shaking with effort. You came to again within seconds and started to fight, but your efforts were weak and you looked like you were trying to move through molasses. You managed to dig a fingernail into Dante’s wrist and thick blood drops dripped down onto you, staining your shirt.

Enraged, Dante drew back a hand and backhanded you across the face, still holding you down hard by your neck with the other, crushing you into the floor so you couldn’t escape him.

Those moments felt like an eternity passing as Negan waited until Dante was distracted enough for him to intervene. His eyes fell on the metal tray that had fallen off the chair to the floor and he hurriedly seized it, pulled it back and bashed Dante across the back of the head with it. The doctor let go of you and fell to the side on his hands and knees. “Breakfast is served, shitdick,” Negan growled. He tossed the tray down and it rang out on the concrete. He seized Dante by his white coat with two hands and hurled him to the side farther away from you, propelling his head into the cinderblock wall. Miraculously, he was still conscious when he fell to the ground. Negan hurriedly wound up and kicked him hard in the ribs. Dante gasped and curled over on his side from the force of Negan’s boot ramming into his ribs and stomach.

Negan’s eyes were dark with rage as he leaned over Dante again and gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet and shoving him back against the wall so hard his head slammed into it again and all the air left his lungs in a forced sound. “You’re a real fucking piece of shit, you know that? Can’t even take someone on in a fair fight without drugging them first,” he growled. “I fucking hate cowards. And I hate little shitdick cowards who hurt women for no goddamned good reason even more. Your teeny tiny itsy bitsy little balls are showing… Me on the other hand, my giant nut sack is made of Kevlar and I am not afraid of a man-on-man cage match. Shitty for you, because this one, you have fucking lost.” With that, he drew back a fist and punched Dante across the face and he kept hitting him, over and over, until the man went limp. Negan let go and his body crumpled like a wet towel.

Negan stood over him for a brief moment to make sure he was truly knocked out and then he rushed to your side, hitting his knees hard on the concrete at he fell to the ground beside you frantically. He cupped your face, noticing that you now had a split lip and red mark from Dante hitting you across the face. “Y/N? Come on. Open your eyes, doll. Come on, look at me!” Negan lifted you slightly, supporting your head and neck and gently shaking you, pulling you against him. He felt a warm, wet spot soaking his sleeve where the back of your head was resting against his arm. “Shit… You’ve got to wake up, darlin’!” He stroked the back of his fingers lightly over your cheek. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re okay…”

He stroked your hair gently, running his fingers through the silky strands, searching your face for any sign that you were rousing, but he saw none. The marks on your neck were terrifyingly dark. He could see that your skin was dotted with broken blood vessels. “Okay. Okay…” he breathed, looking around frantically. “Alright. I’m gonna get you some help,” he murmured to you. He set you down gently, cushioning your head again with the wool blanket. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and he felt completely shaky, unsure if it was still from pure rage or the come down of adrenaline.

He stood and returned to Dante where he was slumped on the floor against the bottom of the wall. He rifled through the pockets of his white coat until he found the keys and then dragged him by his ankles into the jail cell, leaving him carelessly lying on the cold concrete.

“Enjoy your new home, shitstain,” Negan muttered as he locked the cell door, pocketing the keys. He rushed back to you and lifted you as carefully as he could. “Alright, darlin’. Just you and me now. Come on. You’re gonna be fine…” he breathed. He managed to get the outside door open with you in his arms and burst out into the sunshine.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Negan sat slumped in the folding chair beside you, absently running a hand over the stubble on his face. His eyes flickered back to you in the bed over and over again as anxiety ran through him like poison. You were going to wake up and be fine, he kept telling himself, but the wait was excruciating.

The marks on your neck glared back at him. Siddiq had stitched the split in your lower lip and your head wounds with the most delicate stitches he could, but the sight of them still made Negan’s blood boil.

Suddenly, you began to stir just a little on the pillow and Negan snapped upright, leaning forward and waiting to see your eyes open. You fought with your heavy eyelids but finally you blinked awake. It took a moment before you got your bearings and noticed him beside you.

“Negan,” you said softly. Your voice sounded gritty and thin, as if you had a bad sore throat.

