#The internet will be all hell broke loose

[wusopiejung25]

The day Woo do Hwan decide to be a boy-kisser/man-kisser in his role, it will be the end of us.

[pucksandpower]

Shameless

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: you + Lestappen + a sex tape leak + one very unamused head of communications … need I say more?

Based on this request

The Red Bull Racing communications office smells like stale coffee and impending doom. Portia, the team’s head of communications, sits stiffly in the center of the storm, knuckles white around her phone. She stares at the video playing on her laptop, horrified but unable to look away.

The footage is intimate, explicit — grainy but undeniably clear. Three people, tangled up in sheets, moaning names, gasping into each other’s mouths. Max Verstappen. You. And, unmistakably, Charles Leclerc.

Her inbox is a dumpster fire of urgent PR memos, emails with subject lines in all caps, and press releases that have already been revised half a dozen times. She hasn’t even responded to half of them yet. No point.

This is beyond damage control.

The door swings open violently, smacking into the wall. Max strolls in first, looking every bit as casual as if he just finished a training session. You follow behind him, your hair in a messy bun, holding a half-eaten croissant. Charles is the last to enter, chewing gum like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Portia blinks at the three of you. “… What the hell?”

Max plops into the chair across from her, sprawling out like he’s just arrived at a friend’s house. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Portia repeats, incredulous. “You-” She gestures frantically toward her screen. “The video. The world just saw everything, Max! You, her, him-” She throws a desperate look at Charles, who only shrugs.

“Yeah. We saw,” Charles says casually, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Max. “Kind of funny, no?”

Portia makes a strangled noise in her throat. “No! It is not funny, Charles. None of this is funny!” She can already feel the migraine creeping in, sharp and mean behind her left eye.

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Listen, it’s not like we were hiding it. We’ve been-”

“Friends,” you interject, your voice calm as ever. “Very close friends.”

Charles grins. “Really close.”

Max winks. “Super close.”

Portia pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop saying that.”

“You’re the one freaking out,” Max says, as if that makes any of this better. “It’s not a big deal.”

Portia throws up her hands. “Max, it’s not just a sex tape. It’s a scandal. Sponsors, shareholders, media outlets — everyone is calling. Red Bull is losing its mind, Ferrari is fuming, and the internet-” She gestures vaguely toward the air, as if the internet is some wild animal loose in the building. “-is losing its collective shit.”

Charles leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “The internet always loses its shit.”

“True,” Max agrees, glancing at you. “Remember when they thought we broke up because I didn’t post anything for two weeks?”

You hum thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your croissant. “They were so mad.”

Portia stares at the three of you like she’s trapped in some bizarre fever dream. “Are none of you remotely concerned about this?”

Max shrugs. “Not really.”

“It’s out now,” you say, wiping your hands on a napkin. “What’s the point of stressing?”

Charles nods like you just delivered the most profound truth of the century. “Exactly. It’s not like we can put it back in the box.”

“Oh my god,” Portia mutters, pressing her palms to her temples. “You’re all insane.”

Max flashes her a charming smile — the kind that usually gets him out of trouble. “Come on, Portia. You handle worse than this all the time.”

“Not this, I don’t!” She groans. “I mean, sure, we’ve dealt with crashes, team infighting, broken engines, drunk interviews-” She shoots a pointed look at Max, who grins unapologetically. “But this? This is next level.”

Charles checks his phone, seemingly unbothered by her panic. “The fans seem to love it, though. Look-” He flips the screen toward Portia. It’s a Twitter thread full of memes and heart-eye emojis, captioned with things like Lestappen and Y/N living their best lives and Honestly, goals.

Portia glares at the phone like it just insulted her family. “This is not helping.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Actually, it kind of is.” He points at the screen. “If the fans are cool with it, the sponsors will calm down eventually.”

“Sponsors are not fans.” Portia slams her laptop shut, as if doing so will somehow make the problem disappear. “Sponsors are very rich, very conservative people who do not want their logos anywhere near a video of you having a threesome!”

Charles clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Technically, it’s not just a threesome.”

Portia shoots him a death glare. “I swear to God, Charles-”

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Max notices, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nudges you with his elbow. “See? Even Y/N thinks it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit, which only makes Charles beam with satisfaction.

Portia looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “This is not funny. None of this is funny.”

“I think you need to relax,” Max says, as if that’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s not like we committed a crime.”

“It might as well be,” Portia snaps. “Do you know what Ferrari is going to do with this? They’re probably drafting some moral code violation complaint as we speak.”

Charles waves a hand dismissively. “They can’t fire me. I bring too much to the table.”

Portia gives him a flat look. “Charles, you are the table.”

“Exactly.”

Max turns to you, his hand casually resting on the back of your chair. “Do you think we should put out a statement?”

You consider it for a moment, then shake your head. “Nah. Statements are boring.”

“Agreed,” Charles says, pulling his phone back out to scroll through more tweets. “No one likes statements.”

Portia exhales slowly, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience she has left. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Your solution to this PR nightmare is ... to do absolutely nothing?”

“Exactly,” Max says with a satisfied nod. “We just let it blow over.”

“Like Austria,” you add.

Portia stares at you, aghast. “Austria? You cannot compare this to a racing incident in Austria!”

Max looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of similar. People get mad for a while, then they forget.”

Charles grins mischievously. “By next week, someone else will do something stupid, and no one will care about this.”

Portia groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You are all ... impossible.”

Max reaches across the table to pat her shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

“Max,” Portia says, her voice low and dangerous. “If this mess costs us a single sponsor — just one — I swear I will make your life a living hell.”

Max’s grin widens. “You already do.”

You burst out laughing at that, and even Portia can’t suppress a reluctant smile, though it’s clear she’s fighting it with every fiber of her being.

“This isn’t over,” she warns, but there’s no real bite in her voice.

“It never is,” Charles says breezily. “But that’s half the fun, no?”

You lean into Max’s side, content and completely unbothered, and he drapes an arm around your shoulders. Charles glances over at the two of you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “See? We’re all good. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Portia shoots him a murderous glare. “Do not say that.”

Max laughs, the sound low and easy, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the room doesn’t exist — no scandals, no cameras, no angry emails. Just the three of you, stuck in the strangest mess, but somehow, perfectly fine with it.

And, really, isn’t that all that matters?

***

A few weeks later, Portia is sitting at her desk, sipping her second coffee of the morning, when her inbox pings with a new email. She glances at the subject line, hoping it’s something routine — maybe a press update, or an invitation to a sponsor event.

Instead, her heart drops.

URGENT: New Video — Verstappen, Leclerc, and Y/L/N on Beach Vacation

She groans audibly, slamming her head down on the desk with a dramatic thud. They didn’t listen to her at all.

Opening the email, her stomach churns as she scrolls down to the attached link. The video loads instantly — there’s Max, Charles, and you, sun-kissed and carefree, lounging on beach chairs somewhere tropical. The sound of waves crashing in the background is almost soothing.

Almost.

And then, without warning, it escalates — hands everywhere, tangled limbs, kisses that start off playful but quickly turn into something else entirely. A bottle of rosé tips over in the sand as Max pulls you onto his lap, and Charles leans over, dragging his mouth along your shoulder with a grin.

Portia shakes her head in disbelief, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill them.”

Another ping. This time, a text from Max.

Saw the email. You’re gonna love the next one.

She screams into her coffee mug.

[chaostudee]

i love you i'm sorry, charles leclerc + jude bellingham

summary : y/n y/ln and charles leclerc are the it couple in the f1 universe and when they aren't spotted together for some time hell breaks loose all over the internet. it's not long before y/n starts soft launching a new relationship but unbeknownst to her charles is still keen to get her back. faceclaim : cindy kimberly a/n : pls lmk if u want part 2 because i have so many ideas hehe

y/nusername a girl who is going to be just fine because she has her two boys.

liked by charlesleclerc, kikagomez, landonorris and 2,729,920 others.

charlesleclerc forever mon amour ❤️

y/nusername forever and always x

f1fan829 this is who i want to be when i grow up

user9292 no wag has ever wagged like she has

y/nfan91 crying because why are they acc the cutest ever 😭😭

user_0082 mom and dad

f1lover4eva id acc die if they broke up

username127 the hottest couple to ever exist and i will stand by that ✋️

kikagomez you have me too girl ;)

y/nusername love uuuu

forzaferrari56 love themmm

user11133 idk who im more jealous of actually

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text messages between y/n and charles

yk i love u right ? charles

ofc i do you only tell me like a hundred times a day 😭 y/n

ik ik i just don't want u to ever forget it, god im going to miss you sm over the next few weeks charles

oh baby we'll be okay and besides the monaco gp is less than a month away y/n

ik but i'm really going to miss you charles

such a simp y/n

🙄 charles

i'm really going to miss you too y/n

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charlesleclerc tough race for us as a team, hopefully we can bounce back at the next one 💪

liked by f1, y/nusername, carlossainz and 1,182,929 others.

user182 it's okay pookie we still love you 🫶

f1fan totally not your fault ferrari are to blame again

username67 wtf was that strategy....

f1lover plsss a podium in monaco we believe in you <3

user728 stopp he looks so sad

y/nusername love you always x

charlesleclerc 😘

forzaferrari they are actually just screwing up this whole championship for him

y/nusername 🌟🐇

liked by charlesleclerc, carmenmundt, lewishamilton and 2,018,528 others.

username_89 oh charles i get it

user00 she is literally the prettiest everrrr

f1fan it's giving disney princess

ln4_7 WE NEED Y/N IN MONACO OH PLS I BEG

charlesleclerc i'm so lucky

user116 atleast he's aware f1lover 😭😭

carmenmundt the prettiest angel <3

user728 omgg i need that lip combo rnnn

f1lover yes i am indeed jealous of charles leclerc

f1 monaco gp this weekend !!

liked by charlesleclerc, y/nusername, maxverstappen and 1,302,628 others.

user88 the girls that get it get it

f1fan this is my superbowl

user7202 i've waited all year for thissss

f1lover hoping that charles can acc get the winnn

user728_7 yesss ferrari pls don't mess up his strategy i beggg

user11 hehe can't waittt

y/nusername monaco ✈️

charlesleclerc it feels like a fever dream bit i couldn't be happier, the best weekend on my life. i love you all so much thank you for supporting me.

liked by y/nusername, maxverstappen, carlossainz and 5,728,929 others.

maxverstappen congrats :)

charlesleclerc ❤️ f1fan never beating the lestappen allegations

user78 so we can all collectively agree we all cried when charles crossed the line??

y/nusername so incredibly proud of you my sweet boy i love you so so much

user728 i can't im so emotional rn

username y/n's comment omg im sobbingg

f1fan never ever getting over this

f1updates highlight of my year actually

user266 his smile 🦋🦋

*y/nusername has just uploaded a new video*

》 oh my queen

》 her vlogs are acc my comfort

》 stopp the clip of charles playing piano to her im sobbing

》 her reaction to charles' win is everything

》 her voice is so soothing

》 i got the notification and screamed

y/nusername a quick stop in paris 🥐🇫🇷

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, pierregasly and 1,819,729 others.

pierregasly are u happy to be in paris

y/nusername oui

user845 "a quick stop in paris" oh girl u rich rich

username ugh to be leo leclerc like that dog has a better life than me and it's sad honestly

f1fan awww the cutest family

landonorris where was my invite :,(

f1lover whenever y/n posts ik it's going to be good

user78 i don't think i'd be okay if they ever broke up

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texts between charles and y/n

was this whole relationship just a joke to you y/n

did i ever even mean anything to you y/n

fuck of course you did baby i love u charles

you love me?!?! y/n

yes yk i do charles

we have been together 6 YEARS 6 YEARS CHARLES y/n

if you are not ready now, you are never going to be y/n

thats not true charles

yes it is charles y/n

if u don't want to marry me after 6 years of being in love with me you never want to it's as simple as y/n

i'm sorry but i just can't be with someone who doesn't want the same things y/n

charlesleclerc summer

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, danielriccardio and 7,192,111 others.

landonorris ☀️

user828 i'm speechless

username11 looks like charles got leo

f1fan i miss them

user718 this breakup just can't be real

f1lover he's already replaced y/n with lando 😭

username_55 unless i see a statement or them dating other people i'm just going to try to convince myself it's rumours

anon delulu is the solulu

y/nusername i've never been happier :)

liked by charlesleclerc, carmenmundt, kikagomez and 5,299,551 others.

username_67 👀

user28 this is so petty of her and i love it

f1fan help not charles in the likes

f1_wag i refuse to believe they broke up....yes i'm that delulu

user727 that post breakup glow 😍

f1lover oh charles defo regrets losing her like omggg how can someone be this gorgeous

charlie_7 these pics are so aesthetic i could cry

user51 ik everyone only cares about the drama but GUYS Y/N IS SERVING CUNT

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texts between charles and y/n

please y/n charles

please charles

i can't take it anymore charles

i regret everything i said and i wish i had never even said it i wish i could take it all back charles

fuck i love u sm charles

i don't deserve you one bit charles

yeah you don't y/n

leave me alone charles y/n

we're done y/n

move on y/n

but i can't

*this user has blocked you*

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

judebellingham

liked by y/nusername, football728, realmadridfc and 7,929,728 others.

user828 he fine asfff

f1fan guys y/n is in the likes....

username728 what a player 🤍

user_27 great game today jude keep it up!!

f1lover waittt are y/n and jude like dating

user25 omgg stop she just liked his post get over it weirdo

anon charles is better

username_12 great game, but y/n y/ln come on man

y/nusername finally found someone who treats me right 🤭🫶

liked by judebellingham, oscarpiastri , maxverstappen and 4,729,519 others.

user727 BRO WHAT

username i just opened instagram-

f1fan im shooketh

oscarpiastri glad you're happy ❤️

y/nusername thanks x user828 I KNEW IT I KNEW OSCAR WAS TEAM Y/N

user999 oh charles

f1lover f1 wag to football wag is crazy like girl what crystals are u using?????

