#I LOVE BLANCHE DEVEREAUX SO MUCH

[roseeycreates-blog]

Thanks for the tag @witchybitchybisexual So sorry it took so longgg~

Questions For My Mutuals and whoever wants to join!

1. How did you find out about the show?

I saw a compilation video of Dorothy and Sophia's moments on Facebook and decided to watch it. At the time, I had just finished watching The Big Bang Theory and season 10 of Modern Family. This was back in 2020 when the pandemic started.

2. One storyline you’d eliminate?

Hmmm not really a storyline but an episode. The Empty nest episode...

4. Character you most relate to?

I always say this: I am a Dorothy with a hint of Sophia, who shares the same name with Rose, and badly wants to be like Blanche.

5. Favourite character?

B.E.D 😁😍

6. Favourite story of a cast member?

Also the story on how Rue and Betty got their roles :D

7. Which was the episode that got you hooked?

Hmmm As soon as I watched the pilot, I got hooked. But to be fair, it was really that one scene from the video compilation that made me want to watch it.

Dorothy: Well, at least I stood up for my principles.

Sophia: This is the proudest I've been of you in my whole life.

Dorothy: Thanks, Ma.

Sophia: Can you believe it? My whole life and this is the proudest I've ever been.

Sophia:

8. You could wear one girl’s wardrobe for the rest of your life, who would you pick?

Blanche's, though I don't have the confidence or the body for it… Her wardrobe is gorgeous!

9. How many kids do you think they all actually had?

Oh, I don't really know. I think Dorothy got 2, Sophia 3, Blanche 4? I'm not sure… and Rose 1?? 😅😅😅

10. Do you think the actresses would’ve gotten along with their characters if they met in real life? Why/Why not?

They would all get along so well. Blanche and Rue would talk about men and fashion. Dorothy and Bea probably bond over books. Rose and Betty would bond over their love for animals. Sophia and Estelle would probably bond over cooking.

11. What are your other comfort shows?

The Big Bang Theory, Modern Family, Maude, The Nanny

12. Headcanons? (Feel free to list as many as you’d like)

Blanche and Dorothy often go out together to escape the craziness of Rose and Sophia.

Sometimes Dorothy picks up Blanche from the museum, and they head home together.

Dorothy wrote a novel about their adventures but never got it published.

Blanche enjoys sunbathing on the lanai completely nude.

Sophia frequently convinces Rose to drive her around town, visiting places she's never been allowed to go and indulging in treats, making Rose foot the bill.

Once a year, the girls take a vacation to their hometown (for example, they visit Hollingsworth Manor or Brooklyn). Their least favorite town they visited is, unsurprisingly, St. Olaf.

Dorothy and Blanche have had at least one romantic encounter. Or maybe many times, many many times~ There, I said it… I love them together!

13. What would you change (if anything) about the show/ characters if it was set in the modern day?

Imagine an episode where the girls are on a video call, like that one Modern Family episode. The costume designs would be great too! I'd love to see Blanche trying trendy clothes and getting criticized by the girls. Oh, and Sophia making a Tinder profile for Dorothy with the help of Blanche and Rose would be hilarious!

14. Which other Fictional Characters would you like each one of the golden girls to meet?

I always wanted Blanche and Dorothy to meet Vivian and Maude. That would be quite a dynamic encounter!

15. Who were your favourite duo?

Ha! Blanche and Dorothy~

15. Who should’ve got more 1:1 screen time with each other?

Blanche and Sophia

16. Calmest season?

Hmmmm I don't know. the last 3?

17. Most chaotic season?

Seasons 2 and 3

18. Favorite Season?

Seasons 1 and 2

19. If the girls hadn’t had their established careers, what other ones could you picture them doing?

Hmm, Dorothy as a librarian, Rose owning a pet shop, Blanche as a real estate agent, and Sophia maybe volunteering at a pizza shop or even at the library where Dorothy works—though, let's be honest, Shady Pines always has a place for her, right?

20. Best aspects of the show in your opinion?

Everything~

21. (This question is for my fellow cheesecake lovers) favourite cheesecake flavour?

I'm so sorry but I am like Bea. I'm not particularly fond of cheesecake.

22. Storyline you wished they had expanded upon?

It would be fascinating to explore each of the girls' pasts through more flashbacks from their childhood.

23. Questions you’d ask the actresses?

Oh, I just want to meet them and give them a hug, especially Rue. Also, I want to say I love them all. Maybe I could even ask her if I could be her daughter—my mom and Rue shared the same birth date.

24. Episode that brings you the most comfort?

Episodes where Blanche and Dorothy fight but make up in the end. Their reconciliations are always so sweet.

25. Episode that made you laugh the hardest?

Hmmm, It's a tough choice. I can't pick one

26. Which other work that the actresses did you enjoy the most?

MAUDE and all of Rue's work~

27. Best St Olaf Story?

Definitely the Great Herring War

28. Best slut story?

The one with Billy, or Bobby? Yeah, Bobby. Yeah, it was Bobby... or was it, Ben? Oh, who knows? Anyway, it started with a "B". 😉

29. Best Sicily story?

The story about pepperoni swimming upstream :D

30. Which girl would you be most interested in seeing a prequel of? And at which point in their life?

My Southern Belle, BLANCHEYYY

Tagging: @moun-chan @risingsoleil @eddiemartha @hecatesbroom @eeblouissant and anyone else who wants to join

[dulcemapis]

for all my fellow 2AM/CAM truthers 😔

[eeblouissant]

tonight’s silly things

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I think both of Blanche's middle names are real. She was named 'Blanche Marie Hollingsworth' at birth, and she later changed her name to 'Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux' when she got married. The middle name 'Marie' was too painful a reminder of her mammy Viola (from the way she says it in her episode, it sounds like she used to call Blanche by her full name pretty often), so some time after Viola left Blanche started using 'Elizabeth' as her middle name, probably told George it was her middle name, and took the chance when she got married to formally change it.

[skysglcw]

Rue McClanahan is so beautiful it makes me curl my toes until they fall off

[hecatesbroom]

Blanche's grandma's place is the only place she felt consistently loved in... no I'm fine. I'm fine

[this-geek]

As per my rewatch here are some thoughts I had. They are in no order because I got distracted so just little bullet points.

The Pilot

The layout of the house is so different.

Coco!

Sophia's wig is terrible

She seems sicker in this first episode, like I don't know how to explain it but she just seems more impulsive.

Blanche's accent is so light. Like the difference between the pilot and the first episode, is such a jump.

Episode 2: Kate's Wedding

Aaaaahhhh! Why is Dorothy expected to be the bigger person all the time?! Her husband cheated on her and fucked off without telling her and it's all, don't be mean Mom! Kate get your head out of your ass and let her be mad at the rat bastard.

The tears in her eyes when she says goodbye to him...I can't even!

Episode 3: The Arnie Episode

Jealous Blanche is so funny here, she blows a fucking raspberry at her hahaha

Oh my god it's Miles...I mean Arnie!

The way Blanche says Get outta here scratches my brain.

The ending is so cute. The way Dorothy was so desperate for the hot goss and Rose's face when she returns from her room confirming she hit the sheets.

[queenofquestions]

Bringing Up Baby is my absolute favorite movie ever (that’s why I have it as the picture at the top of my blog :)

Well, just imagine how excited I was to learn that there was an episode of Golden Girls inspired by it!

And, let me tell you, it did Not disappoint! Besides being absolutely hilarious, it had some great golden wives moments.

They plan on raising a baby the three of them together? And then they plan to use the money to buy a car together? And then this is their reconciliation…

[athgalla-arts]

thamk yuou for being a frend :) I might lowkey casually ship Rose and Blanche I also hope I capture the "opossum you found rooting around in your garage at 3 AM" energy Sophia has Dorothy is tough to doodle but aa I love her

[agneswarda]

golden girls is so amazing i even made a powerpoint

(I copy-pasted the main text under the cut. unfortunately, I can't find the time for a proper alt text. life is stressful rn)

-Picture it: Miami, late 80s/early 90s. four 60+ women

-living together.

-Sure, they talk a lot about (straight) sex

-but what we see on screen is their dynamic. Their deep friendship. Their love also they often act quite gay with eachother. amazing

-Did i mention they are old. They are old and deal with getting sick and aging. A lot.

-But their life isn‘t over. They might not be related. But they are family, and they are here for each other

-These four women are the Golden Girls.