Negan smiled at you, all the way up to the corners of his eyes, a soft one. “Hey, doll,” he said, clasping his hands between his bent knees as he sat forward on the edge of his seat.

You pulled in a few deep breaths and swallowed with some effort. Your throat felt raw and your head was pounding, but you were alive. “I thought I was dead,” you mused aloud. The smile on Negan’s face faded and he reached out and grabbed your hand gently, pressing it between his. You looked down at the contact as electricity seemed to crackle over your skin from his touch. It distracted you from the pain throbbing through your face and skull for a moment.

“Close. Too fucking close. But not on my watch, darlin’,” he said seriously.

“Dante—he—I went to get my hand checked and he—he dosed me with something—”

“I know,” he interrupted you. “But you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Daryl’s dealing with him right now, otherwise he’d be here too. He’s been driving me fucking nuts pacing the room and scowling,” Negan joked.

“What happened to—” Your voice cracked and Negan stopped you.

“Shh,” he soothed you. “If it hurts, don’t talk, doll,” he said, his brow knit.

You paused, your eyes flickering between his bright hazel ones. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you retorted immediately, breaking into the tiniest touch of a smile, but quickly stopping as it tugged at your stitches.

Negan rubbed your hand between his, his thumb gliding softly over the silky skin on the back of your hand. He chuckled. “There she is,” he said. He smoothed some stray strands of hair away from your face. “You’re alright,” he said.

“Negan,” you said again, and he let the sound of his name leaving your lips again wash over him. It dredged up an upwelling of emotion and he blinked at the glassiness overtaking his vision. “What—what happened? How’d you—?”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that. Just rest. Everything is alright,” he said.

Your eyes flickered over his face and he sighed because he knew you weren’t going to let it go. He pressed your hand between his again. “You don’t remember anything?” Some part of him seized up with fear that perhaps you had heard the kind of things he’d had to say to get Dante to trust him. But you shook your head. That was a relief… the words had tasted bitter and nauseating as he’d spoken them, and the last thing he wanted was for you to have heard them, perhaps internalized them.

“Not really. Just—I remember—waking up with his hands around my neck,” you said vaguely. “I remember trying to fight him off but it was like I was swimming through quicksand and then… like being dragged under dark water...” The hoarseness in your voice had Negan’s chest aching.

He nodded. “Yeah… I—got him to unlock my cell. Took some convincing… I had to say some fucked up shit to make it happen. Acted like we were allies,” he explained. “And then when I had the chance—I beat the fuck out of him,” he growled. You watched his face darken with the memory and you gulped.

Negan met your eyes and watched as tears began to fill them. He gently clasped your face with one hand, running his fingers through your hair with the other. “Hey—doll—you’re okay. You’re okay,” he said softly. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but it’s all over.”

You sniffled and could feel your bottom lip quivering as you tried not to allow yourself to cry harder. You could only speak in a whisper this time, emotion constraining your voice. “Thank you,” you managed, your eyes flickering between Negan’s, looking golden and maybe even a little glassy too as he leaned over you and stroked your hair.

“You don’t have a thing to thank me for, darlin’,” Negan said emphatically. “I’m just glad I was there to take care of—”

There was the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat near the doorway and you looked over to see Daryl standing there. Negan fell back from you and sank down into his chair again, his fingers drifting away, grieving the growing space as it enlarged and left him feeling a little hollow.

You sniffled and smiled at Daryl as his face grew less stern, seeing you awake. He came straight to your bedside and sank down on the edge. He grabbed your hand in his and gave it a friendly squeeze, his blue eyes traveling over you, hitching on your injuries.

“Negan,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off you. “Wait outside a minute,” he said.

Negan got up without arguing and headed to the door, but he stopped at the threshold and looked back at you in the bed one more time before he stepped into the hallway.

Daryl sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “How ya feelin’?”

You gulped and shrugged a little. “Okay. Sore. Tired. My head is pounding.”

Daryl nodded. His eyes were continually drawn to the marks on your throat, red and raw but quickly darkening into bruises.

“Negan said you were with—with him,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I was. He’s locked up. Negan beat the shit out of him. I think his jaw is broken. Probably some ribs too. Fucker’s face and eyes are all swelled up. Looks like he got into it with a goddamn bee hive.”