user_27 ik this was probably supposed to be a soft launch....but girl you just broke the internet

username616 ik y/n is giggling just reading all these comments

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texts between lando and charles

did you see y/n's post? lando

yup charles

are you okay? lando

ha i mean no not at all charles

like its only been like 5 months and i have told her that i want her and i love her and now she's with him charles

sry mate but jude is actually sound lando

shit ik he is that's what makes this worse charles

maybe he is better than me charles

oh charles mate don't be thinking like that lando

lando she's never going to take me back charles

you don't know that lando

she blocked me charles

oh lando

like how am i supposed to sort everything with her charles

maybe you still can lando

how....wdym? charles

write her a song lando

......are u being fr charles

well yes i was but forget it just trying to help lando

no no wait you might actually be right charles

ha your welcome lando

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

vogue model y/n y/ln confirms relationship with footballer jude bellingham

liked by f1fan7282, kikagomez, georgerussell and 5,910,011 others.

user9292 ik we all knew BUT WHAT

f1fan charles is probably dying rn

user0 imagine fumbling the y/n y/ln

user0101 jude is one lucky guy

username78 she's still the IT girl in my eyes idc what ya'll say

f1lover girl it's only been a couple of monthssss like chilll

user627 ugh if only i was a rich model living in monaco

y/nlover wait this is acc so iconic

charlesleclerc my first single "i love you i'm sorry" from my debut album comes out tomorrow at 12pm est. i have put alot of work into this and i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i enjoyed making it. music has always been an escape for me and a way for me to express my feelings so i felt that it was right to put this album out. love you all ❤️

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 10,729,819 others.

user879 this is actual insanityyyy like sir wdymmm

f1fan oh he's hurtttt

user929 okay okay ik we all know its about y/n but can we talk about how that is literally SIR LEWIS HAMILTON IN THE SECOND PIC TF?!

f1lover i feel like im living through a moment of history rn

lewishamilton love u brother had the best time working on this with you 🙌

16_charlie what can't u do???

user000 my divorced parents

anon screw y/n what a bitch

landonorris your welcome everyone (i encouraged him to write this album)

user727 ha this is why we love u lando !! username22 omgg no wayyy f1fan pls this is so on brand for him

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@llando4norris

@hadidsworld

@sweetestgirlintown111

@mxryxmfooty

@heavy-vettel

[dear-ao3]

Question for the mods....

HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU MEET???

Like what???

How??

I am so god damn curious about you two. I wanna study yall under a microscope lol

Also ngl kinda envious of how close of friends you two seem to be. (Being an introverted shy af mofo sucks lmao)

I would actually probably read a whole ass book or watch a sitcom or something of the seemingly ever present weird-ass shit that seems to happen on a day-by-day basis.

/gen /lh /nf /pos

2018 newsies fandom. we weren't overly close but we bonded over race and albert a little and then katya dropped off the face of the earth for about a year.

during 2020 lockdown we both independently got into the witcher fandom and somehow ran into eachother again and had the fingers pointing OH MY GOD Y O U !!! moment in our dms. we bonded over hating jaskier. during this time we realized we were both dancers and katya was looking at dance colleges, i was already in college for dance and since it was lockdown and we couldn't go anywhere i told katya my experience auditioning at places to give him a good idea of places. and then i broke every internet safety rule known to man and said hey what if you had applied to my college but didnt know it?? and then one thing led to another and i dished out all the tea on my school. (only After that did we face reveal and give eachother our names lol) and then katya applied. mostly as a joke. until it wasnt a joke because that school gave katya a shit load of money and actually had stuff katya wanted to do. katya ended up coming to one of my zoom ballet classes and it took everything we had to not loose our shit on camera.

during this time we mostly kept eachother sane in lockdown writing witcher fanfic, and sending eachother awful thirst traps on instagram to pitbull music. one of our awful bits was using the dilf filter to make bad frat boy edits.

come august of 2021 we both moved into college. the same college. in the same building. it was wild. i pinched myself several times in shock. we went on a walk around campus with some worms on strings and were like what the hell how did we get here.

we continued to hang out and did weird insane things together. we took a class on the french revolution together where i had to put up with katya and fennec awkwardly flirting (read: making finger guns at eachother).

and then, since i was 2 years older, i was graduating and was going to stay in the area for a job and was like hey. what if we got an apartment together? and then we did. several adults agreed to this. idk why they let us. but now we live together in a real life apartment and we haven't even killed eachother yet. neither of our parents know that we met online. each of them have a different fake story as to how we know eachother and we really just hope they are never in the same room long enough to ask eachother about it. but its insane. 12/10 would recommend.

katya wanted me to include old tumblr screenshots of us talking, heres what i found from circa 2020:

we've always been like this lol

and heres some ancient greatest hits from instagram, i dont have context and trust me you dont want it:

every now and then the two of us look at eachother and go. how the fuck did we end up here??? (we have no idea)

[frangipanilove]

Thoughts on Isabelle as a Beth proxy

(Beware of potentially unpleasant romance-related spoilers below)

@bethgreeneprevails I hope you have recovered from your traumatic morning the other day (hopefully this won't traumatize you further). As promised, here are a few of my thoughts on why I’m not terribly distressed by the prospect of potential hints of romance between Daryl and Isabelle. I typed this out the other week, then of course yesterday THOSE spoilers came out (under the cut, to save lives), then all hell broke loose, and here we are.

Yes, they are unpleasent spoilers for sure! I’ll address them briefly in here, but they actually don’t really significantly change how I already feel.

And honestly there’s not really anything new and groundbreaking in here in terms of analysis, just a few thoughts I’ve been having about Isabelle as a Beth proxy.

So to get it out of the way, the recent spoilers report that apparently Daryl and Isabelle will share a kiss. I know, I know. I wasn’t thrilled to hear that either. But I’m still not terribly concerned about it, and I’ll try to explain why.

First of all, I don’t know if these are credible spoilers or not. It’s my understanding that they originated from DearTV, but I haven’t been able to confirm that, so keep that in mind.

But at a certain point last night they seemed to be all over the internet:

And while I reserve the right to be moderately grumpy about it, I don’t think we’re in for a porno here. I expect it to be fairly harmless and innocent. I think we’ll survive. Unlike poor Isabelle.

I originally wanted to write this post because I feel strongly that Isabelle has so much Beth-proxyness (totally a word) about her, and anything that happens between Isabelle and Daryl, on some level says something about his relationship to Beth. While it was subtle during season 1, it was definitely noticeable, and I believe it’s going to become a lot more obvious during season 2.

First a few words on why I originally came to see Isabelle as a Beth proxy. It actually started long before season 1 aired, and it has to do with their names:

As you can see, the French “Isabelle” (and Spanish “Isabel”), originally derived from the medieval French /Spanish version of the name Elizabeth. And “Beth” is an established short-form of the name Elizabeth. So “Isabelle” is etymologically directly linked to the name Elizabeth, and “Beth” is an established short-form of the name Elizabeth.

I was curious about this connection even before the show had aired, because it seemed like such an unlikely coincidence. The two names basically share the same origin! That’s earns a major side-eye from me, why would TPTB do that if not for establishing a subtle connection between the two characters? Keep in mind that this was an impression that was formed before the show had aired, solely based on the name etymology. I wondered if Isabelle was there to function as a Beth proxy, and I wondered how this would carry over to the show.

Then episode 1 was released, and we saw this:

Yup, Isabelle has a wrist scar, just like Beth does. She’s definitely a Beth proxy. Because the wrist scar, that’s undeniably a Beth callback. That’s something that was a topic in 4x12 Still when Daryl and Beth had the fight at the moonshine shack, it was something Dawn used against her at Grady etc. The wrist scar has become something that’s tied to Beth, not anyone else.

And it’s significant that this is one of the very first things we learn about Isabelle. It’s quite literally the first glimpse we get into her character that goes beyond the superficial stuff such as her appearance, that she’s a nun etc.

It’s a defining moment for Isabelle, we learn that there’s more to her than just being a pious nun, and it’s something that ties her character directly to Beth.

And as the season went by, there were other things, dialogue callbacks etc. I don’t even remember. But that wrist scar was the main reason I could never unsee the parallels to Beth.

And towards the end of the season we could definitely see some sort of connection forming between Isabelle and Daryl, a connection that wasn’t necessarily strictly about platonic friendship. I expect us to see more of that in season 2, and no, it’s not going to be delightful to witness. But we’ll survive.

I'm not going to lie, we’ve had reports suggesting that Isabelle will die, and it’s likely that my anxiety would be higher if we didn’t already know that.

But if Daryl starts falling for her, he’s falling for a Beth proxy, because that’s how she was introduced to the show. Obviously that’s not all she is, she’s a character in her own right, but she definitely carries traits that are supposed to remind us of Beth.

Her presence makes room for Daryl’s memories about Beth. Again, it was subtle and understated in season 1, but I expect it to increase in season 2. For instance, I do believe we’ll see a conversation between them about Beth prior to the hallucination scene in the Euro tunnel where Daryl eventually instructs her to tell Merle, Beth and Glenn he tried, which I discussed briefly here and here.

Another thing; I might be in the minority here but I interpret Isabelle’s lying and manipulation differently than many others. I’m fully expecting pushback on this but hear me out:

Isabelle is Laurent’s de facto mother figure. She’s his only remaining family, and she’s protecting him as though he’s her own child. There’s a parallel to Beth here, in that she’s also been a parent figure (to Judith and others), she’s fiercely protective of children and has been surrounded by parent/child symbolism.

And while in isolation, Isabelle’s behavior towards Daryl is indeed manipulative, I interpret it as a mother’s (or mother’s figure���s) desperate attempts to ensure her child’s safety. I don’t think her behavior comes from a place of malicious intent, I see it as a testament of the lengths to which a mother will go to protect her child. She perceives Daryl as Laurent’s best chance of survival, and she goes all in, unapologetically. I can’t hold that against her, I would probably also lie and manipulate to protect my child. I think that’s human nature.

And we see how Daryl, while reluctant at first, slowly start to develop a bond with Laurent. That scene of them on the riverbank when Laurent let the boat go is stellar. First we see Daryl give into his anger, lashing out at Laurent, likely following the pattern he learned from his own father growing up.

But then we watch him reach a moment of clarity, where he sees himself from the outside, replicating the dysfunctional parenting style of his father. He manages to regulate his emotions and get control over himself. He then sincerely apologizes to Laurent and chooses a different path, a different parenting style, one of love, patience and tolerance. That’s an incredible moment of character development for Daryl, and it shows that whatever manipulation he’s been subjected to by Isabelle has in fact made him a better person. Maybe Isabelle knows what he needs better that he knows himself. Much like Beth did.

We see a similar moment of real, healthy parenting in the trailer, where Daryl talks to Laurent about the three of them going to the US.

Obviously, I haven’t watched this scene yet, so for all I know my analysis could be completely wrong. That’s a problem for future me. For now, I’m loving this shot. I’ve never seen Daryl this paternal, and quite frankly it’s HOT! This, to me, looks like solid, healthy parenting, by someone who’s come a long way, emotionally speaking. He excels when he gets to be a parent.

And he has Isabelle’s manipulation to thank for that. Her “manipulation” unlocked something good in him. I actually don’t see it as manipulation. She’s surviving and making sure Laurent survives too.

I think you could actually argue that Beth would have responded to the situation in a similar way, which is another reason I’m side-eying Isabelle’s character. I 100% believe Beth would lie and manipulate in order to protect her child, or any child. We’ve already seen her do that to protect her loved ones, in 5x4 Slabtown, before her escape attempt with Noah.

We saw her, ice cold and lying through her teeth, telling Dawn that she saw Gorman go into her office. Her steady gaze and cool calm demeanor as she lied to Dawn’s face, seconds after having fed Gorman to walker-Joan, just so that she and Noah could escape from Grady, that’s imo the same impulse Isabelle is following to protect Laurent. Do whatever it takes to protect your loved ones. Lie, manipulate, steal…

And she later does the same in order to save Carol’s life, when it’s decided that Carol isn’t worth the resources it would take to save her.

I don’t see it as manipulative as much as I see it as being fiercely protective and ruthless on behalf of your loved ones and your children. I don’t see it as an inherently “bad” quality, I see it as “doing whatever it takes” to protect your family. Both Beth and Isabelle have that same ruthlessness when it comes to protecting their loved ones. And I’m excited about that because it’s yet another parallel between them.

And Isabelle, just like Beth, sacrificed herself. She returned to her abusive ex boyfriend because she thought that would be Laurent’s best chance of getting to safety at the Nest. Beth sacrificed herself for Noah, twice. And stopped at nothing to save Carol’s life.

So yeah, I think all of this is just a long way of saying that I believe we’ll see even more similarities and parallels between Beth and Isabelle in season 2. We probably will see Daryl develop some sort of feelings for Isabelle. Yes, it will be difficult to watch, but I think it’s a part of the process Daryl needs to evolve. I think there’s a reward for us at the end of it. And ultimately it might even be good for Daryl to have a little taste of those feelings. He might open up about Beth, I fully believe we’ll see them talk about Beth, and I do believe it will be thoroughly communicated how important Beth was to him, either explicitly through dialogue, or alternatively more subtly, through symbolism. And Isabelle will most likely die, while Beth will hopefully “resurrect”.

I believe the budding romance (or whatever) will make space for so much Beth symbolism, if we can just tolerate watching it for long enough to get a good grasp on the symbolism surrounding it. I do believe it will mostly be fairly innocent, at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself for now. And Beth will always be lurking in the symbolic shadows. In the narrative it will be about Daryl and Isabelle, but beneath the surface it will also address Daryl’s feelings towards Beth.

I think my main message with all of the above is that I expect to see the Beth-proxyness of Isabelle turned up a notch this season, and that it will function as a primer for bringing Beth back. I think we’ll see it both in terms of more subtle, between-the-lines symbolism, but also increasingly by having her explicitly talked about, for example in conversations between Daryl and Isabelle, such as we saw from the leaked script pages the other week.