-You are in for a treat. A 7 seasons 25 episodes long treat

Introducing the girls: Dorothy Zbornak

-not to be a lesbian but omg

-Tall soft butch

-quick-witted

-sarcastic

-her voice *swoons*

-would make numbers on tumblr

-> her idea of a good time is being Alone wiht a book in her room

-> Huge dorky nerd

- Being vulnerable is not her strength but when she is It‘s amazing. Soft. makes me cry

Introducing the girls: Blanche Devereaux

-slutty

-sexy

-selfish

-sensitive

-Sensual

-Did i mention slutty

-And proud of it

-All these things are her strenghts as well as her weaknesses

 -She is actually quite complex

Introducing the girls: Rose Nylund

-Sweet

-Loving

-Kind

-caring

-Everyone says she‘s Dumb

-I think she might just Be neurodivergent?!??!!!! With her special interest

-Being St. Olaf

-The place she comes from

-Has amazing st olaf stories for everything

-Can also be a judgy bitch sometimes

Introducing the girls: Sophia Petrillo

-SHE WOULD MAKE NUMBERS ON TUMBLR

-„You're a funny little gnome, and we feed you too much.”

-This quote describes her perfectly

-It’s Dorothy who says it to her

-Who is incidentally her daughter

-Trickster energy

-Don‘t know if she is gay. But she commits crimes

-It‘s her way of dealing with old age

-And all the limitations it brings

-The show would just be half as funny without her

But op. Is it really this good. It‘s so old

I will admit: not everything aged well. Be also prepared for:

-it‘s v white. If they have characters of color, they sometimes work well. And sometimes it‘s embarassing to watch bc harmful stereotypes (not often but yeah. It happens.)

-Bodyshaming: the girls tease each other about their height, weight etc. and sometimes it can really become a lot/too much.

-Rose is so often the butt of the joke for not understanding situations. I think a lot of neurodivergent folks can relate. And it can hurt to hear the same old mean comments again and again

BUT

-This is a series which was never afraid of complicated topics

-First and foremost: the queer advocacy and topics were and still are amazing. The found family of it all alone.

-Also: death,being sick, being disabled. Getting old. Not performing the gender The way one would like to (anymore) (so. yes. Dysphoria. In a way). The financial aspect of it all. These are important topics which are treated with humor (of course) but also with respect

-it‘s a kind show which has its heart in the right place

-And i mean

-4 old women who are „just“ friends living together, supporting eachother?

-That shit is still revolutionary in the year of our lord 2024

So give it a chance!!!!11!!!!!111

[eeblouissant]

AAAAAAA <<3333

I'm new to the fandom & this is one of my first humble contributions

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Trust Nelly's instincts

Aw hey, time for the infamous second pharmacy run

What -- Maggie said that the area where the drugstore is has been empty. Thank God, an uneventful trip sounds great! And nothing has gone wrong with keeping the secret about the barn, so, things are looking pretty good right now. And it's so weird that you thought it looked like Carl had a gun tucked into the waistband of his cargos, right? As if.

Who -- The series is slow-burning, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader. In this chapter, you're joined by Maggie, Glenn, Hershel, Lori, Carl, big brother Shane, Rick, Dale, a cameo by Jimmy, and most importantly: Nelly! (<- she's the horse)

When -- Chronologically after "A near-perfect Sunday," Meaning we're back where we left off in Season 2. This chapter takes place in S02 episode Secrets, and as with all chapters that take place directly in an episode, there is word-for-word show dialogue.

Special note -- The last chapter published was a time skip all the way to Daryl Spinoff Season 1, for those who want a little bit of non-linear fun featuring angst and fluffy yearning

Perspective -- 2nd person

Pronouns - none

TWs - mild language, bad screenshots, some intense scenes.

Masterlist to the rest of the Slowpoke Series :D

Trust Nelly's instincts

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

Morning

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

“I feel so special!” you sing. Nervous Nelly is letting you ride her again!

Mr. Greene gave you permission to ride her at your request. In fact, you can’t help but squeal, “Thank you, Mr. Greene!” one last time. You hadn't expected your squeal to travel quite so far, but you see his tiny, far off form turn ever so slightly and raises his hand in acknowledgment. Ha.

Thrice so far you’ve practiced riding on horseback for the pharmacy trip. You’ll be leaving with Maggie and Glenn closer to noon, and the trip might should last an hour and a half to two hours? Maybe less, you don’t know. After target practice, T-Dog is doing an extended search for Sophia today with Carol and Rick, so he’s not coming anymore.

The list is all ready to go. You’re going to look for one of the bio-identical types of progestogen that Lori was prescribed before. She’d miscarried a bunch of times, and finally (finally) her doc had her try it out because Lori had done the research and brought it up. The first trial ended in another loss, as was expected. Except she didn’t get pregnant again that she knew of until now.

As for the Rh shot, you have no idea if it would even work anymore. You don’t know how it’s supposed to be stored or what the shelf life is. But there's a high chance she’ll need it if both baby and her are going to survive.

Ooh, maybe the pharmacy has a manual you can utilize! Like, you have a Merck Manual but it only goes so far.

Either way, your prayer is that Lori and new baby make it to the finish line together. Another loss, now, may be too much for her to handle.

“You’re the sweetest horse, yes you are, sugar,” you coo. “Such a pretty, sweet horse, Nelly, such a sweet, sensitive girl.” *muah!* “I love you, Nelly-belly!”

The snickering you hear is…ah, Jimmy’s.

Side-eyeing him, you make your accent fancy like Blanche Devereaux’s and pretend to glower. “Hmph! It appears young James is jealous of our bond, Miss Eleanor. Pay the boy no mind.” If only your attempt to turn her around like a pro didn’t result in her doing a 360. Twice. In opposing directions when you tried to correct her, oof, that’s embarrassing.

“I thought you’d ridden before.”

“I did for fun when I visited friends at a rez in Oklahoma. We’d hang at the ranch nearby.” You were so painfully homesick the first (and second and third and fourth) time(s) that it’s shocking you chose to go back in one or two-week increments during so many summers. How Zee and Suri survived those entire summers visiting their mom’s side of the family out of state, mostly away from their parents, you may never know. “I learned how to ride a motorcycle there, too.”

“Cool, you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“Yes indeed!”

He must be so proud of his follow-up: “Do you ride ’em better than you ride horses?”

“Difficult to say when clearly I am a great expert on the saddle, farm boy,” you goof off.

Jimmy just chuckles and brings the brush and hoof pick back to the stables.

You try your hand at having the horse canter (is that the word for horse jogging? Or is that trotting?). It goes okay. You just need to remember to use the reins to slow her down, not your feet, which make the opposite happen.

After 10 or so more minutes of practice during which you go back and forth pretending you’re in the Lord of the Rings or in the Old West, you hop down and hitch her to the fence post so you can pee before you go back to the campsite.

It’s your turn to wash the dishes from breakfast.

What a comfort that this trip is more than likely going to be entirely uneventful. Maggie went with Otis lots of times into town, and then her and Glenn’s trip was fine, too. According to her, the place is now empty. She hasn’t even seen any dead ones for weeks.

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

Mid-morning

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

“Glenn,” you murmur when he walks by with the latest bushel of bribery-peaches. He’s staring at the barn a little too obviously again. His skin looks clammy, too. “Did you have another nightmare about it?”

“A really bad one, right before I woke up. I keep—” he shivers. “Every time I look in that direction, it’s like déjà vu.”

“That sucks.” What else to say…“Only a few more days and we can revisit how to tell people. I really think I that time Mr. Greene will see reason. I got a feeling about it.”

“And I’ve got a feeling that they’re gonna bust down the doors and eat us.”

“They wouldn’t bother, you’re too skinny. You should eat more of them peaches,” you joke. “And enough carryin’ food like you’re still the delivery guy.”

“It helps me feel in control,” he admits. “I swear, I almost blurted it out to your brother when I was walking around with the basket just now.”

A shiver runs through you. “Well, thank you for not. Want my mp3 player?”

“No. I want to be able to hear when they break the chains around the door.”

You’re momentarily distracted when Carl walks by with a thick stick in his hands. Does he have a g…no, of course not.

It’s dumb, you thought he looked like he was packing. It was just the way his shirt was puffing out and folding because of the sheath of his knife, duh. Must be on your mind because he’s been asking and hinting more and more about learning.

Just the other day, he asked when you were helping Beth with safety switch drills if you’d teach him, too. You showed him that aspect, but repeated that he’d need express permission from both parents to learn to shoot, and suggested that he go to Uncle Shane to help him ask. Shane’s the best instructor, simply put, more than Rick and T-Dog and definitely more than you.

After standing by the adults (and Jimmy, who's taken on more and more of a role in looking for Sophia) planning the day’s search areas, your nephew takes the shady spot under the awning and leans against the side of the RV. He appears to be carving a point at the end of his stick.

Aw, it’s like the way Daryl sharpens the points of his bolts sometimes. Cute. Cuter still how he’s loving wearing Rick’s deputy hat that he gifted him. Such a little man.

It looks like Beth and Patricia asked to come to target practice again today, good. Jimmy keeps trying to shoot with the gun cocked sideways, it’s pretty funny. His mom will get a laugh out of it, hopefully.

