#agony’s mask arc

[coverfossils]

@uncle-dusknoir asked:

1. Are you sure that it's not actually a Yamask? Even if she is a dead woman she still very much so can actually be a Yamask. That's where most Yamask come from in fact

2. Do you have a Cleanse Tag? Or a Dark Type? Both of those can be very effective in keeping Dark Types away

1. I’m VERY sure it’s not just a Yamask. Considering the moment she realized I saw her and was here the form of the shiny yamask quickly disappeared and I was straight up attacked. Hence my belief the spirit isn’t truly one but posing as one.

2. Unfortunately I have neither on hand. I wasn’t expecting something like this to happen at all.

[lavampira]

stumbles out of sailor moon cosmos covered in blood

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.

AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.

Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).

Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.

Masterlist // AO3

A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.

Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.

Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”

Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.

Single gun on one hip.

KA-BAR on the other.

Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.

More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.

With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.

Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.

You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.

The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.

This was your new home.

Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.

Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.

Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.

But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.

“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.

Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.

Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.

“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”

Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.

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

“Gambit, you still with me?”

You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.

Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.

The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.

The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-

“Open.”

You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.

A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.

“Your mouth. Open it.”

Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.

A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.

“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.

A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.

The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a

Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.

Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.

A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.

“Gambit, you with me?”

You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”

Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”

The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.

You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”

“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.

“Gotcha.”

Ghost’s.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:

“No. I don’t want to.”

“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”

“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.

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

Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk

Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.

However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.

“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.

You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.

Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.

Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”

A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.

“As did you, sir.”

His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.

“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”

“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”

How to get me to give up, you thought.

You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”

Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.

“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”

“You’ve seen my face before.”

“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.

He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.

You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.  

In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.

He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.

“Wait.”

Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.

Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”

His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.

It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.

The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.

“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”

Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.

Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.

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

AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Black Out Days

Gale x F! Tav

18+ chronic pain, drug use (weed), unintentional aphrodisiac (slutweed), groping, dry humping, breast worship (f!), fingering (f!), body caging, roughness, sub/dom, tenderness

Tav's pain rising to an unbearable level, she indulges in some found herbs to find relief. But her sanctuary is laced with some heated side effects...

Masterlist

-

"Please, please I've had enough." She moaned, head resting against cool river stones.

The pain had been spiking over the base of her skull all day in excruciating arcs. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open, force her face to be impassive.

Between every horrible thing that had been happening to them, her chronic pain was her own burden to bear. She hadn't told anyone besides Halsin, the sweet man helped her as much as he could with what was available.

Nothing made her feel worse than being a burden, so she trudged on in silence. Still the leader they needed. Gods only know how she ended up in that position in the first place.

Crouching at the riverside, she gripped at slick stones, whimpering. Finally letting go of her lovingly crafted mask of health. Wanting to slam her insolent head into the earth, but knew that would offer no relief.

Scrambling hands reached into her pack. At the goblin camp, she had pocketed a jar of promising looking herbs.

She brought the unsealed jar to her nose.

Musky, sweet, near sulphuric.

Yes, praise the Gods. Halfling weed.

Packing Halsins borrowed pipe, she leaned back on haunches, the new movement making her stomach spin threateningly. If she could stretch this supply out it could sustain her, at least until she could slip into to an apothecary.

Flicking her fingers, she brought a small flame to the bowl. Breathing in slowly.

As soon as the smoke met her lungs, a spreading warmth caressed up the back of her spine. Gentle fingers splaying up, cradling the base of her skull. The agony dulling into a veiled hissing. Still crouched in the grass, but far from where she sat.

Tears of relief fell down her face. Gods, she could breath again. Body pulled down deliciously yet so much lighter.

She sighed, leaning her head back. Taking a moment to get lost in the crisp night air, the sounds of moving water, insects calling for one another in the dark. Finally able to perceive more than her anguish.

Standing, she headed back towards the orange point of their campfire. Body awash in calm.

As she re-entered their little world a new sensation sidled up to her spreaded peace.

A soothing heat slipped down her front, pressing an insistent touch inside of her pelvis.

Oh.

Kneeling near the campfire, she examined the jar more thoroughly. Lifting the bottom, she found a small scuffed label written in scratchy hand.