[lesbianpepsi]

tainted eyes

pairing: the core four x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: you decide to hop on the latest trend going around

link to request

words: 804

warnings: swearing, mentions of the ghostface incident, my writing

authors note: i think this can be classified as my first crack fic, to the anon who requested this, i love your mind

Being a bored human with an unhealthy tiktok obsession you were pretty quick to learn any new trend that was suffering the internet.

That's why when you found the latest trend going around you didn't know whether to laugh or be petrified, probably a bit of both.

But one thing you did know about the trend is that you were a thousand percent going to do it to your friends.

It didn't take long for your plan to set into action.

—————

It was a surprisingly cold Friday night in the Carpenter apartment; a cool chill in the air that wasn't supposed to be around since it was summer.

Ever since you became friends with the Carpenter sisters and the Meeks twins you were invited to their annual weekly movie night, always hosted on Fridays.

On this particular evening Chad was the one who was given the choice of what movie you all would be watching. Something Mindy did not like because of how stupidly long it would take Chad to choose one.

"Chad, get off youtube and choose a fucking movie." Mindy demanded as she mindlessly threw a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

Chad rolled his eyes at his twin, his eyes still glued to the sports game playing on the TV. "There's five minutes left, Minds, the second it's over I'll put on the movie." He replied as he leaned forward, his forearms on his knees as he concentrated on the game.

Tara was sitting next to you with her knees up to her chest, scrolling on her phone with a bored look on her face. Her older sister, Sam, was sitting in her lonesome chair as she was man spreading , a bored look on her face as she watched the game.

"C'mon you glorious bastard!" Chad encouraged as the commentators of the game were getting louder. You looked at the screen to see a player sprinting across the field as the opponent tried to chase after him.

"Fucking move!" Chad yelled louder, his body becoming tense as a look of concentration on his face.

At the yelling from Chad the smaller girl next to you looked up at the screen, her attention shifting as she shut her phone off.

You glanced around the room to see everyone's attention was on the game playing on the screen.

It was time.

Sneakily, you pulled out your phone as you lowered the brightness to make sure Tara wouldn't look over. Once unlocked you quickly opened YouTube as you searched for the specific video you were looking for, a sick and twisted grin on your face.

The video had a whopping 34 million views, a large amount for a video less than three minutes in length.

You clicked on the video and as quickly as you could paused it before a noise was heard. Glancing around the room you made sure everyone's attention was still on the game; it was.

With a cruel smile you connected your phone to the TV, the video loading.

"The game!" Chad whined as he glared at you momentarily before he looked back at the screen. He tilted his head like a confused puppy as the title of the video showed on the screen.

"What the hell is-"

Before Chad could even finish his sentence the video began playing. It didn't take five seconds before all hell broke loose.

"Why the fuck is there an asshole on the screen?!" Tara yelled, mortified as she quickly looked away from the screen, looking at you absolutely revolted.

"My eyes, my sweet innocent gay eyes! What is wrong with you, Y/n!" Mindy screeched as she turned to look away from the screen, closing her eyes as she shook her head.

Chad was speechless as he stared at the screen confused and concerned.

"Y/n turn the shit off!" Tara yelled as she tried to grab your phone, you couldn't stop laughing as you hid your phone.

"My eyes." Mindy kept repeating as she hid her face away from the TV screen. "My gay eyes didn't deserve that."

You kept laughing as you tried to fight off Tara who was trying to climb over you to get to your phone.

Your eyes flickered over to Sam to see her looking down at her lap with an utterly disgusted look on her face.

Tears swelled in your eyes as your stomach began hurting from how much you were laughing.

Tara eventually managed to get a hold on your phone and stop the video, but it was too late, the damage was already done.

"What even was that?" Chad asked bewildered as he turned to look at you, the look of joy and innocence in his eyes completely void of it.

You still couldn't help but laugh as you answered the traumatised boy.

"Hair Nair."

[thevegasystem]

tw abuse

our relationship with computers is very emotional and spiritual. growing up we couldn't trust our memory (although we couldn't completely understand that at the time), but our computers were always something we could trust. our history was always there. files don't go missing (unlike our brain lol). if our abuser did something to us, at least we'd have our computers after that was over (unless they took that too, then all hell broke loose, if we could even put up a fight). near infinite internet access wasn't always the best, but at the very least it was a necessary escape that kept us alive. nowadays we're free from our abuser, and have moved on to work in tech. whenever we get another computer from a client that they've decided to abandon, whether its an old phone, a laptop, whatever; we are filled with joy whenever we get it roaring back to life.

they saved ours, they deserve to have theirs saved too. we believe computers go to heaven.

🌟 /❔

[uhhhhmanda]

I've been trawling the internet for like an hour looking for image references for the bike and leathers I'm pouring Gaon into for the bike crash fic, totally unaffected by gross dudes in cop-styled gear and thirst trap boys in clothes I know you can't ride in (have fun seeing where you're going when that oversized hoodie flies up over your head at 50mph motherfucker) and then all hell broke loose.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂 ♔ (@mousathegreat)

I've never been attracted to a person on a street bike IN MY LIFE. But this is (*pants*) this is PROBLEMATIC this is (*puts face in freezer*) GUYS THERE'S SUSPENDERS UNDER THERE and arrrrrms...

The Gollum-like creature in my hindbrain that tells me when to write smut is climbing the walls screaming about Yohan on a superbike.

(To be clear I will not be doing that but you guys can join me in the confused, horny puddle I've formed under my desk.)

[all-the-things-2020]

Stalker - A Late Night Talking Story

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (Emily)

Rating: PG

Warnings: description of online stalker behavior, gun violence

Summary: Not long after their wedding, Dieter and Emily realize they have an online stalker … who wants to replace Emily.

Word count: 4400

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Wedding photos started popping up on the internet right away. First were the ones our family and friends posted on their social media accounts, which were copied and posted elsewhere by fans. Dieter had posted a few photos of me on his Instagram with the caption “My beautiful wife” and those had gotten quite a reaction. Then the ones People had bought from our photographer hit their website and all hell broke loose on Tumblr.

I was on the couch, scrolling on my phone, laughing at some of the comments and tearing up at others, when I came across something rather disturbing.

“Hey, have you seen this?” I asked Dieter. He was on his iPad, reading a script that his agent had emailed him.

“Hmm?”

“This comment on your Insta post,” I said, showing him my phone. He put down his tablet and took my phone.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“That was my reaction, too,” I said. Most of the comments were congratulations or a series of heart emojis or other positive messages. This one was … not.

“Fuck that whore bitch to hell! Stealing my man. She’ll pay.”

Dieter logged into Instagram on his tablet, deleted the comment and blocked the user. “Sorry about that, babe, I should have gone through all the comments and caught that.”

“No worries, there were thousands,” I replied. I used to go through all my comments but after getting so many followers, I couldn’t keep up anymore.

Out of curiosity, I checked my list of followers and sure enough, the same username was on my list.

“Mrsbravoforreal ,” I read. I clicked on the account and scrolled through her photos. They were all pictures of Dieter, some of them photoshopped poorly to include a woman who I assumed was the account owner. She was in her twenties, wore way too much makeup, had badly dyed blonde hair and tight clothes that did nothing to flatter her.

“Should we be concerned about this?” I asked.

Dieter scrolled through her photos and nodded. “I’ll talk to my manager in the morning,” he said. “I wouldn’t bother except for that comment. There are always wacko fans out there, but something about this doesn’t seem quite right.”

I shuddered. Not quite right was an understatement. I poked around on Tumblr until I found a blog with some of those same photos. “Oh, shit,” I said. This account was called “oneandonlymrsbravo” and included not just photos but some rather detailed and graphic fan fiction written about Dieter himself, not his characters.

“Now what?” Dieter said, and I showed him a post that described in excruciating (and badly written) detail how the narrator gave him a blow job in the back of a limousine on the way to a movie premiere.

“That … that was …,” he just shook his head.

“I know,” I said. “It’s got to be the same person. The photos are the same.”

“Write down that username,” he said. “And get some screenshots just in case she takes it down later.”

“You should have taken a screenshot of that comment before you deleted it,” I said.

“Shit, yeah,” he said. “Did she post anything on your account?”

I scrolled back through my posts, checking the comments carefully. Sure enough, I found several:

“Die bitch,” on a photo of me and Dieter at a friend’s birthday party.

“Fat old cow,” on a photo of me in a bathing suit and a floppy sun hat reading a book by the pool.

“Fuck you, he’s mine,” on a selfie of me and Dieter at the park eating ice cream cones.

“I’ll kill you, bitch,” on a picture of me in my wedding dress getting ready for the pre-wedding photo shoot.

“Maybe we should call the police instead of your manager,” I said, as another shiver ran down my spine.

************************************

We reported mrsbravoforreal AKA oneandonlymrsbravo to the police, who sent us the forms to file a complaint but said they couldn’t do much. They would try to find out her real name from Instagram and Tumblr but their privacy policies might not allow them to release that information. Unless they did, we would have no idea who this woman was or where she lived.

“Honestly, until she actually tries to do something, we can’t do anything,” the officer told us. “If she shows up on your property, we can charge her with trespassing, or if she tries to physically harm either of you, we can charge her with assault. Otherwise, our hands are tied.”

Dieter hung up the phone, which we’d had on speaker. “Well, they weren’t much help,” he said.

“I just hope she’s not local,” I said. “I don’t like knowing she’s out there.”

He opened his arms and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “Maybe we should hire some security and upgrade the alarm system on the house.”

I hated the idea of having to hire security guards but with the police admitting their hands were tied, it did make sense. “That might be a good idea,” I said quietly.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” he said. “She’s not going to hurt us. I promise.”

****************************

The alarm company came out the next day to upgrade our system, installing about a million motion sensitive cameras around the perimeter of the property and putting in a control panel that made the dashboard of the Millenium Falcon look like a pocket calculator.

“I think I need to get a degree in electrical engineering to operate this thing,” I said, flipping through the instruction manual.

“There’s a video on the website,” the technician said. “It’s not as complicated as it looks.”

“You don’t know my husband,” I told him. “I just barely taught him how to delete voicemails off his phone.”

“Hey,” Dieter said, swatting at my arm. The technician laughed.

Later that afternoon, the private security company that Dieter had contacted sent out a pair of security guards. They were large, heavily muscled men with military style haircuts. Charles was African American, soft spoken and very serious. Leandro was Latino, boisterous and joking.

“Can you show us what information you have on this woman?” Charles asked. I showed him her social media accounts and the screenshots of her comments on our posts.

“Bat shit crazy,” he said after a few minutes. “We’ll take care of you, ma’am, don’t worry.”

The two of them sat down with their phones out and started asking us our schedule for the next week. I didn’t have much going on, but Dieter had some commitments and Charles and Leandro quickly set up a schedule. When Dieter was out and about, one of them would follow him, while the other stayed with me; if we were both at home, one of them would be on call while the other kept an eye on our house. We all exchanged cell phone numbers, so we could quickly get hold of them in an emergency. We also gave them access to our alarm system app.

“Okay, I’m on tonight,” Leandro said. “I’ll be outside in my car for the most part, but I might do a perimeter patrol once or twice. I can watch the camera feed on the app, but I’ll turn off the alert function if I do a patrol so it doesn’t go off and scare you.” He laughed. “Forgot to do that one time and the family’s abuela came at me with a chancla. You do not want to piss off a Mexican grandmother, I’ll tell you.”

When we went to bed that night, I couldn’t settle down. We’d set the alarm on “STAY” mode, which meant we could walk around the house without setting it off, but I was still worried it would accidentally go off.

“Go to sleep,” Dieter said, snuggling close. “The alarm is on and Leandro’s outside. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I know,” I said. “I just feel like we’re being held captive in our own home. I mean, she’s the crazy one and we have to be locked up like prisoners.”

He smoothed my hair and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “I know, it sucks,” he said. “Hopefully, she’ll get bored and move on and we can forget about the bodyguards.”

I murmured my agreement and kissed him back, but I wasn’t so sure this woman was going to give up so easily.

****************************

I had blocked Wacko Lady (as we’d taken to calling her) on all my social media accounts, but after a week or two I noticed some familiar comments on my posts. This time, the username was thereallyrealmrsbravo and while the first few comments were relatively mild, they soon turned extremely nasty. I took a screenshot of every one before finally blocking her again. A week later, I started getting comments from iamtherealmrsbravo and I got really scared.

“You’re going to die, bitch. Watch your back.”

“Nice house. I’m gonna like living there.”

“You’ll look nice in that dress in your coffin.”

I took screenshots and forwarded them to Charles and Leandro, as well as blocking her and reporting her to Instagram yet again, then called Dieter. He was in New York for a few days doing some promotional stuff for a theater company he’d worked with in the past.

“I’m getting really scared,” I told him. “She’s nuts.”

“I know, she’s posted some shit on my account, too,” he said. “I was talking to some of the folks here, and one of them suggested you create a tumblr profile and start asking around about her, see if anyone knows who she really is. Maybe send messages to some of the people who react to her posts.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “The police certainly aren’t doing shit.” Every time she posted another threat, I emailed it to the LAPD officer who was assigned to our case, but didn’t get much feedback from him.

“Or we could hire a private detective,” Dieter suggested. I liked that idea.

“Even better,” I told him. “I’ll look into that.” I sighed. “Sorry to dump all this on you, babe.”

“I’m sorry I’m not there to help you deal with it,” he replied. “Hang in there, sweetie, I’ll be home the day after tomorrow.”

“I know,” I said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said. We hung up and I started searching the internet for private detectives in Los Angeles.

**************************************

Charles walked discreetly a few feet behind me, close enough that it was clear he was my bodyguard, but far enough away not to invade my personal space. I was starting to get used to being escorted this way, mostly because both Charles and Leandro were so good at their jobs.

We went into the high rise building on Wilshire where the private investigator I was thinking of hiring had her office. She was an expert at cyber crimes, which was why I wanted to talk to her. If anyone could figure out who Wacko Lady was, it was Miranda Cortez.