You nodded and pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Good,” you whispered.

“Look, if ya need some time, just lemme know. But I wanted to ask ya some questions,” Daryl said. “Ya need anything? Water? Ya warm enough?”

“No, I’m good. Ask me. It’s okay.”

Daryl nodded. “What do you remember about that morning? Negan said Dante drugged ya.”

You nodded. “He must have, because I felt completely fine before I went into the clinic. I went to get my hand checked out; from that gash I got on the run? Siddiq wasn’t there so Dante looked at it and then he gave me two pills. He said they were painkillers and would help with the swelling around the cut and the pain I was having. He was pretty insistent about me taking them. Then, I went to the pantry and prepared some food to take to Negan. I brought it down and then we were talking at his cell door and everything just started to go… strange and cloudy. And then I must have passed out?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Negan said ya just sunk into unconsciousness right in front of him. Ya hit yer head on the cell bars on the way down. And then it wasn’t long before Dante came walking in.”

A struck look hit you. “Right. He asked me what my plans for the day were. I told him I had to bring Negan breakfast, so he would have known I was there.”

“Yeah, or he coulda followed ya anyway. It was pretty early. Hardly anybody was up yet. Woulda been easy for him to keep his distance and watch ya. Fuckin’ creep…” he growled.

“Did—did you ask him why he attacked me?”

Daryl sighed heavily and nodded, his eyes flickering between yours. “Yeah. But he ain’t talkin’. He told Negan some things though.” Daryl considered you for a moment before he went on. “Ya sure yer ready to hear all this?”

“Please,” you asked softly, and Daryl relented.

“Negan said after you were unconscious and Dante came in, he started attacking you. You came to and started fighting back but eventually—uhh…” Daryl was having a hard time recounting it because of the swell of emotions rising in him. He wanted to march back to the cell and end Dante with his bare hands every time he looked at your injuries. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then went on. “You passed out again. Negan somehow got his attention and he let go of you. Negan said he talked his way out of the cell. Guess I dun disbelieve that. Fucker always could fuckin’ talk. Gettin’ him to shut up is the problem.”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at that, and Daryl’s worry eased a little. “True,” you agreed.

“Then, he waited for an opportunity and—it was over. After he got Dante into the cell and locked up, he came runnin’ out on the street yellin’ for help with you in his arms.” Daryl hung his head for a moment and had to steel himself as he remembered the scene. “Fuck, for a second I thought ya were—we all thought—”

You squeezed Daryl’s hand and he looked back up at you and his expression relaxed. “What did he tell Negan about why?”

Daryl shook his head. “He said, basically, he wants Alexandria destroyed. He picked you because yer on the council. It coulda been any of us. But why he wants Alexandria gone? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It ain’t happenin’.”

There was a thick pause as you turned over this information in your mind and you finally sighed and looked back up at Daryl. “Negan saved my life,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. He did. For once, ‘m glad Negan was around. And I never thought I’d say that.”

You nodded and gave Daryl a weary smile. “I noticed you didn’t have him handcuffed or anything,” you said with some surprise.

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere. He’s refused to leave ya for a second. Bit annoyin’ actually… when I was tryin’ to question him. But there’s a guard at the door to the clinic. Ain’t nobody gettin’ in, and Negan ain’t gettin’ out.”

“What’s going to happen to Dante now?” you asked, a flush of anxiety washing over you like a dunk into hot water.

“Dun worry about that. Just rest. We’ll sort everything out when yer on yer feet, alrigh’? Ya sure ya dun need anything?” Daryl could see that you were fading toward sleep again. You shook your head. “Alright. If ya need somethin’, just holler, okay? I’m gonna be just down the hall talkin’ to Siddiq and Michonne.” You agreed and Daryl whistled. “Hey! Negan!” Negan appeared in the doorway looking anxious, but Daryl only tilted his head back toward the empty chair at your side and stood up. “Yer back on duty,” he drawled. He fixed a long stare on Negan as he made his way around your bed and sunk down in the chair again, but there was no tension in it for once. In fact, Daryl was almost looking at him with something like respect. Almost. Daryl took his leave.