Halfing Weed; Succubus Spittle 5%

Hissing a breath between her teeth, she closed her eyes in defeat. Fucking goblins.

Slick already pooling between her legs, she groaned in frustration. Of course her savior came with a demand.

Already, she knew this was not nearly enough to deter her from the alternative. But it didn't make it any less vexing.

Hips already rocking against nothing, she was infinitely thankful that the camp had turned in for the night. Even Astarion off hunting for a few hours, at least.

Especially him, she knew he had the skills she needed in this moment. But she didn't want to do that to him. From one veiled mask to another, she could tell he didn't want her that way.

Dizzy with heat, she rose to head to her tent. More than willing to deal with this desire alone. She had a sure hand and a vivid imagination, it would be an easy burden to bear.

Her infatuation with the wizard could be tonight's theater of the mind. Wide shoulders, soft brown eyes, hair that brushed against his clavicle. The veins in his forearms when he pushed up his sleeves, large hands twisting and pulling with blue magic.

She moaned, and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Reign yourself in, Tav. Gods.

As if summoning him from her salacious imagination, he emerged from his tent.

Drowsily greeting her, he wandered towards the water pump, kneeling next to it. Pulling the lever, he opened his mouth and started swallowing what of the divulge of water he could catch.

She stood stock still, watching this innocuous moment like a wolf watches a rabbit. The desire pooled in her pelvis boiling over.

Wiping his mouth, he rose back to feet. Seeming to fully see her then.

"Tav, you alright? You seem a little flushed, in a haunted type of way."

Gods forgive her for what she was about to do.

Taking his hand, she wordlessly pulled him into his tent.

"What-" Her body cut him off, pressing hard into his.

Running her hands up his taut back, she buried her face into his neck. The curve of his waist bending up into shoulders making her moan softly.

He was so warm, so solid against her pushing. Smelling of old books and leather. Her hand rising to tangle into his hair, tugging gently.

His body seemed to go weak then, gripping onto her for support.

"Tav, Gods..." He shivered.

His voice bringing her back to herself for a moment, she made to pull away. But his hands held her anchor to him.

"Please, don't stop." He pleaded.

Like a flint sparking, she dove back in. Hips fluid and insistent against his. Gathering his sleep shirt in her demanding hands. Pulling his head back to release his neck to her. Pulsing, biting, suckling into the soft flesh.

The herb removing all inhibition, she was a growling animal against him. Hands pinning and pulling, mouth hungry and salivating.

He fell to knees, and she followed him down. Straddling over his lap, licking an obscene line up his panting throat.

His length already a pillar pushing against her. Hands catching her writhing hips, pulling them flush to him.

Her head fell back then, the friction Gods sent. The slick already pooled in her underclothes welcoming him.

Something seemed to snap in him.

His hands wrenched her sleep shirt over her shoulders. Caging over her body, pushing her down on his bedroll.

"Yes," She moaned, falling open for him.

His mouth pushed into hers, gripping the back of her head.

The heat coming off of him was making her head spin. Intoxicating her body into liquid, crashing against him in waves. All smothered soft calls and silent demanding mouths.

Tangling into him like it was all she knew. All her body could know was getting as close as she could without being inside.

He hitched her leg up over his hip and ground down hard. Groaning in the back of his throat. Chest lit up purple, eyes glowing.

Concern arced through her stifling heat.

She cupped the sides of his face, bringing his eyes to hers.

The question in her eyes reached him. Hips still pistoning, he nodded.

"Please, I want to."

"Then take what you want." She gasped out, leading his head down.

He dove on her breast, licking her hard tip into his warm mouth.

"Fuck," She hissed, back arching.

She tried to reach for his sleep pants but his hand caught her wrist, forcing it above her head.

Pushing her underclothes down her hips, he rubbed hard against her clit. Blurring his hand.

Choking out a moan, she writhed helplessly. His body keeping her pinned and open. Splayed fully against him.

His mouth switched sides, taking up her soft untouched breast. The slurping suckle his tongue pulled against her peak making her mewl.