As we walked through the lobby, I caught a glimpse of peroxide blonde hair heading out the other door, but whoever it was was gone by the time I could turn my head. I got startled every time I saw a fake blonde in my peripheral vision, and there were plenty of bottle blondes in L.A. so it happened a lot. I dismissed the incident from my mind as Charles and I got on the elevator and rode silently to the 22nd floor.

Ms. Cortez’ office had a sleek, modern waiting area, where I left Charles. I was ushered into her private office, which was much homier, with dark wooden bookshelves and comfy leather armchairs. Cortez herself was polished and professional, in a grey suit and red stiletto heels.

“So you have a stalker,” she said once I was settled into the chair across from her.

“Yes,” I said. “Have you had a chance to look over the screenshots I sent you?”

She nodded. “I took a glance. With my connections, I should be able to help you find out who she is. After that, you still have to rely on the police, but at least you’ll know who you’re dealing with.”

She slid a piece of paper across the desk with an obscenely large figure written on it. “I know my fee is high,” she said apologetically, “but high tech is expensive and so is this office.”

“I understand,” I said. I was still getting used to being what most of my friends and family would call “rich.” I had full access to both Dieter’s personal bank account and the corporate one. We could afford Ms. Cortez’ fee.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

“Okay, Mrs. Bravo,” she said. “Let’s find out who this crazy bitch is.” She laughed and pulled out a contract for me to sign.

I signed the contract, giving her permission to access all my social media accounts, and gave her my passwords and other login information. “I may need to create some new accounts in your name or under fake names,” she said. “If I need any photos or other information, I’ll let you know.”

We said goodbye and I collected Charles. “How’d it go?,” he asked.

“Pretty good,” I said. For the first time in a while, I felt like we were getting somewhere. “Want to stop for a smoothie or something on the way home? My treat.”

Charles shook his head. “I’m working,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. I’d tried to get Charles to relax a bit but he was always one hundred percent on task when he was working. Leandro on the other hand … he would have tried to talk me into getting a beer instead.

We retrieved my car from the parking garage and I sat back in the passenger seat as Charles drove back to the house. I’d seen another flash of blonde hair as we were paying the parking fee, but I didn’t think anything of it. Miranda Cortez was on the case, and I let myself relax.

************************

I got very detailed daily updates from Ms. Cortez, as well as a phone call every afternoon. She opened a tumblr account under the username mrsbravoforreallyreal and gave me the login information.

“Post some photos,” she told me. “Make sure they’re things that haven’t been posted anywhere else, so it’s clear that you’ve got original content. I want to try to bait her into responding to the account. The more she posts, the more data my team will have to work with.”

She also asked me to take and post some specific photos on Instagram and Twitter, basically different content on all my social media platforms. Since she could also log in, she could see every comment. It wasn’t long before there were some responses.

About a week after I’d hired her, I got an email from her with the subject line “Bingo!”

“Deet!” I called, summoning him from the backyard where he was messing around with the pool filter. I’d told him just to call the pool guy but like a typical man, he’d insisted on “looking at it” first.

I showed him the email. “Cortez knows her shit,” he said approvingly.

Wacko Lady was Samantha Bixby, a 23 year old dental technician school student from Fountain Valley who worked part time at a Jamba Juice. Cortez’ team had found her Facebook account and, as she said, “if you have the cash, Facebook will sell you anything you need.”

I felt a bit of relief at finally having a name, but knowing she was local was very unsettling. She could have been any of those glimpses of blonde hair I’d seen over the past few weeks.

I forwarded the email to Charles, Leandro, and the police officer, then replied to Ms. Cortez, thanking her profusely.

“Now what?” Dieter asked.

“Cortez said we have two choices,” I said. “We can just sit on the information and see what she does, or we can have a lawyer draft a letter to her letting her know that we know who she is and that we’ll take legal action if she doesn’t cease and desist.” I ran my hand through my hair, a nervous habit I’d picked up from Dieter. “That might scare her enough to make her back off, or it might tip her over the edge, depending on how unstable she is.”

“What do you want to do?,” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just don’t know.”

************************************

In the end, we decided to let Samantha Bixby know we were on to her. If the lawyer’s letter scared her off, the problem would be solved. If it provoked her to step up her harassment, then maybe we’d finally have some reason for the police to get involved. It was risky, but with the alarm system as well as Charles and Leandro, we felt pretty safe.

Two weeks after the letter went out (delivered by registered mail, so we knew she’d received it), there hadn’t been any comments from any of her accounts, even though Dieter and I had both posted several photos. I was starting to relax for the first time in months. Then the power went out.

It was a windy night, one of those Santa Ana winds that just keep blowing and blowing, grinding away at everyone’s nerves, fanning wildfires and knocking out power poles right and left. As soon as the lights went out, my cell phone rang. It was Charles, who was on duty that night.

“Looks like power’s out on the whole block,” he said. “Your alarm should switch to backup battery but I don’t think the cameras will work, so I’ll walk the perimeter every so often until the power’s back on. If you need anything, call me.”

“Okay, be careful out there,” I replied. I knew how crazy the winds could be, sending flying debris everywhere.

Dieter found some candles and our battery operated lantern. “Charles?,” he asked when he came back into the room.

“Yeah, he’s going to do perimeter checks until the power comes back on, since the cameras won’t work, but he said the alarm itself should switch to backup.”

Dieter shook his head. “No, it won’t,” he said. “They called yesterday to say there’s been a recall on those batteries and they’ll be out next week to replace it.”

“Shit,” I said, texting the information to Charles. Even though Samantha had been quiet lately, the power outage and the wind had me nervous again.

“It’ll be okay,” Dieter said, wrapping his arms around me. “Charles is out there. Let’s just call it a night and everything will be fine in the morning.”

He blew out the candles and let me into the bedroom, holding the lantern ahead of him. I started giggling, because it reminded me of Phantom of the Opera, when the Phantom is leading Christine into the catacombs on the way to his lair.

“‘What’s so funny?” Dieter asked.

“All you need is a mask and a cape, and you’d be a perfect Phantom,” I said.

“Aw, shit,” he said, shaking his head. “Just don’t expect me to sing, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “But maybe I’ll sing for you.” I started humming “Phantom of the Opera” but he turned to face me and pressed his finger against my lips.

“No, we are not going down that road,” he said. “You get started on musicals and that’s all I hear for the rest of the week.”

“Spoilsport,” I said, but I stopped humming. We undressed and crawled into bed. The tree outside our bedroom window was tapping at the glass as the wind gusted, and I knew it was going to take me a long time to fall asleep. Dieter drifted off after about twenty minutes, but I was still staring at the ceiling an hour later.

I was just about to get my phone off the nightstand and check the SCE website for an update on the outage when I heard a noise. It was probably the wind, but something didn’t feel quite right. I palmed my phone and slipped out of bed.

As I reached the bedroom door, I saw a shadow move in the hallway, and then suddenly I was on the floor.

“Got you now, bitch,” a voice hissed in my ear.

She switched on a flashlight, blinding me for a second. As I turned away from the light, I thumbed open the Phone app and pressed “call” on the last incoming call, then shoved the phone behind the door so she couldn’t see it. I only hoped that Charles didn’t start talking too much when he didn’t hear me on the line.

“Let me go,” I said loudly, hoping to both clue Charles in on what was happening and wake up Dieter.

Samantha laughed. “Oh, I’ll let you go,” she said. “Go to hell!”

Dieter sat up, switching on the lantern, which he’d left on the bedside table on his side of the bed. “What the hell …,” he said, cutting off as he saw Samantha crouched in front of me, a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.

“Hi, honey,” she said with a demented giggle. “Stay in bed, baby, I’ll be there in a minute. Just got to take out the trash first.” She dropped the flashlight and pointed the gun at my head.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dieter said. “Don’t hurt her. Just … just tell me what you want and you’ve got it. Just don’t hurt her.”

“He’s right,” I said. She looked at me and I shuddered at the hatred in her eyes. “If you hurt me, he’ll never forgive you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But if I don’t kill you, how can I take your place?”

“Think about it,” I said. “If I leave, if I go away and never come back, you can have him. But if you kill me … do you honestly think he could be with the woman who killed his wife?”

She cocked her head to one side, but kept the gun pointed at my head. “But … but how do I know you’d stay away? How do I know he wouldn’t still want you?” She started laughing. “Oh, how stupid I am … why would he want you after he had me?” She sat back on her heels and smirked. “I’m young, I’m skinny, I’m blonde, I’ve got perfect boobs, I can give him babies,” she said. She was actually preening, even as she kept the gun trained on me. “I’m everything you’re not, you fat old cow,” she spat.

I heard a noise behind her and I started sobbing to cover it up. Please be Charles, I thought. “You’re right,” I cried. “You’re right. He deserves better than me. Just … just don’t hurt me and I’ll leave. I’ll go away and never come back. You win. You win.”

She smiled at me, and then her face hardened. “No, I think I’ll still kill you,” she said.

As she leaned forward to press the barrel of the gun against my forehead, I saw Charles creeping up behind her.

“Samantha!” Dieter shouted. It distracted her just enough that her attention wavered. “Please, don’t do it. I’m yours. I’m yours, baby. But not if you kill her.”

She started to pull the gun away from me and that was enough for Charles. He lunged through the doorway, slamming her to the ground. She pulled the trigger and the gun went off, sending a bullet into the wall behind me. Charles quickly disarmed her and pulled out some zip ties from his back pocket.

Dieter was already on the phone with 911. “Yes, she tried to kill my wife. Our security guard has her subdued but we need an officer out here now.”

Samantha was squirming beneath Charles’ bulk, screaming obscenities and practically foaming at the mouth. I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe and trying not to look at the bullet hole two feet to my left. Then Dieter was at my side, and I buried my face in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me.

“If I hadn’t had the phone in my hand,” I gasped. “If Charles hadn’t known what was going on …” I dissolved into sobs for real this time. Dieter rubbed my back, choking back his own tears, trying to be strong for me while I had a mini breakdown.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said over and over. “It’s okay.”

Leandro burst into the house a few minutes later, having been alerted by Charles, and soon after the police arrived. They dragged Samantha out of the room, then the officers took our statements. Charles went first, calmly telling them everything that had happened from his point of view, the power outage, his perimeter patrol, getting the phone call from me and overhearing Samantha’s threats. When the officer turned to me and Dieter, I was more composed, but still shaking.

I tried to tell everything in order, but the events were already starting to get jumbled in my mind. Dieter kept rubbing my shoulder and back, reassuring me without words that I was doing fine. When I finished, he kissed my temple before giving his own statement to the officer. After what seemed like hours, the police left and we were alone with Charles and Leandro.

“We’ll both be outside if you need anything,” Leandro said. “Just try to relax now. Everything is fine.”

They left and Dieter and I were alone on the couch in the living room. We sat in silence for several minutes, then I crawled into his lap, leaning my head on his shoulder and slipping my arm around his neck so I could press a kiss to his throat.

“I have never been more scared in my life,” he said quietly. “When she pointed that gun at your head ….” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he said, his voice ragged with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He buried his face in my hair, kissing my neck and shoulder while his tears smeared across my skin.

“Me, too, sweetie ,” I said. “Me, too.”

We stayed on the couch, curled tightly together, until the sun came up and we finally felt safe enough to fall asleep. The nightmare was over, but it would take us a while to recover.

[ink-and-oceans]

A little update

Hi guys,

I haven't posted on this blog for quite a few years. When I started this blog, I was extremely depressed, anxious (diagnosed while I was gone), and just generally in a horrible place in life. I felt trapped and was stuck in many very destructive and some abusive relationships. I had no support network, so I turned to tumblr. It was the easiest way to connect with people, vent, and gave me something real to work towards (growing this blog).

When I finally broke free and the truth came out in my personal life, all hell broke loose. I had to work really hard to build my life from scratch, re-evaluate my toxic beliefs, and heal. Healing usually doesn't involve posting extremely depressing writing consistently which meant that I left this blog alone for a long time. Honestly, I didn't think I would ever open this account and look at it again.

After a very long time, things really have changed. I am no longer depressed (mostly) and am not as anxious. I have a real support network and I finally believe that I will be able to have a happy life. I have enough independence to develop and set boundaries for myself since I'm not financially reliant on others now.

I just want to say that things really do get better and that there is always hope. The growth was extremely painful and it felt backwards a lot of times, but I got here. I also want to mention that I won't be posting as many depressing things anymore if that's something you care a lot about. Finally, I just wanted to say that I'm thankful that I was able to connect with and be supported by so many sweet random people on the internet like you guys who got me through the toughest times in my life.

tara love

[quinnyundertow]

When I Catch You Gege

Summary Reader is Isekai'd into JJK with the determination to change canon and make sure she rights the wrongs of Gege. Oh and enjoy her time there...yeah that too. No manga plot spoilers. Reader x everyone. All characters 18+ unless otherwise stated.

Content Warning: Canon typical violence, torture, suicide, Non-con, extreme bullying, angst with a happy ending.

Pairings: Reader x Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Junpei Yoshino, Okkotsu Yuta, Toji Fushiguro

Chapter 1

Comments & Candies

It all started with a comment on the internet. Which to be honest was pretty rare for you to indulge in in the first place. Don’t misunderstand, you had strong opinions about things -especially when some of your favorite characters or shows were involved- but between the trolls online and the way things generally devolved in comment sections it just wasn’t worth raising your blood pressure over anymore. 

It started innocuously enough in some TikTok comments of a Jujutsu Kaisen fight mash up from the current Shibuya Arc. It was one of those videos where the quality is so high you don’t even understand how the user posting found it.

75 Comments

“Dude I fkn hate Mahito he better get left right goodnight next ep”

“lol get ready to be disappointed”

“I mean why mahito kinda…👀”

“get help….” “girlie I’m all for ignoring red flags but that’s a whole red flag factory” "okay but transforming body parts 😩"

You laughed at the comments per usual thumbing up your favorites before going to type your own. This fandom was so unhinged but you loved it. These comments were tame compared to what you would see on the average JJK thirst trap video.