Negan laced his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were searching your face and you stared back at him through bright eyes with heavy lids. “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Am I still on Daryl’s shit list?” he joked, cocking an eyebrow up.

You laughed a little. “I think you will always be on Daryl’s shit list, Negan.”

He reached for your hand, his eyes still smiling at the corners. “Am I on your shit list, Y/N?” he asked softly, closing your hand in his so gently you thought you were imagining it at first, but you looked down at the contact between the two of you and saw your skin against his. It felt surprisingly right, easy.

Your voice was raw and strained, but your answer brought a wider smile to Negan’s face. “No.”

“Thank fuckin’ God,” he said, and then he did something you didn’t expect and he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gentle curve of the back of your fingers. “Sleep now, doll. I’ll be right here.”

You shut your eyes and drifted off.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 12: Rainy Days

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Rainy Days (🌼)

Summary: When it rains, you and Matt like to cuddle.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship

Word Count: ~750

A/n: I’m a bit behind with these fics, I’m sorry. But here’s day 12!

Read Me On AO3!

His heart beats steadily against your ear where it rests against his chest. His fingers trace your spine under the sweater you stole from him, and every so often, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

He wants to consume you.

The rain rages outside, pattering against the window and the roof above. Every time thunder strikes, it sounds as though the building is falling apart. Matt holds you a little tighter then.

To him, the sound is rather soothing. It drowns out the noise of the city, the honking of cars, and the screaming of pedestrians who have never heard of the concept of peace. In a way, rain wraps him in a foggy blanket that protects him from the rest of the world. The real storm is the constant attack on his senses, threatening to tear him apart at the seams most days. 

Though not just the rain fills him with a sense of solace. When you’re lying on his chest, your heart beats directly through his skin. He feels you in every fiber of his being. The sound fills his ears, flowing through his bloodstream into his weary soul. His heart takes on a new rhythm, and he finds himself closer than ever to what he can only describe as calm. You taught him what calm can feel like. Now, he’s addicted to it. 

No thoughts racing through his head, no responsibilities to chase—it’s just you and him and the rain over New York City.

You shift slightly, slinging your leg over his in an attempt to get impossibly closer. “You’re warm,” you mutter, muffled through his shirt.

Matt chuckles. “So you keep telling me,” he says. 

“I just wanna…” You lift the fabric enough to slide your head under it.

His abs tense when the cold air brushes his sensitive skin, but that is quickly remedied by the feeling of your hot, minty breath. 

“What’re you doing?” He raises an eyebrow as you shuffle further underneath his shirt until your head pokes at his neckline. 

You give a little focused grunt, forcing your head through the small opening. 

“Told you,” you say. “It’s too cold outside.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say. You’re all over him. You’re inside of him, even. His arms tighten around you, impossibly so, and he pulls your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You’re right where you want to be. Where you’re supposed to be. Where you were made to be. 

He takes another whiff of your scent. God, he thinks, you are a drug. A dangerously addictive and all-consuming drug and his heart is weak; he is so weak for you he would do anything to make you happy. He would do anything just to feel you like this for the rest of his life with the rain, the sweaters, and the chamomile tea. 

“Koala bear,” he murmurs. 

Your chest rumbles with a chuckle of your own. “Human furnace.”

“At least I’m always warm.”

“Are you complaining?” you ask. “‘Cause I can get out.”

At even the slightest attempt to break free from the prison you’ve got yourself into, his fingers dig into your hips, and he pulls you back down against him. “Don’t,” Matt says, as stern as ever. “Stay.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

You lift your head, almost bumping him as you do. “For what?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Loving me? Choosing me? Staying with me? I don’t–”

You cut him off. “You don’t have to say it,” you say. “You show it to me plenty.”

In the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and the way he knows you. He gets you flowers when you’ve had a bad day. He cooks you dinner even after a long day at work, and he comes home in the middle of the night bloody and bruised but alive. That is all that matters to you. 

Another kiss lands on the crown of your head. “I love you,” he says. 

Matt wraps you in his arms with nowhere to go, and he’s determined to keep you there until the rain stops. Until the rain stops and the world comes back crashing in. Until reality and time can no longer be ignored as mere social constructs. 