When Shane saunters over and waves you to join, he claps his arm around your shoulders from the side with a “G’morning. Say, I, uh,” he then murmurs in your ear. “I think I need your help for this. You noticed the tracking on him, too, I assume? I saw you do that double-take and I reckon you’re right.”

You trust him entirely but want him to be wrong. Carl would have had to take a gun without permission to be carrying, an idea you don’t like one bit. “It ain’t just the way his shirt’s falling?” you quietly wish.

“I been telling you: trust your instincts. You’re not an idiot.” He briefly touches his forehead to yours, takes another bite from his half-eaten peach and tilts his head toward Carl before leading the way.

“Dude. Nice lid, man,” he tells him regarding the deputy hat, then walks around to the opposite side of the RV with the two of you. “What’s goin’ on?”

Upon getting a closer look, yes indeed, Carl is carrying.

It was well done, tucking it on the same side as the sheath. Makes it easier to miss.

“Were you trying your hand at making a bolt from scratch for Mr. Dixon or just killin’ time?” you comment about his whittling. He wouldn’t have taken a gun just for ha-has, he’s a wholeheartedly good kid. You can’t quite wrap your head around it.

“I was just killing time.”

“Well, it looked cool, punk,” you tell him softly, smiling through the disappointment. Sighing, you crouch and wait for Shane to do the rest.

Carl looks at you, then at his uncle. “I wanna learn to shoot, too. Can you teach me?”

Your brother chuckles as he sits against the RV’s front grille. “Well, man, that’s, that’s up to your parents.”

“That’s what Y/N said.”

Shane nods at you. “Y/N’s right.”

“Can you talk to them? They’ll listen to you.”

Chewing another mouthful of peach, Shane takes his time but is completely serious when he agrees, “We’ll see.”

Let down, Carl nods politely and makes as if to walk away.

You hold out your hand to slow him. “Hey. A moment, little man.”

Shane gently but firmly orders, “Let us see what you got there.”

Slowly, Carl lifts the front right side of his button-down.

“Carl Lincoln Grimes,” you cannot help gasp upon seeing exactly which gun he has tucked into his belt. “That is your mama’s.”

Your brother is staring, visibly pissed. You just know he’s imagining taking a whistling teakettle off the stovetop to help keep his cool.

It wasn’t just any pistol from the bag in the RV. No, that gun is Lori’s.

Shane looks to his left where no one is standing, hurls underhand what’s left of his peach in that direction, and stands. “Thank you,” he grunts, then strides away to get Rick and Lori.

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

Mystery number of uncomfortable minutes later

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

Lori gave Carl a chiding so effective it only needed her to state her disappointment that he’d went behind their backs. She’s so upset. So upset. You’re settled at the picnic table where Carl is awaiting his sentencing.

Briefly, you catch Lori laying her hand on her stomach, her forehead knotted in worry. Hopefully she’ll tell Rick about the pregnancy soon. Guarding this secret will only lead to more hurt the longer it stays a secret. She stands from where she’s been kneeling by you in front of her son, tucks her gun into the back pocket of her jeans, and joins the other adults. Other than Rick and yourself, Shane of course stayed, but Dale is also here.

“Bet you four quarters someone brings up how I started learning gun stuff when I was eight,” you whisper to your nephew, trying to lighten his mood.

Carl doesn’t make a yes or a no, he just sort of looks up at you, then back down at his shoes.

It sounds like Lori’s questioning herself more than anyone. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Well, it’s my fault. I let him into the RV,” Dale explains. (Except, that doesn’t make him at fault.) Here’s the kicker that he reveals, however: “He said that he wanted a walkie, that you sent him for one.”

Your mouth drops. Stealing the gun was out of character enough, but he also lied? That is not like him. At all.

Seeing your appall, Carl bows his head even more.

Poor Lori by taken by such surprise that her childhood accent begins to slip out. “So on top of everything else, he lied?” she chastises, then begins discussing something with Rick, the words too soft to make out.

Whatever they are, your brother must hear. “He wants to learn how to shoot. He asked both me and Y/N to teach him,” he says. “Now, it’s none of my business, but I’m happy to do it. It’s your call.”

“I’m not comfortable with it,” Lori is quick to answer, but her face falls into incredulity when she looks at her husband. “Oh, don’t make me out to be the unreasonable one here. Rick?”

“I know. I have my concerns, too, but—”

“—There’s no ‘but,’ he was just shot!”

Hearing her say this brings to the surface every painful detail of that awful, awful day.

Immediately and unexpectedly, you release a sob. You have to quickly stand and take a few steps away, holding your breath, trying to compose yourself and not make a scene. Shane’s familiar footfall sounds behind you, and you feel him peck a kiss on your head.

The next part of the discussion that draws your attention is your name after Rick mentions something about safe gun handling.

“Y/N, you were doing safety drills with Beth and him just the other day, is that right?”

“Ricky, leave me alone,” you huff. Carl gets up and wraps his arms around you. You hug him back and wonder how scared or responsible for others’ safety he must feel that he’d steal his mother’s firearm.

Lori is resolute. “I don’t want my kid walking around with a gun.”

“But how can you defend that?” Rick counters. “You can’t let him go around without protection.”

“He’s as safe as he’ll ever be right here,” she pleads. She did not need this today, any of this. “Look, everything you’re saying makes perfect sense. It feels wrong,” is the last thing you hear. You become consumed with second thoughts, worries, guilt over the barn. If any of them found out now…

“Do you think I can say something?” Carl whispers, still with an arm around you. “I wanna speak for myself.”

You nod and pat him on the back. “Start with somethin’ to comfort your mother.”

Rick is in the middle of telling Lori, “He’s growing up, thank God. We’ve got to start treating him more like an adult.”

“Then he needs to act like one!” The reprimand stings and you’re not even the recipient. “He’s not mature enough to handle a gun.”

Carl must’ve seen a chance, because he chooses now to speak up. “I’m not gonna play with it, Mom. It’s not a toy.” He walks toward the ring of adults as calm as could be. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. But I wanna look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can’t do that without a gun.”

If you loved that kid any more, you’d explode. Just look at Lori's face, it's plain as day she's thinking the same.

“Shane’s the best instructor I know.” What a compliment from Rick. “I’ve seen him teach kids younger than Carl. Y/N was only eight.”

“I told ya someone would dredge that up,” you say under your breath. Shane raises an eyebrow at you, not being so bold as to smirk.

Carl turns and grins, however. “Guess I owe you a dollar.”

Lori appears to relent, coming to an agreement with Rick. She looks at her son and cups his chin the way she’s done for as long as you can remember.

“You will take this seriously and you will behave responsibly. And if I hear from anyone in this camp that you are not livin’ up to our expectations—”

“—He won’t let you down,” his father promises.

Lori kisses her boy on his head, kisses Rick’s cheek. She then looks at her stomach, looks at you, but averts her eyes so quickly away from yours that it gives you a pause. Something about it hits as eerily familiar, like the night at the CDC.

Red flag.

Not three minutes later when you’re finally finishing your turn on dish duty, she picks up the empty rinse pail. “Are you and Glenn still going to the pharmacy today?”

“Yes. We’re takin’ the horses. Teddy isn’t coming anymore but it will be us two and Maggie.”

“Good. I, um,” she trails off. Again, she won’t quite look at you.

What’s wrong? Did you offend her earlier? “Lore, what’s up?”

“Oh, I’m, I’m just preoccupied. It’ll be interesting to see what target practice is like,” she brushes it off.

“Everything okay with,” and you flit your gaze to her belly.

“Well, there's so bleeding or pain," she answers in a very soft voice. "And I still can’t stand the smell of meat or eggs, so..."

The best you can come up with is about as helpful as a screen door on a submarine: “Thank God we have all these peaches.”

“I cannot tell you how many I’ve eaten,” she begins to chat, seeming grateful for an excuse to change the subject. If only her smile was reaching her eyes. “Half of my body weight is probably peaches at this point.”

“Same,” you snort.

The conversation ends.

You’re left with the disquieting notion that there’s a big red flag you’ve missed.

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

Noon

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

Mr. Greene calls your name when you have just dismounted Nelly so you can lead her to the mailbox where you’re meeting Maggie and Glenn. Maggie’s going to adjust the straps on all three saddles before you three set out. You turn to Mr. Greene, happy as a clam that you’ve gotten the hang of riding Nelly and that Carl is safe with both mom and dad at target practice. After this morning’s drama, the rest of the day will seem a breeze!

You look at him.

Hershel’s gaze is too intent and direct.

Your stomach twists.

It’s so direct that a strange sense of dread and defeat presses down on you before he’s said a word.

“I am aware that you and he know.”

This stops you dead in your tracks.

No.

No, he can’t know.

The way he’s peering at you suggests that he can see straight into your mind. “To clarify, I am aware that you and your friend know about whom we are safeguarding in the barn.”