"Please, Gale. Inside." She pleaded, bucking her hips as much as his hold would allow.

He pushed two fingers inside her, moan muffled against her flesh.

"You're so wet," He groaned.

"You. All you." She moaned, sentences and their structures utterly lost.

But those words must have been more than enough. His fingers began slamming inside her, hooking towards her navel.

Her head fell back, gripping his head to her breast. The force of his fingers rocking her back and forth.

He was the tide and she a ship, unanchored and tossing through the waves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She whined as the pressure in her pelvis tilted up, threatening collapse.

He pulled her engorged peak between his teeth and she was thrown overboard.

Her legs arched up, clamping around his hips. Back bending, the force of the pleasure striking through her was near agony. Completely stealing her voice away, only gasping out choking silent cries. The herbs making her reach new heights, unwinding like a tapestry pulled. Clenching hard enough around his fingers to make him groan.

She collapsed under him, head lolling. Eyes glazed and rolling.

He pulled his fingers from her, licking them clean. Leaning down to nuzzle into her neck, his beard tickling her.

"You didn't-" She started weakly.

"With the state of the orb, I think it's in all of our best interests if I obstained."

"Besides," He hummed, kissing under her jaw. "Your pleasure has more than sustained me."

"Though I am curious, what brought on this most welcome intrusion?"

She hesitated. Not wanting another person, especially him, who has so much to hurdle over already, to worry about her.

"It's this... pain I have. I found some soothing herbs and they helped. A lot actually. But with other effects."

She pulled the small jar from her strewn trousers, handing it to him.

Immediately he flipped it over to examine the bottom, and she groaned in embarrassment.

"See, that's exactly what I didn't do."

Grabbing for her shirt she instead landed on his, pulling it over her head.

He smiled at her, eyes lit up with appreciative glint.

"Ah, of course it looks better on you."

"Cozy." She sighed, the velvet material warming her through. Sleeves swallowing her hands.

He reached inside her pocket and retrieved the pipe, sparking up his fingers and bringing it to his lips.

Seeing her shock, he smiled.

"You're not the only one fighting pain." He knocked his knuckles on the burned circle in his chest.

"Besides, you seemed to be in a peaceful state. I'd like to meet you there, if you'd allow me."

"Deal." She smiled, sliding on knees to sidle up close to him again. "But only if you let me stay the night."

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain." He smiled at her, scrunching up his nose in that playful way that made her heart gallop.

As soon as he breathed in, she held his chin in her fingers. Pulling his mouth to hers, breathing in the smoke as it left him.

Starting to relax, he pulled her down with him. Sighing contently as she snuggled into him.

"Oh, careful. I could get very used to this."

~

[thoughtsafterdark]

The Sun's Lover

Sometimes I gaze at myself in the mirror and my mind bends and buckles against warring thoughts and I wonder if I was meant for more.

Sometimes I feel a breeze in the back of my mind

Sparks of errant electricity

A brief glimpse into something other, something hidden

Something on the tip of my tongue and the edge of my olfactory bulb

Colours I can smell, feelings I can hear, thoughts that have no shape or form. Older than my life, than language, than war. Certainties that tease and caress and seduce but leave me dry and gasping like incubi in my sleep.

That leave my tongue sloppy and lazy like tar black molasses squelching between teeth

Thoughts that taste of longer tongues and darker mouths and sharper teeth on a planet circling twin red dwarves, of methane marshes and hexagonal prism eyes that sparkle like blood red rubies

Words slurring together and thoughts hazy as they come back down to a body that feels paper thin and husky like maple seeds in the wind

I think of the wrath that dances just beneath my skin

The bile that churns and rushes to my face, eyes like daggers, lips fixed in a snarl at the slightest insult

I think of my pride, that squirming bag of worms that lights fires in my blood and how it wars with my desperate craving to belong

I watch them from the safety of my window like a xenoanthropologist. How they love and laugh and touch eachother. How they slide against one another like well oiled gears in a way I have never been able to. I think of the eldritch way in which I care, with a gaping maw and drooling lips, with twirling rings of eyes and 6 pairs of wings, with claws that burrow deeper and squeeze tighter the harder they try to leave me.