There is no one he would rather weather storms with than you, even if that means sacrificing his shirts to make space for you. When it comes to you, Matt thinks, personal space is overrated, anyway. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

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The conductive fabric used in grounding mats is made of a special blend of materials that allow it to conduct electricity. When you sleep on a grounding mat, your body is able to absorb the earth's natural electrical field, which helps to neutralize the EMF radiation that surrounds you. It can help to reduce the negative effects of EMF radiation on your health.

In addition to providing EMF protection, grounding mats for sleeping have been shown to provide various health benefits. Research has shown that grounding can help to reduce inflammation, improve circulation, and even improve sleep quality. When your body is grounded, it is able to release excess energy and toxins, which can help to promote overall health and wellness.

If you are interested in trying a grounding mat for sleeping, it is necessary to choose a mat that is made from high-quality, EMF protection fabric. Look for mats that are made from conductive materials such as silver, copper, or carbon, & that are designed to be used on top of your regular mattress.

In conclusion, grounding mat for sleeping are an effective way to protect yourself from EMF radiation and boost your health. By using a mat made of conductive fabric, you can ground your body to the earth's natural electrical field, which can help to reduce inflammation, improve circulation, and promote overall wellness. So why not give it a try and see how a grounding mat can benefit you?

[homesweetgoodneighbor]

Quick reminder on why it is never a good idea to piss off a fiber artist:

Go ahead. Insult a crocheter. Say their craft is somehow inferior. Remember a crocheter can use their hooks go Ancient Egyptian on you and rip your brains out through your nostrils, except we won't bother to mummify you first.

Knitters will not stab you with their needles because some of them are rather fragile, but they will knit you a fetching sweater...a CURSED sweater...THAT cursed sweater...and purposely make it about 5 sizes too small and strangle you with it. It will hurt, but you'll look amazing.

Embroiderers and any sort of seamsters use a sharp object to stab something thousands of times to make it pretty. Do you want to be made pretty? Do you? We WOULD REALLY LIKE TO MAKE YOU PRETTY...

Weavers can make your death shroud from scratch. We're talking sheep to fabric. All they'll need to do is make sure you are in the proper state to be buried. Know that it takes only a moment to make that happen.

Spinners make what is varying thicknesses of rope. Do you know what can be done with rope? Do you really want an answer to that question?

Here is the True Golden Rule: Thou shalt not demean those who work the fiber and expect mercy, for we shall have none. Your destruction will be made of ten thousand knots and each a curse upon your name and your house.

And, we heed the call to protect one of our own with the ferocity of angry bees.

Just be nice to your local fiber artist.

Chances are you'll get something warm out of it.

[lilrainbowcloud]

Echo

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff maybe

Word count: 1.25k [masterlist]

Requested by @almost-gabrielle

An arrow sailed through the air as you calculated the distance between you and them. Concluding that you won't make it in time, you decided to turn on your weapon to the person who you were once familiar with.

The arrow planted itself on the trunk of a tree nearby, wheezing past Backbiter and Riptide from clashing together again, earning a gasp from them. Stunned in place momentarily from a third party as you ran towards them.

Your dominant hand knocked another arrow to the bow as you stopped in front of Percy, raising the tip towards Luke. You were horrified from the deathly stare Luke had given Percy from yards away when you went looking for them.

Not knowing what was happening, you felt the need to protect Percy even if he just had been in camp for a short amount of time. But with the gift of being able to acquire the knowledge of prophecies, due to your father being Apollo, you had the conscious thought of who's in the right or wrong.

“[Y/N]? What are you doing here?” Sounding more shocked than irritated, a shadow of guilt and shame passed his face for one of his longtime friends from the camp had witnessed his becoming.

“Could've asked you the same thing, Castellan.” The usage of his last name did earn a reaction out of him. Displeased as you had never addressed him as such. You readjusted your grip on the tail end of the arrow.

“Give me a chance to explain things to you, [Y/N],” Lowering his double edged sword, his demeanor and tone changed as that of an adult consulting a child. Or one that was trying to manipulate. You knew of those tactics used.