Your breathing turns shallow and quick. “But we ain’t told nobody!” slips out before you can speak with proper grammar and less twang. “W-We haven’t told anybody, sir,” isn’t much of an improvement.

If the old man had pulled a gun on you, you’d be less terrified than you are now.

He’s going to kick you all out and it’s all your fault. It’s your fault, you should’ve — if you’d — how stupid could you have been to — oh, fuck!

Lori’s voice, her words that helped get you through the panic come back to you, “Try this with me, honey.” Slowly in through the nose, out through the mouth. Yet, with this panic comes a curious style of anger that you’re almost tempted to call righteous.

“Sir, we respected your daughter’s wishes and told no one. We, we went ag-gag-” you pause, slow down, regain control over your speech. “We went against what we’ve learned. We kept quiet, and that’s, that’s with an injured man and a child among us. Sir, we are riskin’ their safety,” you very nearly lose your cool when saying.

Breathe. Take the kettle off the burner.

“If you’re of mind to, to kick us off your land for simply,” you swallow, “knowing what’s in there, I am beggin’ you, please, reconsider. Please.” You are unable to look him in the eyes for more than a second.

Unreadable. He’s unreadable.

Why isn’t he responding, at least, so you can know what the verdict is? Swing the gavel, already!

Not knowing what to do, you keep blabbing against the disquieting notion within you that you may be digging a deeper hole. “You ain’t the — I mean, you are not — the sort of man to punish the whole for an honest mistake of the few. You, you, y-you are the sort of man who,” you take a deep breath with palms open in supplication, “Rick and I was two blood-soaked strangers. Carl was a child with a shotgun wound.” How weak your voice sounds, as if already beaten. “You let us in through your doors and saved his life. That’s the kind of person you are.”

He finally answers. “So, you are aware of my reservations regarding your group.”

“We all are.”

“Again, I am inclined to appreciate your plainspokenness.”

A weak giggle.“I would say it’s more I can’t shut my mouth at times.”

Did he just find that amusing? “And yet, you have not spoken of what you know about the sick men and women.”

‘Sick men and women.’ Would it be a lapse of you to not address how wrong he is? If he’s already set to kick everyone out, maybe this is the last chance you have to change his mind.

It must’ve been written on your face because he calls it out. “And you appear to disagree with my referring to them as such.”

“Folk have to die to turn. Their souls have moved on.”

“There should be no indication of memory, in that case. I have witnessed it.”

You stand straighter. “The virus hijacks the deceased’s nervous system,” you say without a hint of a stutter. Maybe this will save you all, your speaking up at this very moment. Shane told you to trust your instincts, and they’re screaming at you to speak up.

“That is your opinion, then?” he asks, but not dismissively. He sounds genuinely curious.

“It is not my opinion, it’s a fact we learned right from the scientist at the CDC,” you risk stating. You're breathing too fast now. It’s making your fingers numb like they did before the panic attack, and your cheeks are so heated you’re beginning to sweat. “My opinion is that letting them walk is akin to desecration of a corpse, a-and I believe those people deserve a burial.”

Okay, it’s done, you’ve said your piece.

And regret it immediately.

Oh, Y/N, you stupid, stupid idiot.

You are not courageous enough to meet his eyes yet because you can tangibly feel his stare.

“Then I must ask you…” Oh, no, you stupid, stupid idiot, Y/N. “…How you could allow such a thing to continue, if you indeed feel so strongly?”

Nelly appears to become agitated.

Your bottom lip begins to wobble. “Sir, w-we need someplace safe.” This conversation is not only defeating, it’s humiliating. “We are completely at your mercy, Mr. Greene, you know this.”

“So at my mercy that you’d allow ‘corpses’ to be ‘desecrated.’”

That word must have really struck a nerve. You stupid, stupid, idiot.

“Th-they’re contained,” you attempt. If he leaves before you can smooth things, it’s on you if your people are kicked out. On. You. And when someone is killed because the lot of you got kicked out, it will be entirely on you, their blood on your hands. The hand you used to stanch the flow from Amy’s neck begins to feel covered in it once more. “They can’t hurt nobody in there, so that’s, um—y-you’re givin’ them dignity and reverence in that way. That’s not immoral.”

The description, you hope will offset the clear sting that the word ‘desecration’ had on him.

It wasn’t all a lie on your part, either. He is clearly trying to give those walkers dignity. He just doesn’t understand that they’re dead and not coming back.

“Y/N, thank you for your candor but please do not feel the need to hold my hand. There are far more troubling outlooks than yours,” he calmly intones. “I surmise that you are not aware that the older gentleman in your group now knows.”

Excuse you? “You mean Mr. Horvath knows?” You stare at your clean, non-bloodied hand to prove that it's not soaked.

“He described having taken a walk near the barn, hearing the sick inside. He was the picture of respect. However…”

You’re starting to feel unstable on your feet. What’s the catch?

“When I discussed this with my family, Maggie was inclined to believe that your friend had told him. This, of course, led to my being made known that the two of you had also made the discovery.”

You lift your eyes through the fear to meet his, one hand on the fence post for stability. “Sir. Are we to leave right quick?”

“No.”

“When should we be ready, sir,” you don’t even bother to make sound like a question. You wipe your hand on your shirt but the feeling of it being sticky with blood remains. “I-I only wish to be prepared.” You stupid, stupid idiot.

“I’ve not made any decision yet on the matter.” He hasn’t made — what? “Young Carl requires more time to recuperate and there’s the sad fact of the young girl being not yet found.”

You grip the fencepost. The group isn’t kicked out?

Mr. Greene continues, unaware that your relief is so intense that you just might float away. “Daryl is not quite on his feet yet, either, and seeing as he is one of the stronger members of your group, it wouldn’t be charitable to — are you well?”

You’re leaned against the post with your eyes closed because you started to see sparkles. Mr. Greene repeats his question.

“Mmhm,” you breathe. “Sir, are you sure you’re not drivin’ us off now?”

There are a few moments where he doesn’t respond. When he does, it’s in a low, soft tone. “You were under the impression I sought you out in anger, to order your group off my land?”

You aren’t thinking straight. Admitting, “If you’d held a gun to my head, I’d have been less scared out my wits,” is completely unintentional.

“Y/N, I,” you hear him sigh. “I am sorry that the prospect is so thoroughly frightening. To answer you clearly: no. I have not made any hard decisions as of yet. For the time being, your people are still recovering and getting settled.”

Rather than the sheer gratitude you intend to convey, you manage one, breathless, solitary: “O-Okay.”

“Oh, child…” He takes something out of his shirt pocket and offers it to you. A handkerchief.

You accept it and use it to blot your eyes dry and wipe your nose.

“It was not my intention to cause so much anxiety. I merely wished to convey my thanks, and to gain assurance that you would continue to maintain discretion. Please accept my thanks,” he softly drawls, careful in his wording. “For the respect and understanding that you and your friend are showing to the sick individuals under my care.”

‘The sick individuals.’ If only they were. He is so convinced that they’re merely sick, that you feel pain for him.

“They are of no threat to your people,” he then assures you. “They are well-contained. My own family would be in danger if they were not, so please, take solace that they are secure. The only way they would get out is if someone took the effort and time to let them out.”

“Okay.” If there’s an elegant way to save the conversation, it’s lost on you.

You do finally look him in the eye for longer than glance. He’s squinting in a way similar to how Rick does. Particularly, he appears concerned.

“Are you feeling well enough to accompany Margaret and the boy to the drugstore?”

You sniff and shuffle your feet. “Yes, sir.”

“You two are experienced in such outings, I’ve gathered.”

“Glenn and I have gone on many. We’re a good team.”

“I think they’re waiting for you by the gate,” he says with a nod toward their direction. “God protect you. And — Y/N? When you’re out there, trust Nelly’s instincts.”

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

35 minutes later

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

La-ti-da, the rest of the day will be a breeze compared to this morning’s drama, well, what a clueless little dewdrop you were.

The talk with Hershel notwithstanding, Glenn decided to be the biggest, most embarrassing nerd in the entire world and make the trip the worst, most awkward trip in the world!

Okay, might could be you’re exaggerating.

But he did say to Maggie seemingly out of the blue, “You didn’t have to come. You could hate me from a distance,” to only follow it up with “Please say something.” Like, was the man serious?

Maggie, so far, hasn’t uttered a peep in reply.

You as well are leaning toward saying silent. All you’d said was your short piece when the three of you first set off, explaining what Mr. Greene was talking to you about and that you were taking the rear, thank-you-very-much. The stress and panic from earlier mutated into getting m-a-d.

Although, there was also the brief incident where you, maybe due to being overtired or still out-of-it from speaking with Hershel, started absently giggling over the line from Friends, ‘They don’t know that we know that they know!”

Maggie smiled vaguely when you explained.

From your spot in back it’s really not so uncomfortable and awkward a trip. Every so often, you look behind you and to either side. So far, it’s been all-clear every time. It’s a treat, really.