“Gege is the worst curse 😭” 

You hit enter with a small smile before immediately scrolling through a few more TikToks. Your timeline was currently Jujutsu Hell. Just about every TikTok was JJK related and while you adored the show (maybe a little too much) you were feeling a little bummed out by it lately. 

Season one had become your ultimate comfort anime. It was endearing, funny, heartwarming and all the characters meshed so well. It made you feel like a part of their family -albeit a very hot family where you thirsted over about 90% of the cast-. 

Sure the Junpei arc in season 1 broke your heart but it was a manageable amount of sadness. The movie was much the same; a little sad but overwhelming the good guys win and the family is together at the end. Then came Shibuya and all hell broke loose. Gege made you fall in love with Suguru Geto despite knowing that wasn’t going to end well. Your sweet baby Yuji was tortured relentlessly physically and mentally. Then he put your man Gojo in an eyeball box before he killed off a bunch of beloved characters. You were honestly starting to feel depressed. It sounds dramatic but you really loved these characters and it felt like Gege was torturing them for the hell of it. Character deaths were fine with a literary purpose but it was beginning to feel cruel.

Your mood dipped with your thoughts as you decided to close the app down. Before you could flick it shut a notification popped up at the top of your screen showing someone had responded to your comment. You clicked it to see the bigger thread.

“Yuji had to watch these ppl die to grow as a character”

You screwed up your face into an affronted expression. You had a tendency of wearing your thoughts on your face before managing to school them. Something that had gotten you in trouble more than once. Thankfully, in your own home that wasn’t an issue. 

“Not really relevant to my comment..” you mumbled while typing a response. “But I’ll bite”

“Killing off characters just to make another one grow is the easy way out. Yuji is a kid. Torturing him senselessly isn’t making him grow, it's making him traumatized.”

Before you could even click away another comment popped up below yours 

“U think u could do any better?”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. You loved Gege’s work, the universe and characters he created were amazing; but that didn’t mean you had to agree with every decision he made as an author. This is why you didn’t bother to leave comments. You hated having to justify yourself to random people on the internet. You contemplated deleting your original comment before you typed 

“I mean I could get to the same places plot wise and emotionally without murdering everyone the audience cares about..” Before the guy could respond again you hit the phones off button to put it to sleep and threw it across your bed. You hated that your emotions tended to get involved in things as tiny as internet comments or tv shows.

You huffed into your sheets before mumbling, “If I was there I’d end up being an annoying Shonen protagonist…”  you smiled thinking of the way Naruto relentlessly chased down Sasuke or Luffy refused to leave his Nakama behind. Rolling over you lay on your back staring at the ceiling grinning, “Suguru Geto you aren’t escaping the power of friendship buddy! I would drag your monkey hating ass back kicking and screaming. Hell, I’m saving Yu Haibara first, sending Geto to therapy, and taking Nanami to a freaking hair salon. Emo looking…” you laugh out loud before your reverie is interrupted by the screeching of your phone's alarm. 

Your mood is forced to instantly sober, “I’m pathetic..” you muttered. Knowing in the back of your head you had to get ready for another day at your mediocre job with your shitty coworkers. And for what? To come home and be sad that the gorgeous pixelated men on the other side of the screen were getting knocked off by their God Gege (who you just decided to dub God-Ge).

After rubbing a hand over the bridge of your nose you tried to muster the energy to get up and get shit done. Raising up one hand towards the ceiling and making a fist you yelled, “Alright God-Ge you dick just you wait till I get Isekaied! Not one of my boys is dying and I all my babies are gonna grow up loved as fuck!!”

~~

That was the last thing you remembered and what brought you to the here and now. Where ever here and now was… you were disoriented to say the least. You went from laying in bed to your body standing. White and red lights were flashing by with a blustery wind shaking you and rattling your clothes. Despite the confusion you registered that you were moving but not with any sense of purpose or even of your own volition. You were submerged in a crowd; bodies flowing around you pushing your stumbling form along.  You were in sensory overload; the sound of racing vehicles, people talking, advertisements ringing. The lights flickering around you were blurred and the voices surrounding you were unintelligible. 

You felt as if you broke through to the air from a lake in the middle of winter. Your mind was having trouble forming full thoughts. The information it was receiving was partial and you felt goosebumps break out down your arms as you felt a shiver go down your body. You noticed a ringing in your head as it gradually grew louder in volume. The tinnitus like sound became unbearable as you hunched over putting your hands over your ears. Your posture was protective as you just hoped the overwhelming feelings would-

The ringing stopped. The sounds around you clarified and your vision seemed to return to normal. It felt as if someone had thrown you a life preserver in frigid waters and you gasped at the sudden shift in physical sensations.

Something was grounding you. This warmth spread throughout your body and a wave of reassurance engulfed you. Still bent over with your hands on your knees you registered a hand on your upper back near your shoulder. The touch, warm and light, rubs a gentle circle only partially putting its weight on you. You aren’t the type of person to want to be touched by strangers but the person barely holding you relays comfort and reassurance. Their form was removed enough to show concern while not intruding on your space or coming off as disrespectful. 

“Hey are you okay? You don’t look so good..” the voice was masculine but had this buoyancy and brightness to it. The energy behind it non-threatening and almost inviting. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to regain some baseline of where you are. You registered the sidewalk under your feet and your familiar pair of shoes. It had to be nighttime based on the level of light surrounding you. It wasn’t dark but the only thing illuminating your feet was colorful artificial rays. 

The hand on your back left taking its warmth with it. Your eyes flicked up to meet a pair of brown orbs with flecks of gold. The person's face peering down at you was so close to your own your noses almost brushed when you looked up. Your voice caught in your throat as you choked in surprise at the handsome features directly in front of you. His brown eyes were framed with long dark lashes. The first thought that left your mind was he’s beautiful before a heat raced down your stomach. 

At your noses almost touching, he stood up quickly from stooping to get a better look at you. He must have seen something in your eyes that clearly concerned him as both of his arms reached out to steady you on either side of your shoulders. His fingers flexed lightly on your upper arms as he maintained a firm but gentle hold, “Hey I’ve got ya, let’s move over out of the walkway.” The voice sounded like how someone would coax an animal out of a hiding place. It generated a sense of security despite the confusion all around you. 

You leaned up to your full height, the hands on your arms providing support in the event you needed it. You fought past a wave of dizziness as your gaze followed his legs on their way to meet his eyes. He was tall, almost two heads taller than you. His face now turned away from yours as it scanned above the crowd for a destination. His hair was the same honey brown color as his eyes. The style boyish, straight and short; stopping above the ears before ending in an undercut. The bangs were untamed like he had run his hands through them one time too many.  

“Hmmmm, umm…there’s gotta be a seat somewhere..” he mumbled to himself aloud. You tried to focus on his words but felt your form stiffen as you were bumped by the throng brushing by you, intent on where they were heading. When he spoke his voice tickled the back of your brain, a sense of familiarity rolling over you. You couldn’t help but focus on the sensation of his hands on your shoulders. 

He visibly perked up as he seemed to have found what he was looking for before he glanced back over to you. He smiled brightly, making eye contact that made you feel a blush on your face in response. He released your arms briefly before a large warm hand reached out and clasped your smaller one before navigating you towards a less dense part of the horde. “So I don’t lose you.” he explained lightheartedly over his shoulder. His grip was soft despite the roughness of his own hands. You felt yourself rub against him reflexively tracing one of his calloused fingers with your own. 

Your own emotions and feelings in your present situation baffled you. You were not some maiden needing saving nor some naive girl who would tag up with a random man. You watched way too much true crime to ever take a strange man’s hand and follow them into a side street no matter how attractive they were. However, rather than your intuition screaming for you to pull your hand away and run, it remained quiet. You had never believed in aura, chakra, energy or whatever but it was like you could sense his and it gave you only positive vibes. 

Nothing made sense. A moment ago you were laying in bed on TikTok and now you were in the middle of a massive metropolitan area (you lived hours away from one) in the middle of a crowd with a guy you vaguely felt like you knew pulling you to God knows where?

Swallowing hard, you stumbled behind the larger male his broad back and strong shoulders taking up the majority of your view. You shadowed him closely so that you wouldn’t become separated. This was working fine until he abruptly stopped; someone cutting in front of you both with a bicycle. You tripped forward into his back, your fingers gripping tightly into his black crop top style jacket for support. A soft cry of surprise escaping your lips. He froze letting you regain your balance as you leaned against him fully. His back clearly muscled against your forearms and hands. “I’m sorry” you stammered out letting go once you reoriented yourself. The guy leading turned slightly towards you before readjusting your hand in his making sure not to let go. “N-no worries, one minute and we're there...” he announced in a soothing tone despite an outbreak of red flushing the top of his ears and the little bit of cheek you could see. 

True to his word less than a minute passed before there was a gap in the crowds and you both emerged into a smaller offshoot of the main walkway. You must be between stores where the garbage and back employee stairs were situated because the area was pretty empty opposed to the sidewalk not five feet away. The familiar individual in front of you released your hand and began digging in his jacket pockets now. Below the jacket was a simple white t-shirt followed by formal black pants. The t-shirt was snug not leaving much to the imagination as you felt yourself swallow hard. Part of his tongue popped out in the corner of his mouth as he kept searching for something. Your mind immediately goes, cute, at the small pink muscle wedged in the corner of his lips. “Miss, do you prefer sweet or salty food?” He formally inquired looking up with a smile. He managed to fish out some candies from his pockets alongside what looked like a few candy wrappers and some pocket lint. 

You blinked at the unappetizing handful  in his outstretched hand before studying his face again. It was driving you crazy how familiar he looked. Though another part of you couldn’t help but assert you wouldn’t forget a face this attractive and boyish.  A lazy smile graced his face as he looked you in the eyes holding forward his hand of proffered treasures. The way he expectantly looked at you reminded you instantly of a golden retriever. He was convinced that his outstretched handful would solve whatever issue made you double over in the street. “I bet it’s low blood sugar! My grandma has to deal with that so I got in the habit of carrying around a couple of candies in case she needs a little boost!” He gave a short laugh before reaching back to scratch his head with his free hand “but to be totally honest I usually end up eating it all and it’s really more of an excuse to keep candies on hand all the time…” he paused clearly still waiting for you to take one of the brightly wrapped sweets. His expression clearly reflecting that he could never imagine you not wanting one of the slightly melted goodies.

“Oh…okay, thank you?” Your response came out as more of a question then you intended as you glanced down and bridged your hand half way between you two before pausing. The wrappings were unfamiliar and you had no idea what exactly you were taking. A sarcastic voice in your head couldn’t help but quip, Good idea let's take candy from the stranger now that you’ve followed him into an alley.

He watched you, his smile never fading as you glanced up to make eye contact again a small furrow of confusion on your brow. He looked down at his own hand before exclaiming, “Oh! Right so this one is a little sour it’s got like a tangy…” the older teen continued to ramble on. His voice faded into the background as your brain went 100 miles per hour trying to catch up to everything happening. You definitely knew this guy. Was he a coworker's friend? That didn’t explain how the hell you ended up in a city. His candy spiel apparently ended as he looked up at you tilting his head to the side slightly. 

A light bulb suddenly went off in your head as you exclaimed out loudly pointing as if you had the answer to a game of Pictionary. “Yu! Haibara Yu!” 

Chapter 2

[art-the-f-up]

If I came across as snippy or trying to start something, I apologize, I'm barely holding myself together right now. I just saw some of the comments people have made about the situation on your Palestine AU and got frustrated. I want to be sure people have the whole picture, but whenever I try, people shut me down without really listening and blocking me. A guy got my original account deleted for "hate speech" when I posted my story just because they didn't like what I said. That's why I'm staying anon.

The truth is, I have someone over there who's being held in the middle of it all. She went on a school trip a few months ago and was reported missing. My family panicked not knowing what happened, and then a few weeks later all hell broke loose with this war.

My family was furious with Israel, and jumped to the conclusion it was like Russia & Ukraine, but later found out they were trying to take out Hamas, who had taken her and some of her classmates hostage.

No one knows what it's like to have someone over there, and no one seems to try to understand or even care. In their minds, Israel is the big bully and Palestine is the sole victim, but things aren't that black and white. Hell, Israel negotiating for hostage releases is the only reason a couple of her classmates have come home.

Meanwhile, everyone online seems to keep preaching about how Palestine must be free and how they need to stop supporting this war while offering no real alternatives to stopping Hamas, even going so far as to say they are a bunch of freedom fighters who need the support. Sometimes the only options you have are bad ones... But you still have to choose...

I'm not saying what's happening to the innocent people in Palestine isn't a tragedy, or trying to just brush it off, but men who kill without reason cannot be reasoned with. I wouldn't wish this on anyone; knowing those monsters have her is a living hell, and not a day goes by that we don't hope and pray that they'll be stopped, just so my sister can come home.

Sorry for rambling, I just really needed that release. I've said my peace, I promise I won't bother you about it again.

Hey, I completely understand your situation. But we have to admit this is a sensitive topic for many. NOT forbidden, just sensitive. You can expect me to listen to what you have to say and even understand your perspective, but you won't find many people like that when it comes to this topic and that is just what the internet is like. Just because I am understanding you doesn't mean other people are, and they each have their own right to being exhausted with justifications of crimes on any side. If there's anything I've learned it's that pointing fingers in an argument is not going to get anyone anywhere. I am someone who has been trying to hear out both israelis and Palestinians because like anyone else, after oct 7 I wanted to get the whole picture, as you say.

But your entire discussion started with being biased instead of trying to show the whole situation. You started with saying "israel is not the bad guy" but also said "Hamas is a terrorist organization" and I want you to really look at the use of words if you want people to see the "entire picture". Otherwise you ARE going to get shut down. The entire point of starting an argument online is that you first have to claim you've tried to study the complexity thoroughly. Chalking it up to Hamas being a terrorist organization and justifying a genocide is not going to cut that.