“Don't listen to him!” Percy exclaimed from behind you. Then, he told you of Luke’s plan to recruit and to restore the being of Kronos.

Horror filled your veins as you listened to how absurd the string of words were.

“How-, why?” Was what you managed to give out as your eyebrows furrowed looking at the son of Hermes in front of you.

“One day I’ll make you understand,” Taking a few steps back, you almost didn't see the portal that had opened up behind Luke in which the direction you thought he was going, “And you will join me,” Looking over your shoulder, he spoke directly to the boy behind you, “Especially you, Percy.”

Then he disappeared.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I'm fine,”

Just then, you saw that he was gripping his bicep, a dark flow of red was blooming on the fabric of his flannel. A grimace on his face.

“Oh my god, Percy.” Without a word you guided him to the infirmary after making a makeshift tourniquet by sacrificing your overshirt. Being in cabin 7 meant that you had access to the infirmary at all times in case of emergency. And this was an emergency.

Cleaning a wound and healing it with a salve was a common occurrence in your days. Muscle memory took hold of you as you sat Percy down on one of the beds and ordered him to stay still as you worked on his injury.

It was quite between the two of you. The only sound coming from your working and the soft crashing of the water near the river. The celebration from your team winning Capture the Flag had died down as everybody dispersed.

Both too occupied with racing thoughts trying to process what had happened. You both lost a friend and what you had considered your family.

Pulling your mind and focus back into reality, though it felt like you were trudging through muddied water each step making you sink deeper, you took a seat next to Percy on the bed. Exhaustion took over every fiber of your body as your tired eyes stared into the wooden wall.

“How are you feeling, Percy?” Managing a turn of your head towards him, you saw him shaking his head slowly, unfocused eyes trained to the wall in front the same as you. You felt awful for him to experience such a thing. And to ask such a stupid question. But it was a natural question one might say.

Of course you're not okay.

Betrayed by the person who got you to accept and introduce your new life only for them to turn it around.

Feeling drained, you stood up to leave him be. Maybe your presence was not required. Maybe he needed the company of his best friend? Who were you to him anyway? The best thing you could offer was your aid to his injury and perhaps nothing more.

Saying your goodbye to him, you stood to take your leave.

Only, you were gently pulled by your wrist making you stop.

Looking up at you was such pleading blue eyes curtained by soft blond curls. He truly was the son of Poseidon as you watch the colour of the sea swirls in his eyes reflecting the state of his mind even in low warm lighting. For a moment, you were in awe, mouth falling open slightly.

“Could you, maybe,” Averting his gaze to his balled fist in his lap, suddenly shy though he hadn't let go of your wrist, “Stay here?”

With me? Was what he had meant to say. It didn't get past his lips but you thought the same. You pitied him for what he had to go through this summer.

Although you haven't spent enough time together, you did however admire him for his bravery and determination in taking your shared destiny of being a half-blood by the reign and guiding through the trenches of your fate fearlessly. In your time of being a camper here, you had never met one demigod with the likeness of him.

Did you develop some sort of affection towards him? Maybe a little.

Or a lot more than that.

For Percy reminded you so much of your past friend.

There was a time before you were exposed to this other world, the world of your divine lineage, you had a close friend that he had resembled from the appearance down to his personality.

When Percy first landed in the infirmary, the air had been knocked out of your lung as the thought of him being your past friend was true. But upon learning his name and background, you lost your hope.

Because you had lost that friend when one day, when your scent had attracted too many monsters, it had hurt him in the process of you trying to fend it off.

To him, who was a mortal blinded by the Mist, he didn't understand your action of running away. Without saying goodbye.

To your younger self, it was the best option as to not get him involved and possibly intertwined with the mishaps of your life. Even if it was not fair to anyone.

It was better to save himself from you.

Though it still tugged at your heartstrings in that moment of him holding onto you.

Do you indulge in your feelings for a lost person that you might have considered as a lover, or put aside your selfishness and stay as a friend?

Before you could come up with a conclusion of your own, the heaviness of your heart pulled you back to reality, and right back into his ocean eyes.

You felt like drowning in them.

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

[goponylover]

Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own! 

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved. 

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE! 

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel. 

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then. 

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again. 

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we? 

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game?