More houses, spaced far apart, begin to come into view. Soon there are street signs and overgrown sidewalks.

So far, things have been very uncomfortable but entirely undramatic and uneventf—

“Whoa, Nelly belly, you okay?”

Her ears have gone back and she’s resisting going further.

“What’s up? Is there something scary, sugar?” you softly worry aloud. “Margaret, Glenn?” you call.

Maggie looks back to see the horse reacting to whatever is spooking her. Her eyes narrow and she looks all around.

“I know she’s ‘nervous’ but,” you lose your train of thought. “I’ll get off and lead her, Maggie?” you then ask more than decide, but dismount all the same. Don’t want to get reared off like Daryl.

Glenn sits up straight, alert and scanning the area. “Do you think she sees one?”

“I ain’t too sure.” Mr. Greene’s warning to ‘Trust Nelly’s instincts,’ pops into your head. “Maybe she smells one.” Like you'd been taught, you reach up to stroke her t-spot and help soothe her. She mainly pulls her head away from the attempt.

“Try a treat, too,” Maggie suggests. “Eating comforts them into feeling safer.”

You take the butter knife and one of the peaches (don’t worry about running out, you packed 7 peaches) from your bookbag and slice it in half to remove the pit. “I’ll lead her on foot,” you decide.

Maggie seems wary. “We’re almost there.”

She and Glenn go on. Nelly permits you to lead her, so you feel better.

Her instincts are saying it’s okay to go now.

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

5 minutes later

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

Maggie had described it as empty. Empty it sure is. It’s nice to see a commercial area that doesn’t have much broken glass or trash.

It does get to you sometimes; when you and Shane went to scrounge for what you could back when the lootings had died down, neither of you smashed things. Why did people smash things? Break stuff, trash stuff, steal stuff? The riots were such bullsh — you’re being uncharitable again. Right and wrong aside, people were panicked and going mad. Not that it’s a good reason, but still, few are immune to mass hysteria. When people are scared or angry, it’s contagious and folk aren’t in their right minds.

Besides, walkers were responsible for some of the smashed glass, namely full-length windows. They ran fast in the onset and getting cut on glass doesn’t bother them.

Anyway, yeah, this area didn’t have much of that, it seems. Granted, you’re at the edge of the ‘downtown,’ but the street looks great, to be honest. A lot of windows in the small buildings are intact.

In a sudden rush of excitement, you call, “Sophia! It’s Y/N and Glenn! Are you here, baby?”

No answer.

“Sophia!”

No answer.

You shake your head and walk faster, Nelly matching your pace.

Looks like the drugstore is ahead to the left. The inside appears pretty bare-bones from what you can tell from the outside.

Now is when Glenn attempts to talk more. “Maggie, I—”

“—I asked for your trust and you betrayed it. Now my dad’s pissed at me.” Maggie immediately claps back. “Your turn.”

“So your dad thinks they’re sick?”

“You know they all do,” you murmur to yourself. God, help them see, you pray simply.

“You agree with that, even after what you saw at the well?” he puts to her, and good on him. She and her dad could use some cold, hard truth. If only her father had seen the walker at the well.

“I’m not sure what I saw at the well,” Maggie answers uncomfortably. She dismounts and moves to hitch her horse to one of the beams in front of the pharmacy.

Glenn looks at you for support before challenging her, “Yes, you are.”

“Maggie, we saw it together,” you agree softly. “Split in half, still biting.”

“And there’s no way a person, sick or not, could survive that!” Glenn exclaims. “Look, if you saw Atlanta, you would not have a barn full of walkers!”

“I wish you would stop callin’ them that!” Maggie yells.

Glenn softens. “What do you call them?”

“Mom. Shawn,” she goes on, tying her horse’s lead with such ease that she hardly needs to look. “Mr. and Mrs. Fischer. Lacey. Duncan.”

It hadn’t really made sense to you until now that, for the Greenes, they are (were?) operating with a confidence that a cure was possible, that their loved ones were only sick. To learn after all these months, after hoping and putting in all that work to keep them ‘safe’, to learn that they have been dead and cannot come back is somehow less bearable to imagine going through.

“I’ll hitch the horses. I’m still worried about Nelly, so I’m gonna stay out here awhile,” you mumble to Glenn, then pull out the updated list you’d made and hand it to him. “I made three more copies. It’s got some updates from the last one.”

“I’ll help you with the reins,” Maggie answers for him, and takes over tying the horse’s lead for him.

Glenn stares at the ground, says “I have my own list,” and goes inside by himself.

That doesn’t irritate at all…

Maggie doesn’t speak until all three horses are securely tied to the poles. “Maybe it should’ve been just you and me today.”

“Glenn’s smart and fast. It’s better to have him here.”

“So smart he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You have to admit, you groaned in solidarity at her comment. “He’s saved lives before, for what it’s worth,” you do need to point out.

She looks at you, then stares into space. “I’m so angry at him.”

It’s worth mentioning…“Maybe that’s a little how we feel about the barn, too.”

She places her hands on her hips. “Are you on his side, now?” she accuses.

“Come now, that ain’t fair.”

Nelly pulls back, agitated again.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” you shush to the horse. “Margaret, I’m gonna take a turn around the street.”

Maggie cautiously steps around the building, looking to either side while you do the same in the opposite direction.

“It’s clear over here,” she confirms. “Y/N, I’m gonna go inside, finish getting what we need faster.” Was that a scoff? “Lori sure knows how to ask for things. She should go fetch it all herself next time.”

Nope. You get that Maggie’s pissed, but you’re not even entertaining that bullshit attitude about Lori, especially not today. Where’d that even come from? The woman has literally done nothing to her. “Not everything on the list is needed," you offer, "but she makes them thorough because it’s with everyone’s input and needs in mind. Don’t go trashin’ her.”

At this, Margaret storms into the drugstore, leaving you outside, alone.

Good riddance, you were fixing to get huffy. Why can’t people get along and be zen for five minutes, good Moses…

You step quietly and quickly around the street, peeking through the short alleys (if they can even be called that), and making a loop around the pharmacy itself. You swear you hear rattling near the back right corner of the drug store, but Nelly’s loud whinnying mixes with your trying to pinpoint whereabouts it came from.

You call Sophia’s name again, just in case.

However, a raccoon bolting away from the general direction of the sound makes an end of both your worry and your hope. The subsequent thought you get to shoot it for food makes you sigh at the state of things. Moreso the thought that you highly prefer squirrel. But like, squirrel is hecking delicious, so oh my gosh, listen to you.

Having found no reason for Nelly’s unrest, you chalk it up to her being sensitive to the emotions of the humans with her, simple as. Her name is genuinely ‘Nervous Nelly.’

She’s still tugging at her lead, but has quieted enough.

‘Trust Nelly’s instincts’ plays through your mind again. If Mr. Greene thought it important enough to suggest it, it must be. You don’t like that she’s still uneasy.

“Nell, I’m gonna head in so we can get everythin’ and split, okay? Not much longer, won’t be ten minutes.”

You push the doors open and walk into the pharmacy. Glenn’s to the left. “Hey, man. What did you cross off the list so far?” you ask.

“I’ve been distracted. Sorry.”

“Where’s the one you made?” you question with just a hint of an attitude.

“Maggie has it. I wasn’t sure where to find…something on it.”

“Oh, what was it? I’ll go help.”

“I-I, it, she, th—nothing,” he stumbles through before pretending this could work: “I don’t know.”

You lick your teeth. What is with him today? “I’m glad you’re learnin’ to keep secrets,” you let slip in your frustration.

“Great. Now you’ve crawled up my butt, too.” He swipes a lotion off the shelf without looking and goes toward the doors, away from you.

Licking your teeth but holding your tongue, you figure you’ll start at the back of the small store and work your way forward. The prescription drugs are in the back where Maggie already is.

Ooh. The shelves back there look like there’s still a decent amount of stock on them.

“Need any help?” you extend the olive branch.

It’s not subtle the way she turns her head right, glares at Glenn, then answers, “Not for this.”

Whatever the hell that means. Seriously, can people just be zen for five minutes?

You throw your hands in the air. “Fine!” Glancing around the pharmacy section and not really clocking anything because you’re too caught up, you mutter, “There’s gotta be a manual somewhere,” and head left where it looks like there are a few smaller rooms.

There’s a strange scent in here that smells suspiciously like the dead. Must be a rodent that died in the walls?

The door to the first small room looks like it had to be crow-barred open by someone at some point. You step inside to look at the desk.

But the loud whinny from outside gives you a pause.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

But she’s been acting up for seemingly no reason.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

The hairs on your arms stand. You turn around, walk back to the middle, and turn your focus to the windows where you can see the horses are still hitched.

“Maggie," you quietly question. "This is normal for her?”

It’s only Nelly who’s rearing and trying to escape. The other horses seem disquieted, but only Nelly is panicked.