I am completely against trying to shut down someone's grief no matter how big or small it is. Everything comes down to the fact that we are all human, we all have feelings and every life matters. I can only send my condolences to the family that's going through this first hand. First of all, if you are actually someone who has been so closely impacted by this, trying to show the 'bigger picture' on the other accounts instead of your own is ALREADY a pretty dangerous thing for you to do, let alone to the art account of a local tribal artist in the north of some little country.

Now I really want you to evaluate your situation. Your family is tensed, is grieving, they are beside themselves with worry. Just thinking about it makes me sad and I sincerely hope that everything safely gets resolved for you and hopefully everyone is safe. But can you seriously say that as soon as your family found out "oh, Israel is just trying to eradicate a terrorist organization by blowing up the very place where the hostages could potentially be" they were…. okay with it?

I understand what it's like. I understand and I care. I grew UP on the stories of people going missing, people being blown up, people getting martyred in Palestine. Trust me I understand what you are going through.

I will never try to justify what happened to civilians on oct 7. it is horrible. What happened on oct 7 and what has been happening in Palestine for years makes no one but the innocent suffer at the hands of evil powers. But you cannot, with all due respect, try to say you're showing a 'bigger picture' when you clearly failed to mention the entire history.

Everyone living in Israel knows they are, first and foremost, living in an apartheid state. It is not that difficult for anyone mature enough to see the situation around them and look up and research to come to that conclusion. And many Israelis have. And many have left. Because they knew what living being such a place will entail for them.

And keep in mind I am also NOT in support of trying to make any Israelis leave, who have documented proof of any of their ancestors being from that land and/or don't have second citizenship somewhere else in the world. I hold them to the same level of rights as I do Palestinians.

I don't need to get into overcomplicated finger-pointing and yelling. You can look up Israeli soldiers shooting their own hostages in Gaza despite them shouting in Hebrew and holding up white flags. And the army only apologized because they were identified as Israeli citizens. How does that differentiate the Israeli army from Hamas? I don't need to pull up multiple sources or proof provided by the Israelis themselves. They are already everywhere. What I've heard and what I've seen from October seven, I'm seeing more and more of it being done by the Israeli Army. So we need to be really careful trying to call one side a terrorist, because that will automatically mean calling the other side the same. Which is true. In terms of definitions, what's happening in Gaza is blatant terrorism.

If Palestine was an apartheid state, you would see me speaking out against them. If Palestine was a colonizer apartheid and the people stood up to fight back against a powerful army with resources far more than that of them, you would see me calling them freedom fighters, not terrorists. Because I did happen to read a little bit about the international laws. I do happen to be from a family with a history of armed freedom fighters.

So yes, I am incredibly sorry that this is impacting you mentally, I hope you and you family stays safe and united, but if the impact is making you say biased things, it's better to go offline, take a break from social media, and spend this time trying to pray for your family and spending time with them.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Invisible, tugging strings, Pt. 1

When - chronologically after souls stripped bare, which means the Chupacabra episode of Season 2.

What - Daryl is hurt and hallucinating at the bottom of the ridge, while you are at the farm, wondering why you are overcome with really insistent dread that he’s hurt.

Relationships - why do the two of you feel like there’s a string tugging at your chests? (slow burn Daryl x Reader)

Perspective - Him 3rd, You 2nd

Pronouns - they/them neutral

TWs - language, description of pain and injury, and those signature crappy screenshots from the episodes the Slowpoke Series tends to have, and one poor pic from the internet of Patricia

What stories should I read first? - souls stripped bare! A measure of reverence Parts 1 and 2 came before it, but definitely souls stripped bare so you get what went on

Will reading this one take me all day? - no, slowpoke, about 15 minutes :)

Can I check out the Masterlist? - please do! There’s the official one here in purposeful nonlinear publishing, and the purely chronological one here. They both have the same Slowpoke stories, just in a somewhat different order. (Reader Requests are in the official one)

There’d been that damned snake, so the horse reared, and down Daryl went.

His neck should’ve gotten snapped, tell you what. For real, he should’ve broke a few fingers or something on his way slip-sliding down the world’s most painful fucking waterslide that was the rock ridge he’d tumbled down before finally crashing into the water below. Maybe he did break some shit on the way down but just doesn’t notice yet?

Whatever, he’s just grateful Y/N ain’t here with him. Because if they’d fallen too, with the injuries they already got going? The two of them would be in this shit instead of just him, and he has no idea how he’d be able to get Y/N out of it. He can’t even get his own damn self out of it.

All his lazy-ass has gotta do is just—fucking—ow! He can’t seem to get any higher, come on! He’s halfway!

It’s because the bolt notched in the top of his crossbow decided to move out and notch its damn self in his left side while he was busy careening his way down the goddamned ridge. Least he was able to fish out his crossbow from the pool at the bottom. And most importantly, he has the doll.

He found her doll! Yeah, that’s right, the one that little Hispanic girl—sorry, ‘Lila’ or ‘Liza’—the doll she gave to Sophia.

He’s seen it from the top of the ridge and was trying to figure out a way down, was walking the horse along the top to find the best spot to climb, when bam. There was a rattler, it scared the poor nag, she fucked off to who-knows all while Daryl crash-banged his way down the slope in record time.

And now, he can’t get any higher. ’Cause he’s a damned pussy.

Son of a bitch, and even now, he’s glad Y/N isn’t here to hear him call himself a ‘pussy’ because they wouldn’t like that shit. At least that invisible string that felt like it was tied to Y/N, whatever the hell that was, either snapped on his way down or he can’t feel it as much right now because everything else hurts so damned much.

Okay, Darylina, all you need to do is buck up and prove your balls dropped and get your ass up the rest of the way and get back to the farm.

He groans in pain and wills his nausea to go down.

“Oh, come on. You’ve done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy,” is his version of a pep talk, and with one final “Come on,” he uses all his strength to lunge himself up closer!

Yes!

Only — it’s the dizzy part he isn’t expecting, along with the way everything in his stomach lurches up, and the way the soil is far too loose and he can’t find a decent grip. Panting to help curb him from upchucking right then and there, he feels himself fail to find a root or branch to grasp.

Next thing he knows, his world is spinning again.

There’s a snapping sound, a searing pain in his side that spreads everywhere, and before he can think, his breath is gone an—

................................................

You

Daryl is hurt just jumped into your mind again and you have no idea why.

He’s gone out on his own before, why are you filled with dread all the sudden? Whatever happened late this morning to you two is really throwing you for a loop.

This morning, you don’t know, but after all happened with him, you feel like you’re welded together. You know it sounds weird.

Still, you do not like that he’s not here, that he’s alone. You know the feeling will ease, but it really sucks right now and you’re really not liking how that sudden dread just appeared in your brain, and loudly, way more loudly than when it happened the first time, like 30ish minutes ago? And the invisible string is still tugging away.

Maybe it’s just the caffeine crash after the espresso incident early this morning. That, combined with latent worries about the blood transfusion and how thoroughly exhausting today was. How the past few days have been…

“Carl, baby, how do you feel?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Creeped out that blood is going into my arm.”

Lori kisses her boy’s hand and shares a quiet laugh with Patricia. Rick cracks up, Hershel smiles politely from his chair.

“Does your back hurt or do you feel itchy? Cold?” Those are the things Patricia said to be on-alert for.

“Nope.”

“Are you out of breath?” Heck, you’re out a breath…

“Y/N, you’re making me nervous.”

Okay, fair, you need to get out of this room, you feel like you can’t breathe enough.

You stick your tongue out just in case Carl notices there’s something off with you (that punk notices almost everything). “Doct—Mr. Greene, would you like me to get more sweet tea?” you check, hoping you seem normal.

Genuine concern for him aside, it can’t hurt to be extra polite after Jimmy went on the search with Glenn today without consulting Hershel or being clear with his mother about it, turns out. And how Daryl…stole a horse.

Mr. Greene nods from the chair he hasn’t left since donating a pint of blood about 40 minutes ago. “I wouldn’t mind, in fact. Thank you.”

Slightly unbalanced from having your injured arm slung and tied to your side, you take his glass from the crocheted coaster with your free hand. Once in the hallway, you close the door behind you and start to hyperventilate. You aren’t really aware of walking there, but you end up at the kitchen counter pouring tea into the glass while tears pour from your eyes and you gulp down air.

Your hair’s still wet from the shower, so riddle you why it feel like it’s 105º in this place? What the hell is going on, dude? Why are you panicking over Daryl, he’s fine, he’s always fine! Just say a prayer and get on with it, you got shit to do.

Wipe, sniff, swallow. Okay.

With a final wipe for good measure, all you need to do is poke your head back in and put the filled glass on the counter. You’ll be nearby to help if anything happens to Carl or Hershel. Nothing should, but you never know.

After delivering the iced tea, you begin to make your way to the porch—but then pause, because don’t want Shane seeing you right now. Every heaving inhale makes your sore stitches burn and your shoulder/chest injury pinch, but you can’t seem to stop! This isn’t cool, this really isn’t cool.

There’s a side-door in the kitchen, you’ll use that. You need air.

two hours ago

“Sweetie, what happened to you two?”

“I don’t know.”

You couldn’t and still can’t shake off the feeling you’d gotten a glimpse into Daryl’s very soul. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him as he ran to—you weren’t sure, but probably to the stables.

There was a tugging in your chest as you watched him hurry away. You didn’t want him to go far.

You didn’t want him to go, period. It felt wrong that he was alone, that you weren’t going with him.

Carol asking you “What do you mean?” got interrupted when Maggie called from inside the house, “Y/N?” and ran out to the porch where Carol was escorting you in.

“Hey,” you panted, finally dragging your eyes from Daryl and looking at her frown. Her coloring matched her last name as she stared at the bloodstained part of your shirt.

“Did one of the infected people do that, Y/N?”

“No, it’s the stitches. Don’t tell your daddy? He already thinks I’m an idiot,” you asked, nervous.

Letting out an exhale and nodding, she said, “I’ll get Patricia,” before jogging back inside.

“This is why I changed my shirt before comin’ back, didn’t want no fuss,” you muttered to Carol.

She was crying softly as she continued to guide you inside. “Well, it looks like you bled through it.”

“Shane and Rick ain’t come back yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” was all you could respond to that. You were in too much pain to be in any patient mood.

One, Shane not being back meant he and Rick might have come back with Sophia in tow, and two, it meant that you could get cleaned up before your brother saw what a mess you’d made of yourself.

If he saw you like this, he’d get angry, use it as proof about how you all shouldn’t be out there, then would go off about how there’s no point in searching anymore because statistics say that the little girl’s dead.

And you didn’t like how you were tiptoeing around him. That in itself was a red flag, he’s better than that, and yet…

 A final, exhausted glance to see if you could still see Daryl, and Patricia was there as you and Carol entered the farmhouse. “Come into this room to your left, let see what the damage is,” she directed, kit in hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patricia,” you whispered.

Carol took your backpack off carefully and murmured that she’d wash your bloodied shirt(s) and grab you fresh clothes from the line. Patricia has her take off your soiled top right then and there, Carol also takes Dale’s watch off you to return.

It was only Patricia in there, so it was okay, you didn’t feel too exposed without a shirt.

She sanitized the area and snipped the sutures. You did need new ones. They hadn’t popped, but the skin around them tore and pulled and bruised.

That her now-dead husband was the one to so expertly do the original ones hurt more than the actual physical pain, believe it or not. Maybe you were feeling too much elsewhere or simply felt too drained and numb from earlier to have that strong a reaction to more?

“Sweet pea, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Ain’t no need to apologize,” you heard her tell you. “Otis wouldn’t want you to be.”

There was a brief pause in the suturing process because you broke into a cold sweat and she worried you were about to get sick. “Once we’re finished, I’m going have you head upstairs to take a nice, warm shower again. There’s plenty of fuel left in the generator. Don’t worry, we won’t be shy about sending y’all out for more when the time comes.” She handed you the small emesis basin for you to hold with your good side, and continued.

Halfway into resuming the stitches you ended up needing to use it. As you did, Patricia made motherly shushing noises and cooed how it was okay, then took away the container and put it on the tiny shelf near the door.

You like how she talks, she’s twangy like you are.

“Alright, what happened to you out there, Y/N? Didn’t you go searchin’ with the, uh, Dixon—Merle Dixon from the prescription bottle—his younger brother? I heard the bike drive back.”

“We had a rough morning.” You stifle a sigh in relief and pain in as you felt her make the final suture. The snip of the scissors cutting the excess surgical thread was music to your ears. “Daryl d-drove me back ’cause I hurt too much.”

Daryl. Just the thought of him out there, alone, made your chest tug again and a lump grow in your throat. And you really hoped nobody noticed that he most likely stole a horse 10 minutes before.

“How’d it happen?” she pressed. Finished cleaning up what she used for the stitches, she stood to check your shoulder. “You weren’t like this this morning, Y/N, this mornin’ you were the energizer bunny.”

The front door opened, and a knock came on the door of the room you were in. “It’s me,” Carol spoke from outside.

“Come on in.”

She opened the door and slipped inside, carrying a complete change of clothes for you, and promptly moved to take away the container you’d just vomited in.

“No, Carol, leave that, I can do it. I just need my shirt on.” Having so much skin exposed isn’t your usual.

Granted, that’s when Patricia requested, “Let me get a look at your range of motion and all that first before puttin’ a shirt back on, it’s easier when I can press against the skin directly.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t taken care of before, Y/N,” Carol softly reminded you, and took the container away.

To be polite, you asked Patricia to grab the hand sanitizer from your backpack before she did her thing. Smelly underarms are caused by bacteria and sweat; you knew you’d gotten sweaty. You already felt so humiliated and raw, you didn’t have a damn shirt on, you just threw up in front of her, you were crying; smelling less offensive was something over which you still had some control.

Patricia then started to do similar movements to what Mr. Greene did last night. Everything ached worse than yesterday, so much worse.

“Now, how’d this happen? It weren’t this bad before, certainly not this morning.”

“I overdid it,” you mumbled.

“I’ll say.”

The pictures of the family you’d just buried started to pop up in your mind. The image of them in their grave, that big blanket over them, popped up, too, as did the sensation of carrying them in your arms to get them there. The tears fell harder. “I-I had to.”

“Sweet pea, I’m sure you had a very good reason,” the woman soothed.

Really, if you had a dollar for every time you’ve cried in the past four days (not that you could do much with it, but), you’d probably have a $50 bill.

The door opened a second time.

You were grateful it was just Carol again, not Hershel or Shane. She brought you a small glass of sweet tea, which you held in your free hand but didn’t drink.

“Y/N, I wanna make sure that Daryl didn’t hurt you or try to.” Patricia was blunt.

You weren’t offended on his behalf; that she asked meant she was concerned and wanted you safe. “The opposite, ma’am,” you responded softly.

“Hm?”

“He picked me up and carried me when I couldn’t get myself up.” You tried a sip of tea to help swallow back more tears. It was very sweet tea, you gagged at first. “He dug when I couldn’t no more.” A sob worked its way up as you coughed out “God, I r-really wish he weren’t all alone out there right now.”

Carol took the mostly full cup from you and placed it on the dresser, while Patricia’s hands slowed where she was examining you. “Why’d y’all dig?” she asked.

You slumped where you sat. “The family who’d boarded up their house, the ones from Mexico?”

“The Bardales?”

Your lips wobbled and you could only nod to tell her yes, that was them, then shake your head back and forth to try and relay what happened to them.

She understood. “All of them?” she whispered.

“Th-there’d been a break in, and they’d,” you had to wait until your voice stopped shaking, “they all caught the fever, besides.”

That’s when her hands stopped and you could feel her go rigid. “Was they dead or infected?”

You had no idea what she meant and were too tired to get clarification. “Both.”

“Patricia, I’m going to get you a glass, too,” Carol murmured, and stepped out.

You and the woman sat in silence. When you tried to put your shirt back on, she put a hand on your arm to stop you.

Carol came back and handed Patricia the glass filled with iced tea.

“How did you know they was infected if they was dead?” she finally voiced.

You looked to Carol because you didn’t know what to say or what Patricia meant. She returned your concerned expression and spoke up. “I think she’s asking, um…in what way you found the family.”

Patricia nodded.

“Turned.”

And the words “Infected doesn’t mean they were dead,” cursed from Patricia’s mouth in a tone of voice you’d never heard her use before.

Talk about feeling humiliated and naked and having your soul bared, you literally did not have a shirt on.

“That is what infected means,” Carol disagreed out loud, to your surprise.

Patricia countered, angry and quiet. “Infected means sick.”

But Carol remained gentle and even. “I know it hurts when you’ve lost a loved one to it, but there’s no cure because the person dies first.” She looks down and shrugged in her shy, unsure way. “That’s the one thing we can’t cure.”

“But they come back, we see it.”

“Not alive,” you were able to verbalize as your stress stutter decided to make an appearance. “Not even the CDC c-could fix it. All they found was that infected people die, and the virus takes over.”

“They ain’t found a cure yet,” the woman spat. “A lot of things can look like dyin’, the heart rate can slow—”

“—They die and you know it. What we see walkin’, it-it-it’s just their bodies, ma’am, just the basest part of the brain. The soul is,” there you went swallowing back another sob and failing, “gone because they died and are still dead.”

“We were there, Patricia,” Carol spoke up again. “At the CDC, we talked to the only man still there, we saw proof. There’s nothing left.”

“Don’t lie to me in my own home,” she warned her.

“Don’t insult guests in your own home,” you hissed back, furious that she’d accuse Carol of lying. You clenched your teeth, held back your groan as you stood, wiped the hot tears from your cheeks with your good arm, and tried to put on your shirt so you could walk out with Carol—who stopped you.

She hadn’t lost an ounce of her gentleness yet. “Y/N, don’t get angry. This family hasn’t seen what we have.”

“Well, w-we seen one who’s head got sliced off and it still tried bitin’, but they still think we’re stupid, heartless murderers for laying their bodies to rest!”

“Look what they’ve done for us.” Carol gestured to your stitches. “Look at what they’re doing to help us, what they’ve already done.” She then gestured outside to your group’s campsite, then toward where Carl’s room is.

You still fully expected to get thrown out, but Patricia sat there, lost in thought. She inclined her head to where you’d been sitting by way of inviting you to stay. You remained by the door anyway, you felt too absolutely-fucking-like-garbage to have sat down then.

“You saw one with their head cut off still tryin’ to attack?” the woman then asked, staring at nothing with her brows drawn close. “Wasn’t no nerve reflex, or, or…” she trailed off.

“They’ll keep attacking unless their brain is damaged,” Carol replied. “That’s where the virus, um—you know.” Her eyes turned wet again and she bowed her head as tears of her own fell on her lap.

After more silence, you whispered to Carol for help getting your shirt on. “I just want to lie down before Mr. Greene expects me.”

“No, sweet pea, come back. I wanna help you get some range of motion back, come on.” Patricia, who apparently could hear your whisper just fine, waved you over and patted the spot on the bed. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharin’ with me. There’s some…things I’ll need to think more on, discuss.” To herself, she muttered, “I need to, I need to talk to Hersh about this.” She next locked eyes with the two of you. “But until then, any walkers you find on our property, tell us. Don’t do nothing, just tell us first.” Then, she pointed to you and made an apologetic smile. “And here,” she held out the mini tissue box from the far end-table. “You need one awful bad.”

The mood in the room improved. She gave an extremely thorough, long massage to your neck, shoulder, and arm muscle on your bad side. Homegirl must weight lift or something, because she gave you back so much range of motion that you created a false memory of having taken painkillers.

“You didn’t give me anythin’, Miss Patricia?”

“No, but I will before you head upstairs to shower off, maybe antibiotics, too, but let’s wait and see if you develop an infection first. Oh, and you’ll need a waterproof bandage, let me find one in here.” She rummaged around her kit, found one, and handed it to you. “Take it off the site once you towel dry.”

now

Daryl is hurt. He’s alone and hurt!

Use the walkie, brainless.

Those words snap into your (brain?) where you’re hyperventilating against the brick chimney in the back of the farmhouse. Carol has the pink one, Glenn has the yellow one; all you need to do is find one of them.

It crosses your mind that he might would’ve radioed if he was hurt.

Which in the next moment, flips into the idea that what if he’s too hurt to even use it?

Which then quickly devolves into wondering why you’re being such a dramatic idiot. He probably doesn’t even remember he has it, it’s probably turned off, and he would be too proud to use it, anyway…

…who cares, you still need to try, you need to know if your friend is safe.

You push off the wall you were leaning into and — ohh whoa.

What is — oh no, you remember this feeling.

You waver where you stand, then turn to press your forehead against the cool, rough bricks. Shoot, how are you gonna get out of this, how are you gonna get back inside?

Your body flushes with heat, your stomach turns cold, and a sensation in between pain and panic burns your chest and lungs as you try to catch your breath; you’re about to pass out for the dumb-ass mistake of not drinking enough fluids. Shittttt, why didn’t you drink that glass of tea, in the least?

“Y/N?”

Rick. That’s Rick’s voice.

“Ricky,” you slur, “don’t freak and don’t tell Shane, but I need f-faint for sec…”

................................................

Him

“Daryl, why aren’t you usin’ that walkie? This was the whole point of them, mangy hick!”

Y/N.

Y/N?

He tries to open his eyes. Did they get stitched up and have enough to drink? Is their shoulder okay? They probably have a sling again, he’d bet money on it.

“It’s okay, man, leave your eyes closed. I know you’re exhausted.” A nudge. “M’sorry, I should oughtn’tve chided you about the walkie.”

No, he wants to open his eyes, he wants to see Y/N! Everything hurts so fucking much but their voice makes him feel safer. The tugging in his chest is back full-force — Y/N is here!

“Dude, I ain’t really here, you know that.”

What? He tries to pry his damn eyes open so he can see them, he needs to see their face.

“But you do know that you’re gonna need to get up soon. Find the walkie if you can, call for help, okay? Please.” He feels their hand lightly touch his wrist. “I’m worried about you, so is Carol.” Their voice sounds like they’re smiling now. “And our Carl’s gonna want to see the doll you found. Daryl, you found her doll!” A giggle. “And you know I’m gonna wanna tease you about how you’ve ripped the sleeves off yet another of your poor shirts.”

He finally got his eyes open and saw…a blur. Green. Leaves, branches.

Y/N.  

Ugh, fuck, opening his eyes made his head hurt, though. “I can’t believe you were right about the damned walkie talkies,” he grumbles, cracking up as best he could but fuck, it hurt.

A strange static noise comes from his left. Is that the…that’s the walkie, isn’t it?

Y/N makes a face. “At least it’s nearby. I’m glad. It sounds funny, though, might could’ve gotten broken on the fall down. Maybe waterlogged.”

“I wish you were really here.” Hell, if they’re all in his head, he can be as big a pussy as he wants.

Their smile fades. As they trace their fingertips along his hairline, he could swear it felt real. “Daryl, you need to get up. I know how bad it hurts, and I’m so sorry you’re alone right now, but you need to get up. Please.”

He tries to lift his head. Pain and spinning and nausea.

So he tries to twist to his side instead and is met with more pain, that damn bolt is still lodged in there. Shit, he feels like he’s gonna hurl. “Y/N. I don’t think I can,” he admits, unable to hold back a groan.

“Quarter.”

He would have snorted, but it would make the pain worse. “Fuckin’ serious, I d-don’t—I don’t think I can—” Great, he’s starting to cry, which is making everything hurt worse because his breathing gets faster. “I don’t think I can, Y/N.”

“Bullshit. You can and you will. Now, honey — turn your head, you’re gonna get sick.”

Sure enough, he feels his mouth water, his stomach lurch, and there it comes.

Their cooing reaches his ears, just like earlier today when he was bugging out over some dirt.

It was only a second, and he was done. He turned his head back and rested it against the rock or whatever it was he was laying on. Just so damned tired…

“No. Daryl, you can’t do that, not now.” They sounded firm but still so gentle at the same time. “I-I think you need to get that thing out — I get leavin’ it in until you make it to help is the usual way of things, but it’s gonna do worse damage with it in there ’cause of where it is. You’ll be able to stop the bleedin’ better once it’s out.” They look him in the eyes again. “Do what you need to do to get yourself home to us.”

“Back there ain’t ‘home.’”

They huff. “Not with that attitude, it ain’t.”

He can’t help but smile. That’s how Y/N would’ve reacted, no damn doubt.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not so bad at this imaginary stuff,” they tease him. “Maybe you should imagine yourself a chupacabra, encourage you to move.”

When he wills himself to open his eyes again, hoping to see them smiling, they aren’t. Instead, they look like they got the wind knocked out of them. They’re sweaty, drained, like they’d been when he’d left them back at the farm.

“This is goin’ to be rough as hell and it’s gonna hurt like it, too. But ain’t that just like so much other shit you been through? Now, you listen good,” and their finger pressed against his chest right where the tether between them was. “Don’t die, don’t get bit. I told you that as you left, Daryl. But if you don’t get up and get that thing out of your side so you can wrap it tight and come home, you are gonna die. Even if there weren’t dead people walkin’ and making things ten times more dangerous.”

How was it that he was strong enough to dig and carry and do so much just a few hours ago, and now he can’t manage turning onto his side or lifting his head? Even talking hurts right now.

“Just—Y/N, how do I get up?” he groans and winces, trying and failing again to sit upright even a little. “Why am I bein’ such a pussy that I can’t I get past this part?”

After grimacing, then mumbling for him to not use that word that way, they point behind themselves with their thumb. “I think he’s gonna have to help you with that part. I wish it could be me, but you know. Stitches and shoulder.”

“‘He?’” he repeats.

“As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.

He looks again to try to see who was there. Didn’t see nobody.

Y/N included. They were gone.

Upset to be alone again, and zapped from trying to lift his head and strain to see who was there, he lowers his head back down and rests his eyes.

................................................

You

“He probably doesn’t even have it on. Asshole.”

“You’re like, really upset, Y/N.”

“I guess!”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “What happened to you guys today, why are you like this? And with a sling again? And you literally fainted, Rick said?”

He’d been trying to recover an escaped chicken when he noticed Rick sitting with you on the ground, against the chimney out back while you glugged down a glass of sweet tea and a bottle of water.

“We j-just,” you don’t know how to describe it, “it was heavy, a-and I just want him back safe at home, is all. With Sophia.” You make one last attempt to contact him, lightly blowing into the walkie’s mic… before finally giving in and whispering “Daryl, please answer!” After a few moments in expectant silence that proves fruitless, you slide the walkie back into Glenn’s pocket and reach with your usable arm to pat the successfully-caught chicken he’s got snuggled in his arms like a football.

You lean back against the brick chimney and picture a teapot being taken off the burner. “And I passed out for only a mite, nothin’ exciting. Didn’t hydrate enough.”

Glenn nudges you gently with his tennis shoe. “Day’s not over yet. He’ll be back when the sun goes down.”

You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. “You’re right.”

“Tell me about earlier?”

You shake your head. “Later. Now, um, n-now’s not good.”

“Okay.” Glenn nods and looks down. “Sorry it was a bad day.”

“Maybe Sophia will come home and it’ll be a good one,” you mumble, not really believing it but wishing you did. “But we are pettin’ a chicken, so it can’t be all bad. Tell me about your day before I head back in?”

“I…tried talking to Maggie this morning. I don’t know what I was trying to do.” He rubs his face. “I brought the guitar we found on the highway over to the porch, and, I don’t know, was hoping she knew how to play so she could teach me, or something?”

Oh my. “You walked up to somebody’s front porch with an instrument you can’t play in the hopes she knew how?”

He gets red in his cheeks, forehead, and ears.

Good Moses, your face is warming on his behalf, too. “Glenn, is that where you were while we were goin’ over the day’s plans?”

“It gets better. I tried to act all tough, too.”

“You are tough, though.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you,” then stops stroking the hen in order to scratch his neck. “But, like, I tried to act all confident.”