Trust Nelly’s instincts.

It’s the clatter of pill bottles falling to the floor that has you forgetting all about the fighting, the disagreements, the worries, and the stress.

Because the sounds of snarling only mere yards away is unmistakable even before Maggie begins to scream.

There’s a walker, reaching through the shelves that has a death grip on her wrist.

You throw yourself hard against the back-to-back storage shelving to keep it from falling on your friend and to push the dead man away from her even slightly.

“Glenn! The shelves, I can’t!” you yelp into the chaos, groaning from the strain of keeping the shelving from toppling over. “It’s got her wrist!”

But in an instant, the shelves abruptly stabilize; you lose balance and tumble hard to the ground. The walker, you twist on hands and knees to see, is rounding the corner and already — no, Margaret! It’s got its hands on her again, it’s gonna —

The few seconds it takes for you, roaring, to whip out your screwdriver and spring up from the floor seem too long, too late. The clumsy angle between it and Maggie at which you attempt to drive your weapon into its skull doesn’t work, and it tumbles from your hand and onto the ground.

The new fastest second of your life — seeing the walker’s mouth lunge for your forearm — seems to also, somehow, drag at a snail’s pace. It’s in that strange, rapid slow-motion that you rip your arm away and kick.

You reach for your pistol in a last ditch effort. The risk of the shot spraying the walker’s contaminated blood in your or her eyes or mouth outweighs the guarantee of its bite.

Ultimately, it's Glenn’s quick action with the metal board that saves you both.

From the countertop, he swings it with all his strength. Though you aren’t aware of having choosen to do so, it seems you’ve pulled Maggie down and back to get her as far from the force of the strike and the trajectory of the walker’s fall.

It collapses.

For a moment, everything turns still.

Maggie is too shocked to cry or say anything. Your arms are wrapped tightly around her even as you still tightly clutch your firearm. You can’t speak, either.

“Did it get you? Did it bite you?” Glenn cries, and you snap back to the present and begin to inspect Maggie’s arms, wrists, and hands while he squeezes her and you to him.

When the walker stands back up, its head hanging by half its neck, you have to cover Maggie’s eyes. She’s seen enough.

Glenn tries to use Daryl’s sickle machete to finish it, but ends up having to try over and over in a fury when it keeps gargling and snarling despite the blows. It’s gruesome.

You shout Glenn’s name and aim your gun at the walker, finishing it when Glenn sees and has moved away far enough to avoid the spray. The blast of the shot reverberates loudly in the closed space.

Finally, finally, all turns quiet and stays quiet. Safety switched on, you rely on muscle memory to tuck your weapon back into its concealed holster.

Glenn is panting. Maggie starts to waver where she stands, sobs coming out as the shock wears off.

You go to her. “It didn’t get you Margaret, look, all clean. J-just a little of its blood on your shirt,” you console, showing her her own wrists and arms that are trembling but blessedly uninjured. You recall the handkerchief in your pocket. “Here. Your daddy lent me this. Use it to wipe your eyes, don’t rub with your hands or arms until we get you cleaned up, o-okay? I-I got wipes, I got wipes and sanitizer. That should suit for now, sweetheart, okay?”

After a few more moments of catching your breath, you decide, “Y’all need something to drink and eat, I’ll, I’ll go get the backpack.” It’ll give Glenn and Maggie time to embrace in private. All is forgiven, you’re quite sure.

Picking up your screwdriver, you walk outside in a post-adrenaline daze. Typical for you, the post-adrenaline nausea is hitting, too. Some tears, as well. You note upon stepping into the fresh air that Nelly is calmer.

Much calmer.

Last you knew, she’d been trying to break free and escape. Right before the walker attacked, in fact…

‘Trust Nelly’s instincts.’

You wonder. If her whinnying hadn’t prompted you to take a few steps back toward Maggie’s direction, would you have had those precious extra seconds of time? Your slamming against the shelves when you did pushed the walker back enough to unsteady it, which bought Maggie the chance to free her wrist from its grasp. It gave Glenn more time to grab that piece off the metal shelving and leap up on the counter to strike it. If you hadn’t turned around because of the horse…

“Trust Nelly’s instincts,” Mr. Greene had instructed.

“Thank you, girl,” you whisper to the horse, with shaking hands blindly opening the bookbag. “I th-think you just saved some lives, Nell.”

Not only this, but the whole awful encounter showed Maggie firsthand that the walkers aren’t sick people. They’re dead. It’s the virus that makes their bodies move and walk and bite.

This terrifying day may just be your people’s saving grace.

Because if Maggie understands, her father will be more willing. And if her father understands, the walkers will be laid to rest. No more danger. No more disagreement.

You’ll still need to leave with Shane, but there’s a better chance that the group will be safe at the farm.

You praise “Thank you!” to the heavens, then boldly press a smooch to the spot above Nelly’s nose. She briefly allows you to rest your forehead there. “And thank you for your instincts.”

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

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-> Masterlist link here <-

and our tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 ; @oceanticspace​​​​ ; @whistlesalot ; @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer ;  @dreamingaboutthewonderland ; @kwazii-kat ; @darylsmavis ; @outlanderhornet22 ; @battinsonrobs ; @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable ; @writingmybeloved ; @boomergirl123 ; @iheartathena0 ; @moonliight-luv ; @suniloli ; @supernaturalgirl02 ; @cnake-garden ; @daryldixmedown ; @sophehe ; @crashlyrose ; @virgo-sunflower920 ; @jennythe ; @theficbaker ; @vampireautism ; @rosetta196 ; @wifeof-barnes ; @thegemthatreads ; @redjaylee ; @thegirlwiththepurpleshelves ; @crazyworldofsiani

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes! Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox. We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)  

[marciabrady]

TAGGED: TEN CHARACTERS YOU IDENTIFY WITH (&&&either add what you admire about each, or what it is that connects you to them!)

Ilene Woods' Cinderella: I love how humble, fun-loving, and enduring she is. I identify with her concentrated efforts to put her best foot forward and to try to keep from succumbing to her environment. While she sometimes feels she falls short at leading by example, frayed from everyday wear, she ultimately triumphs against all odds, alighted by her sense of worth, her steadfast industriousness, and prospers in turning the tide and creating a successful counterculture, all of which is inspiring to me. Marcia Brady: The personification of Leo energy; every notable actress who's ever played her is a Leo, and for good reason. She's magnetic, radiant, moral- without being sanctimonious- and a natural leader. Adriana Caselotti's Snow White: Her buoyant joy, resiliency, and never-ending humor create a beacon of light wherever she goes. I love how much a complete individual she is and how resourceful she is in forging a new life for herself, even when she's left with nothing. She never allows her misfortunes to change who she is, and I wish I had more of her compassion, purity, strength, and unaffected kindness. Blanche Devereaux: Blanche turns the act of living into a performance. The simplest run at the grocery store or day at work is suddenly a gripping, page-turning adventure, complete with anticipation, glamour, and a glossy lexicon. She's riveting and, while she has the same insecurities that many of us do, I admire the way she shows up for her friends. Katrina Van Tassel: This character is pure vibes for me. I love how mysterious and to-herself she is, while very clearly exhibiting motivations, a personality, and wants and needs. She isn't gauche in any way, tasteful in everything, and she practically invented the word coquette. Gilda: I think most everyone has a lot of Gilda in them. Someone who's easy touched and still influenced by many of their past haunts, but does their best to keep it from surfacing and letting their emotions get the best of them. I love the glamour and energy that exudes from Gilda effortlessly, and how layered she is. Ethel Mertz: I always think about that quote, "Lucy threw pies while Ethel threw shade." I love Lucy, but Ethel was always the standout for me. Her comedic timing was impeccable, her singing voice was unreal, and she represented so much of what I love about the older women in my life. Her sense of self is fixed, she's comfortable about her place in the world and has discovered who she is. She's such a loyal friend and has the type of talent that comes only from a lifetime of concentrated effort. The Little Mermaid: Ariel's fire, passion, and complicated nature is something I've continued to revisit from the first time that I've met her. She's messy, flawed, but so vulnerable, authentic, and likable that you can't help but root for her. I think anyone who's LGBTQIA+ can identify with her struggles but, beyond that, I love how true to herself she is, refusing to be tainted by the prejudices of others. She's just generally a very active, restless character with so many ebbs and tides of thoughts, feelings, and desires. Rapunzel (from the original Brothers Grimm fairytale): Out of the fairytale princesses, Rapunzel always spoke to me the most. I always loved the princess in the tower archetype and her hair being such a central point of the plot- and harkening back to the sun- is a very Leo quality, in my opinion. I think the fairytale Rapunzel has a lot of the same spirit and energy that Aurora in the animated Sleeping Beauty carries. Mary Costa's Aurora: This character changed my life in so many ways. She brought my best friends to me, started me down the path of writing, and has enriched my life in so many ways. I'm mesmerized by her enchanted, romantic quality, the all-encompassing way she loves, her sense of duty, obligation, and loyalty to those around her, her keen sense of humor, how she wants to give the best of herself to everyone, the unending source of love that springs from her...I could go on forever.

tagged by: @drinksattheendoftheworld (thank you!!!)

tagging: everyone!! but, off the top of my head in no particular order other than alphabetical - @arthina @bettedavis @deforest @deliachase @disneydayandnight @gavillain @magistera @margotfonteyns @muzikalsiren @oozmart @peasantbarbie @princessnostalgia @royalhans @sparklejamesysparkle @the-blue-fairie

[eeblouissant]

I’ve been seeing this everywhere so here’s a bxd version 😭

[liminalpebble]

Hi, lovely! 💕 I’d like to request a drabble featuring Magnus. Perhaps a smutty one? I’ll leave all the details up to you.