“Confidence ain’t a bad thing,” you offer, albeit 100% out of your depth. You can offer objective advice only, not really anything from experience.

“Cockiness is, though…”

“Oh no.” Glenn acting cocky? That ain’t kosher. Maybe he’s misreading his own actions? “At least you tried? You weren’t rude or pushy or nothing, right?”

“I don’t think so? I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Did you say anythin’ that if somebody said it to you, you’d feel unsafe?”

“Ew, no.”

“Good.” You have to rub your chest for a moment to get rid of the tugging. Leave it to you to dramatize a caffeine crash and dehydration as a sign from heaven that something bad happened to Daryl. “I’m gonna head back in, Hershel donated a pint to Carl. Best make sure both are doin’ well.”

“He what? Shoot, let me find Jimmy, I’ll do more stuff around here to help out.” He helps you stand. “And hey, if Hershel brings it up—dude, I had no idea that all Jimmy’d told his mom was that he was ‘gonna help’ us, and that he didn’t end up asking Hershel.”

“That was way more on Jimmy than on you and the rest of us. You kept him safe out there, that’s gotta count in our favor.”

“Except Daryl stealing a horse is definitely not in our favor.”

You sigh and feel that strange tugging again. “We’ll make it up to them.”

................................................

Him

It felt so much better to keep his eyes closed, but someone’s standing over him now. Must be whoever Y/N said would help him get up.

What was that they said about ‘missing’ and ‘bully?’

He strains to get his eyes open so he can see whoever is above him.

His eyelids feel so damned heavy, man, he just wants to close them again.

All he can see is the green of the treetops at first.

The outline of a person’s head come into view once his vision stops being blurry.

Then it clears.

A smile finds its way to the corners of his mouth. He’s missed him. Felt so lost and out of place without him. His own blood.

“Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

Yeah, that was him alright. He’s missed him so much. 

“Merle.”

................................................

next part > here! <

> Masterlist link here <  

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat @darylsmavis​

(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, we’re all friends here!) 

................................................

Bonus for those who survived til the end of Part 1:

This is why he doesn’t have any sleeved shirts left.

follow for more DIY shirt ideas #upcycle

[kagejima]

for my best osamu girl wendy @northofneverland

Consider Osamu Miya and yourself, both world-renowned chefs, being guest judges on a popular cooking competition show. You’re regulars on the show, but you have never ever crossed paths until you’re on a Valentine’s Day special together. 

The incredibly long filming day, which feels weird to film in the middle of October, doesn’t feel so exhausting being in each other’s company. A lot of laughter and some light flirting, but you’re not as easy to charm as the others.

He thinks he can get a reaction out of you when he rolls the sleeves of his white button-down up to his elbows, flexing and making completely unnecessary motions with his arms, but there’s nothing.

Not even some raised eyebrows when he shows you (and the host and other judge, allegedly) how he can do push-ups while also doing a handstand. 

But after filming has wrapped up, you’re both so busy with your respective careers that you completely forget about filming until the episode airs.

Or... At least you do.

The hour-and-a-half-long episode isn’t even close to being finished before the internet is already making shipping clips of the two of you. Osamu fed you something from his plate during the first round, and then all hell broke loose after that. You aren’t even aware the episode has aired until you get a text from your best friend that says, “Care to explain this!?” with three fan edits attached. 

So Chef!Osamu, who you are now regularly on the show with (because the producers absolutely could not pass up the opportunity for higher viewer numbers), is simping for you.

Hard.

If only you knew he was keeping up-to-date on what you were doing in your career, trying to work up the courage to ask you out. And so being on the show with you as a regular judge now is a dream come true. 

You’re still a tough nut to crack though. He’s constantly dropping hints about how he’s available, about how much money he has (which, you tell him you make double, and he shuts up after that). He’s always trying to get you to open up to him more by googling stupid icebreaker question ideas during filming breaks. 

He has over half a dozen restaurants, all scattered throughout the world, and he’s just ever so casually trying to tell you that he’s interested in seeing you outside of filming, saying, “You should come to one of my places. I’ll cook for you myself.” 

He’s not quite sure what to say in response when you answer, “No thanks. I’ve been to a few, and I’ve had better.” 

Especially because the cameras are rolling when you say this.

The contestants, host, other judge, the whole damn camera crew - their faces are all twisting as they try to hold back their laughter.

Because if there’s anybody who can put the confident and charming Osamu Miya in his place, it’s you.

The whole drive home, Osamu is planning a new menu in his head.

For every.

Single.

Restaurant.

[sunsteps]

ops and hcs on hualian idol au. also i adore ur writing and want it injected into my bone marrow

firstly, thank you. this is one of the best compliments i have ever gotten for my writing and i would like to eat it

secondly, i literally spent like 5 mins trying to figure out what ops and hcs means but i am going to assume it means opinions and headcanons??? consulted my friend and she also said opinions and headcanons so we are going to go with that. if it doesn’t mean that then this is going to be really embarrassing BUT.

i actually have like. 3 hualian idol au wips buried somewhere in my gdocs. maybe one day i will complete them but in the mean time here are some of my. ops and hcs:

- i had an idol au a few years ago where hua cheng is in a group with feng xin, mu qing, and he xuan, and i still think that’s so fucking funny. i just dug through my gdocs and found the 1 page i wrote of it back in september 2021:

- alternatively i think having all 4 calamities in an idol group is also equally hilarious. and then another group is xianle trio. sqx and swd an idol duo. OR three tumors are a group and sqx a solo idol.

- alternatively xianle trio group and huaxuan duo because i am crazy and predictable.

- idk if this counts but i have another wip from february 2021 where xie lian works at a convenience store and is a fan of hua cheng the idol. like SUCH a big fan. he goes broke to buy all the merch, knows of him from the predebut days, attends every concert albeit his nosebleed seats, etc etc. and then one day hua cheng walks into the store in like a mask and stuff and immediately falls in love with the pretty cashier and stuff. u know how hualian goes. anyways i also found the 1 page of this au i had written:

oh my god ok so i actually had more of this au dumped in my dms with bella (astrocosmos on ao3). so fxmq are xl’s besties in this au and they are both secretly big fans of hua cheng even tho they would rather die than admit that out loud. one day they all accidentally meet in the merch line at one of hua cheng’s concerts and all hell breaks loose. 

fxmq: [fighting in the merch line] xie lian walking up to them out of nowhere: do you guys think i should get the ghost city era picket or the paradise manor era picket? fxmq, immediately: OBVIOUSLY GHOST CITY—wait, XIE LIAN?!?!?!!?!?! xie lian: [smiling serenely] hello guys

MOVING ON

- hualian idol au where xianle trio are an idol group and hua cheng literally comes to EVERY SINGLE ONE of their fansigns, buys a SHIT ton of albums to make sure he gets in every time, and at the actual fansign he just completely ignores fx and mq and instead spends the entire time complimenting xl and showering him with presents, etc etc. xie lian’s company literally has to enforce a No Gifts At Fansigns rule bc of hua cheng. fx and mq thinks that he is the creepiest thing on the planet. there are whole subgroups of netizens who HATE hc and think he’s really creepy bc he’s ALWAYS around xl. meanwhile xl thinks hc is the cutest person ever and is in love with him. yeah.

- hualian idol au with solo idols xie lian and hua cheng and their fanbases HATE each other. think armys and blinks. engenes and teumes. i can’t really think of any more but u get the idea. meanwhile xl and hc are dating LMAOOO

- ok that ^ but imagine like a socmed/twt au where like. this random twt account starts getting really popular and they are like hualian shippers and both of xl and hc’s fanbases make fun of them all the time and it’s literally the only thing the two groups ever agree on: that this random acc is stupid af and completely delusional. THEN ONE DAY the admin of the acc posts a selfie and guess what. it’s hua cheng. and then xl replies to the selfie from his very real main twitter account and the internet just goes fucking bonkers

i am sorry this is literally a whole dump of aus and thoughts for no reason but. yeah. those are all the ops and hcs i can think of right now!!!!!!! thank u for asking me this question and giving me an excuse to ramble about hualian. <3 hope you are having a lovely day <3

[blindrapture]

july 14.

Fears. there are many. you won't believe how many. Act 2 introduces to the ensemble of villains, though whether it truly introduces us to all of them is something you'll just have to wait and see. .........no, the answer is no, it introduces us to less than half of them. rapture's a big story, you know that by now. there's a lot of villains, they're not all Fears.

they won't all receive Art, though yes that would have been cool. some of them are like the Ruin (rapture's take on The Cold Boy), who didn't have much of a role in the original story but is at least getting a second try now. and some of them are like the Ecclesiarchway (y'know, the Archangel), who had a big role but only got, like, the one piece of rapture art. that art went to the July 8th log, if you'll recall.

Fears are cool, though. if you're reading this and you have no idea what I'm talking about, because the Fear Mythos is not actually the widespread corner of pop culture I think it is, then explaining them isn't gonna be hard. you know the slender man. I did a whole ramble about him as an example of Internet Fiction on June 23rd. he was a collective writing project. some people made Images about him, some people wrote stories (Blogs) about him, some people made videos (Vlogs) about him. well, in 2011 some other people wanted to do that but with more monsters. the blog format was good enough to warrant some more damn subject matter. and those "more monsters" were the Fears. there were too many Fears to list here. in Rapture I tried to incorporate all of them, up to a point. eventually I did stop incorporating the new ones, though in the Final Draft I threw in more references.... dammit it doesn't matter. the point is horror monsters. Rapture is fundamentally informed by an awareness of blog fiction, which usually is in the genre of lite cosmic horror. there, now you know what the Fears are. and EAT was a Fear I made. good, we're on the same page.

and clearly, if we lived in a world where all the cryptids were real and talked to each other, and then the sky turned red and all hell broke loose, then we would expect to see days like today, where the Fears just leap on whole crowds of people and try to cause some carnage.

you gotta understand. the Fears are from a genre that is entirely horror, all the way through. and I am not someone who holds horror as sacred. so in Rapture I wanted the Fears to be vulnerable, emotional, petty panicking people. I wanted the Fears to get talked back to, and for them to just have to take that. I wanted the Fears to make mistakes, funny mistakes, and compelling mistakes. I wanted a story that could go beyond found-footage lite-cosmic-horror. hell, I wanted to show, or remind, Internet Horror writers that there are in fact ways to write something scary that require not sticking to any one genre.

what kind of scary is Giygas? can we honestly call Earthbound a horror story? no, dammit. Earthbound is 100% not horror. it's closest in genre to a road novel, actually. its focus is the vibes of a world that you choose to find connection in. if you allow yourself to get compelled, then it will take you on a rollercoaster that no video game had heretofore prepared you for. the comedy comes from specific places, and your worry for the well-being of characters comes from specific places too. the horror almost seems camp for most of the experience. it's only after Stonehenge that the game stops holding up a smile for long enough that you start to reconsider what to expect from the final area. (and if you have never seen the last stretch of Earthbound before somehow, then. check it out. find a way to sit with it, take in the vibes, the soundtrack. and then get your teeth kicked in, emotionally, by that final boss.) Earthbound is the kind of thing I think about when I consider the forms of horror that The Horror Genre manages to lack (by virtue of insisting on being a genre). Earthbound changes genre, and it does so after letting you get engaged for a good 30 hours. it's not really about the exact length of time, or the proportions of the story. this isn't a bunch of ingredients in a pot that stir the right way to make the perfect story. it's entirely about expectation, and the more complicated forms of expectation that come from being committed to a story over a long period of time. making art is like being a magician.

and so, on this subject, I also think of Mother 3. in fact I tend to think of Mother 3 far more often than I ever think about Earthbound. Mother 3 is.. more of a horror story, but it still doesn't feel like one, because it still isn't one. Mother 3 is a family drama. it does have a section that goes for a road novel, and it has another section that goes for.... I mean, god, what would you call chapter 7, it's a change in video game narrative genre and that's hard to translate into a more broad talk. "adventure." sure. the scope of the narrative opens up into a broad and serious adventure. but then the scope gradually closes back up afterward, and the story ends on a pure family drama, and it does so famously. Mother 3 is a game of fucking tears, hard tears. it's literally impossible to play the game and not cry like a baby. no one has done it. there's still a lot of fear in all this. but I think "fear" is a good word here. there isn't any horror in these games, but there is fear. fear can fit into narratives that horror can't. and I am much more interested, myself, in fear than in horror.

so it's not an accident that I'm the one who named us "the Fear Mythos." once people were calling the monsters "Fears," I latched onto that word and thought it was enough. I still think it's enough. when I'm rewriting Rapture, when I'm working on Rapture, I'm doing so with pride in this being a Fear story, and I'm doing so with the commitment to make this story worthy of what that word means to me.

fear, not necessarily horror.

though Rapture also is not a Mother game. Rapture does have horror in it. it usually doesn't happen to Jordan himself, but he is the witness of a lot of horror, a lot of fates worse than death, and a lot of intense heartbreaking drama. just, what I'm saying to you here is Rapture has one foot in horror by necessity, and then its other foot is in my childhood. the things I grew up with. and the things that happened to me as I grew up, the worries I developed, the fears that my brain had to process into mere aversions and.. drama. Rapture is my drama. that's its genre. it is not committed to being a comedy, nor a horror, though it has fun playing with both. it is committed to being a drama.

I definitely got off track with this ramble, but I decided instead to talk about other general subjects that a compelled reader would need to pick up on. today's log has the Ruin do something notable that was not in any previous draft. it brings on a vision for Jordan, the contents of which are alarming, raise some questions. another genre has been introduced now. this one is the riskiest. you'll have to wait and see what I'm choosing to do with it. (and I will too.)

I'm gonna leave you with a link to some music. here's a youtube playlist. it's called "rapturework." it's what I listened to while I wrote Act 2. I actually made a point not to include prog, and not to include any songs longer than a few minutes (though there's still a prog song in there, and one or two songs in the 15-minute range, but none of them are what you'd expect). this playlist may clarify some vibes and influences. and plus you may just be curious about what I consider to be "music to write to."

alright. I said some words.

see you tomorrow.