(You cannot convince me that boy isn’t a freak! He’s likely got some tricks that would make even Blanche Devereaux herself blush.)

Hello my love! Thank you for being a friend!

By sheer luck I did a raunchy as fuck Magnus fic not too long ago based on a brilliant prompt from @muddyorbs.

Her request was to put Magnus and OFC on a mission together and he finds a little vibe in her suitcase and things get spicy. It's a very hostile fucky situation and I imagine our girl as a Lisbeth Salander type because my queer little heart is in love with her too. Anyway, I hope this pleases your inner Blanche as you reach for the cheesecake.

Much love, '

Peb

Magnus Martinsson fanfic, Magnus Martinsson x OFC, smut!, one shot, enemies to lovers (well...fuckers?), hostile but very consensual fucking, Minors DNI

Word count: about 3000 (sorry...bit of a honker. Worth it. I promise).

--

Bullets

Mara rolled her black-lined eyes when the call from Wallander came in. “Mara, are you still freelancing? We really need a tech wizard on this one.”

“Cute euphemism, Kurt...points for flattery. You need a hacker who will do the dirty work so your little lapdog techie can keep his hands clean while micromanaging me.”

Wallander sighed, and quipped sarcastically, “Why, yes, Mara, I'm doing very well, thanks. How are you today? Still your charming self, I see. By the way, you're on speaker. ” He looked across the conference table to where Martinsson (said lapdog techie) was glaring at his superior for putting him in this situation yet again.

Mara's eyes scanned around her tiny apartment full of computer equipment and old band tee shirts piled in an ever-increasing mound of black cotton. In her own mind, she'd named it Mount Doom. “Oh you know, Kurt, living that rich girl high life,” she replied in a prickly tone, toking on the remains of a joint from the night before. “And whose fault is it that I'm on speaker, hm? Really. You should know better by now.” She blew smoke out in a resigned exhale, “Alright Wallander, tell that minion of yours I'm in. I'm sure he'll be delighted.”

Kurt raised his voice. “His name is Magnus, or Detective Martinsson and I'd appreciate it if you stop calling him 'lapdog' or 'minion' especially to his face as you seem rather fond of doing...”

“Alright Kurt, see you tomorrow,” she said interrupting his lecture to end the conversation.

“Charming,” Magnus groaned.

--------

“The same room?” Mara said, with an air of annoyance, hauling her bags up the hill to the rundown Motorlodge.

Martinsson sighed and said with an edge of frustration, “Yes Mara, the same room. We can't work together from different rooms.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, minion! I know that, but I thought that at least when we're taking shifts we'd have our own space to rest. It could be days! It would have been nice if the police department had sprung at least for adjoining rooms. I'd even tolerate sharing a bathroom with you if...”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, putting a hand up so she nearly stumbled directly into him. “Can you please, please not do this? I'm just here to do my job, just like you are. Can we try not to be at each other's throats?” As he said it she couldn't help looking at his throat, that pretty pale neck and sharp jawline she'd love to suck on and bite and make him moan while...

“Mara!” he barked, snapping her out of her lurid daydream.

“Okay...fucking hell. Okay,” she said, shouldering past him to enter the little 70's time capsule of a room. He fortified himself with a deep breath, stepping into her wake.

-----

“Well,” she said, between sips from the paper cup, “At least the Bates Motel has a pretty decent coffee machine.”

They both laughed and smiled to each other, faces bathed in the blue glow of computer screens; a rare truce. They had set up efficiently, both very good at their jobs and surprisingly good at working together despite the personality clashes.

“See?”

“See what?” Mara asked, sitting forward to scan the screen.

Magnus put a finger on her chin to turn her face towards him instead. “See how nice it can be when we actually just have a pleasant cup of coffee together and work?”, he elaborated. It was adorable, she had to admit...those big innocent blue eyes and golden curls making him look like a particularly naive, hopeful and, possibly stupid, angel. But from his work and credentials, she knew he was far from idiotic; just sweet, gullible, optimistic. And as he was staring at her with that sweet dumb incredibly handsome face, it just made her inexplicably angry, like his kindness was some kind of trick.

She shrugged, and took a sip to avoid looking at him, then stated, “Their hard drives will take hours to clone. It's a waiting game for now.” She yawned and cracked her knuckles, stretching up from the uncomfortable chair to flop onto the tacky paisley comforter. A sliver of orange glow from the setting sun slid between the heavy curtains, illuminating her body, and Magnus couldn't help but notice that like that, in this wash of golden hour light, she really was very pretty. Yet, for some inexplicable reason Mara seemed almost determined not to be, with her prickly personality and tent-like clothes hiding her rather nice curves. What a shame he thought.

Magnus took the opportunity to move too, rising to his feet and stretching his long arms over his head. Mara peeked at him with one surreptitiously open eye to drink in the sharp dips and muscle of his lower belly and hips as his shirt raised, ever so slightly, to show skin. Why does he have to have the body of a fucking Greek god? Jesus Christ. Eyes wondering south, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rather generous outline in his pants, she saw where his service revolver was strapped to him in a shocking interruption of black metal and leather. It didn't suit such a soft, posh, pretty boy to be toting around a gun like some cowboy. Having come from a wealthy suburb, Martinsson could never understand the grip of fear firearms held on poor neighborhoods like hers. She didn't like guns, and she didn't like the criminals or the cops who didn't seem to mind using them liberally in her childhood neighborhood while everyone else was caught in the crossfire.

“Do you have to wear that thing?” Mara asked, gesturing to the holster. “It's only me. I'm like a foot shorter than you and you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you wanted. Are there bullets in it now?”

Magnus turned to her, eyes soft and considerate. “Well, yes. It's part of the job. We have to wear them at all times on the clock and they have to be loaded. And it's not you I'm afraid of, Mara,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed, looking at his hands. “It's you I need to be ready to protect if things go south.”

Mara turned to perch on her elbow and look up at him, genuinely swooning for a second before she recovered hastily, coating it with sarcasm. “Awww...my hero. This is why they call you The Prince Charming of Ystad? And I know damn well you're afraid of me.”

“Not afraid...annoyed. Are you allergic to having a single genuine moment of humanity between us? What have I ever done to you?” he huffed sounding wounded, and standing up again to pace.

She groaned, standing up to face him, admitting to herself that she had been especially hard on him, and she couldn't even be entirely sure why (or at least, she wouldn't admit why, not even to herself). “Look, Magnus, I'm sorry, really.”

“Really?” he said cautiously, distrustful and surprised.

“Yeah..yeah, really. I've been such a bitch to you.”

As Magnus spotted the unprecedented chink in her armor, it set off the explosion of a tirade. It finally released itself from his mouth after brewing for months and he was powerless to stop it. “Listen. I don't know why you're like this, Mara, really I don't. I haven't done a bloody thing to deserve this, neither has Kurt.”

Mara felt a little fizzle of fear at the mounting growl in his voice, and she felt a little ashamed, but also aroused. It was deeply confusing.

“I wasn't socialized enough as a puppy. Why the fuck do you think, pretty boy? You're cops. I don't like cops. I don't like what you stand for...your mindless conformity...”

Magnus' voice rose, “Did it occur to you that some of them, Kurt and I for example, chose this life to protect people? Because we care about people, even people like you who hate us. And I'm not saying you don't have a good reason to hate the police, but you don't have to hate us. We're on your bloody side. And...and you think you're so clever and rebellious with your bitch act and your black hair dye....and and...your edgy jewelry,” he continued, reaching down to her open bag where there was an unusual silver necklace, with a heavy bullet for a pendant. He lifted it saying, “Oh so you don't like guns and bullets, but you'll wear them to look oh so cool and fashionable? What a fucking hypocrite...”

Mara was thunderstruck (and frankly excited) by his anger but the end of his little speech made her want to laugh hysterically. He had no idea that what he was holding was a state-of-the-art vibrator, beautifully designed to multitask as a piece of jewelry styled after an actual bullet. She thwarted her chuckle to say simply, “Please put that back. It was expensive.”

Magnus blinked in confusion, as if slapped by her unexpected response. As he moved to put it back, one of his long fingers fumbled around it, accidentally pressing a hidden button. As he dropped it back on top of her bag of toiletries, it began to buzz. The detective narrowed his eyes, mouth agape as the gears turned in his lovely head. “Is...is your necklace...vibrating. Holy shit...is that a...”. His broad Cheshire cat smile unfurled across his face, as he began to chuckled in long breathy laughs.

Now it was her turn to be angry...not to mention mortified. She darted her hand out to switch it off, crossed her arms, and stormed to the other side of the room. “Oh this is rich,” he purred out in his deep delicious voice. “Why did you bring that? And when on earth did you expect to have the time and privacy to use it?”

She yelled, “That's none of your business! And I thought we'd have separate rooms.”

He moved closer, now standing directly in front of her. She felt that looking into his bright eyes might sear her like a laser, so she settled for looking forward at his chest. Then his long soft fingers, tucked themselves under her chin, raising her eyes to his, as he asked in a deep intimidating voice, “Mara, why did you really bring that with you?”

Fuck. She could see why he was so good at interrogations. This is the kind of man it was no use lying to. She sputtered, “Be...because I know it might be a few days and...”

“And?” he prompted, taking a step closer.

She fumbled nervously, “And...and...because I knew I'd be trapped with you strutting around with your perfect fucking body and your pretty fucking face and your sweet fucking disposition, and I'd have to take care of myself if I wanted to think straight...okay?”

His smile dropped even as the heat of excitement coursed through his body. Magnus could see she was flustered, defenses down, nearly to the point of tears. Finally it occurred to him; so this is why she was so mean, so prickly and defensive towards him... because she liked him so much. She was harboring a hopeless school girl crush and assumed all of his kindness towards her...his goodness...was some kind of joke to mock her. She ignored the reality that he paid attention to her because he liked her too. She excited and intrigued him, but that all turned to bitter frustration that she would never let him near her. He just kept encountering all that barbed wire around her and finally quit trying to breach it...until now.

“Mara,” he said her name reverently like a prayer, in a low gentle whisper, full of empathy and kindness. He moved his hand from where it still was propped under her chin, to cradle her face. Neither of them could say who moved first as they crashed together, but before they knew it they were latched onto each other's hot mouths, kissing, licking, biting, barely able to breathe and neither of them minded.

He moved to her neck, sucking it hungrily then growled into her ear, “You think that little gadget could hold a fucking candle to me?”. She moaned in response, sliding her shaking fingers to begin unbuttoning his shirt while he worked at his pants and his holster. He was peeled out in moments, looking absolutely mouthwatering in nothing but his underwear. Mara tore her shirt and bra off over her head, then pressed the swell of her breasts against his firm torso, while her lips rejoined his. Her leg swung around his waist as she licked up his throat, bit his earlobe playfully and said, “Pull my hair. Call me a bitch again...”

He was panting as he said, “I...didn't call you a bitch...I said it was a 'bitch act'...”.

She gathered his curls between her fingers and tugged while she bit at his lovely throat, drawing a nearly-pornographic moan from the young cop. “I said, call me a bitch, you pedant.”

It was adorable, how he struggled to get the word out. He was the type of well-bred man who had trouble calling a woman anything other than “Miss”, which made it even hotter when his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted as he growled out, “You delicious bitch” and wrapped his big hand around her ponytail, yanking sharply. She was grinding against he thick erection, teasing him, desperate for him, until he stopped her with a bruising grip on her hips and met her eyes. “You called me a lapdog, huh? Well, there's only one lap I'm interested in being in,” he said in a velvety purr as he tugged her pants and panties off of her, pushing her onto the bed completely naked, as he snaked between her legs, biting and sucking ravenously at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, breath ghosting against her soaked pussy. She wove her fingers into his hair with surprising gentleness as she sighed and writhed while he kissed his way up.

When he licked the first firm line up her slit she arched her back and gasped out, “Holy fuck,” while he chuckled against her skin and she could feel his smile.

“Mmmm...you're even more delicious than I imagined,” he confessed, and the idea of him jacking off, thinking about this only aroused her more.

He began to suck delicately on her clit and swirl his tongue, bringing her close to the brink in mere moments. She lifted his head gently and said, “Wait...wait.”

His big, bright eyes met hers, solicitous and concerned as he panted out, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...yeah amazing,” she said, smiling, “I just want to come on your cock. I want to feel you inside.”

“Oh darling...” he purred as he crawled farther up the bed to kiss her, sharing her own taste with her. He stood up for a moment to slide his boxers off, revealing his cock (which was just as gorgeous as the rest of him), stroking it lightly in one big hand. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped when she saw it, big and flushed with a tantalizing drip of precum. She crawled over to him and taking it into her mouth hastily, dying to savor it. He groaned in ecstatic surprise at the feeling of her hot mouth around him, her clever tongue caressing the hard length. He combed his hand through her hair, chuckling softly, teasing, “eager, are we darling?”

“Shut up and fuck me you cocky little shit,” she barked out playfully, making them both smile. “Prove to me that that little trinket will never satisfy me again, detective.”

He pinned her on her back, caging her between his strong arms, “Cocky, yes....little...well, my dear, I think we both know that's just a bit inaccurate.” His tone changed as he settled between her legs, and his hand stroked her cheek gently. He asked, “You're okay? This is okay?”

“Yes...please...just go in slowly?”

He nodded.

Magnus eased in gently, as they both gasped at the decadent feeling of his cock inside her slick, warm walls, adjusting to each other. “Mmmm. God...yes,” she purred, stroking his sharp cheekbone with her soft little hand. Meeting his eyes she said, “Magnus?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Now, please, fuck me like a whore.”

It rough and relentless as Magnus drove into her again and again while her legs clamped tight around him, calves bouncing on the muscular curve of his ass as he moved. The wave of both of their orgasms crashed quickly and simultaneously as they rode it out, making a mess of the old duvet, and collapsing naked against each other, spent and smiling. Mara massaged Mangus' head as he rested it against her breasts. He trailed little pecks along the soft skin, sighing contentedly. She peeked over his lovely golden fleece to see where the blue-glowing monitors were still reporting their downloads in progress with lots of time to go. Idly she said, “Looks like this is going to take longer than we thought.”

“Oh no, whatever shall we do in the meantime,” Magnus chimed in from where he had begun lapping his tongue over her tits, as they both laughed in an all encompassing high of relief.

@smolvenger @goblingirlsarah I can't think who else might like this one, but feel free to share!

[doppiogtpowder]

Got any headcanons for low honor Arthur x Molly? 👀

Nah , I'm more of high honor Arthur Morgan x Molly O'Shea guy

But I'm going to invent for you, so you don't be disappointed.

I apologize if some of those things feels out of character for low honor Arthur

Here we go

-low honor Arthur wouldn't be hesitant about having affair with Molly unlike his high honor version, He probably view as one time thing and just having fun while until he catches feelings for Molly O'Shea, Molly O'Shea probably saw it the same way or actually catches genuine feelings at first (for the first option, Arthur reacted similarly to the Arthur x Molly fanfic: Have Faith, Arthur but later forgive Molly for viewing him that way and make her love what she deserved)

-Low honor Arthur would give more suggestive inappropriate compliments and ways to make Molly O'Shea blushed embarrassing

-Low honor Arthur would encourage Molly to fight the girls if they disrespect her unless is Tilly, so they can talk it out

-Low honor Arthur would blushed when Molly wearing her nightgown when sleeping together in his tent

-Low honor Arthur Arthur would steal expensive stuff for Molly happiness during the saint Denis chapter

-Low honor Arthur would get gifts for Molly from stealing and killing people, this would make Molly get uncomfortable at first but later get used to it because low honor Arthur is the only person to care about her so much

-Molly would kissed low honor Arthur in front of some gang members unless it's dutch and his meat riders so she doesn't do it

-During her last encounter with Mary Linton,Low honor Arthur would reject her and say he found someone else to that accept him about not changing and doesn't bother with his life style,this would make Mary Linton sad and tell him that's she's glad he moved on faster and leave him without hesitation (I don't hate Mary Linton btw )

The high honor of this would be more positive note and Arthur apologize that him helping her make her think there chance of them being together, the difference it would be is Arthur would tell her that Molly doesn't care about what he is but would help him to improve himself and person , this would make Mary sad but relieved that Arthur found someone else that loves for what he is

The last letter of that would be positive and congrats him and Molly to find happiness with the ring in it

Back in low honor, The last letter would be sad and desired the best for them but little bitterness on it

-Molly would make inappropriate suggestive at low honor Arthur when he checks his gun in holster

-Molly would write poetry about being in love with terrible man that's who's wonderful to her (Low honor Arthur)

@blanche-elizabeth-devereaux