And I think to myself, girlhood is not so much different to godhood. A self-satisfres ied sadistic existence hiding a crushing singularity of loneliness, topped with pettiness and boredom.

I wish you would come to me in my waking hours and take me away from this place

Steal and hide me away in palaces of sand and moonstone

I can put up a good fight. I’ll run and scream and beg you to stop, make sure to drag out the thrill of the chase. Isn’t that what pretty nymphs are for?

I see my bitterness reflected in the ozone blue of your eyes, the hardness and cruelty shot through with marble strands of gold

Your skin is a thrumming pool of pure power, an atomic bomb bound in sinew and nucleic acids, ready to turn me to a pillar of salt

Your fingers coax the most bittersweet of melodies, leaping and thrumming from string to string like acrobats. They say the best musicians make the instruments sing, but I’ve seen you make lyres moan and weep

I remember the old stories, of girls turned to laurel trees, of wounded pride and donkeys ears. I remember the blood of the Myrmidon spilled outside the walks of Illium. I know you are a wrathful, self-righteous whore, with greedy fingers that leave bruises  in the dips of hips and a silver tongue to match. Your fathers essence is strong in you, stronger even than it is in him. Nuclear fusion and supernovae to his ion and electron arcs. What is a thunderbolt in the face of the sun’s core?

That is how I know you would understand, I know you would thumb at that gaping festering wound inside my heart and bring me corpses instead of flowers. A plague in just the right place, so they can die slowly, in agony. Nuclear wastelands instead of jewellery. And then afterwards you’d smile that chesire cat smile at me, all satisfaction and faux-inoccence, and we’d wear our best skins and most beautiful masks and dance amongst the stars next to the hunter ripped to ribbons by hounds at your sisters command compose ballads, and study the healing arts and crafts but not so well the grey eyed bitch curses me with eight legs and congratulate ourselves on our own brilliance. Spin lies out of ambrosia and nectar and pretend we are good and just, exactly what the mortals deserve

 Fuck me with your fingers with a fierceness you wouldn’t dare use on your precious lyres, piston into me the way the women in my grandmothers village gut fish (rhythmically, ruthlessly, with the sun beating down on leathery skin and the weight of 6 mouths to feed and the memory of your husbands knuckles shattering teeth), reach up into me and wring the neck of my womb like a newly ripe peach, yank it out of me until it lies pulsing and glittering and full of seed, uterine arteries spewing blood. I want to feel you burrowing upwards until I am impaled on your divinity, until you push upwards into my heart and lungs and your hands are peaking up out of my throat. Turn me inside out and wash me clean until my mortality burns away like a chrysalis and I am reborn in your image.

My ascension is a spectacle that leaves many breathless and many more blinded. “I am the goddess of lost potential” I whisper into the crook of your neck “of promises unkept and grudges nursed. Of doorways and bridges and the space between atoms. Of longing and regret and moments lost.” And then you’d smile that ridiculous smile of yours, like you’d seen me like this always, glowing and thrumming with possibility – and this confirmation is somewhat amusing.

“Pithanotita” you’ll declare against the shell of my neck and the rightness of it reverberates deep deep down, beyond the skeletons of cells that no longer exist and multi corded DNA strands, as if you have struck my very resonant frequency and my de Broglie wavelength sings with the joy of being seen. Not a name but a constant, a universal truth. Phoebus I’ll counter, and I won’t bother using a mouth, though the smirk will be implied. Possibility and Poetry need no lips to speak to one another, we are two sides of the same coin. You’ll laugh out loud then, delighted at my audacity. Only your mother calls you by her mothers name. And I can pretend just for a moment that we might last. The first of our kind to have eternity.  That we won’t end up tearing each other to pieces. The sun and his unlikely lover, regret.

[pilot-boi]

I can 100% see Ruby and Yang escalating to violence in that mirror man/twins combo, all too willing to beat the Rusted Knight out of their brother. The image of their childhood idol ruined by this callous monster, reminded of the darker versions of the fairytale where Alyx loathed his uncompromising view of morality. And all while they fight, Yang notices that she never really feels any of the hits they land on him, the pain dulled and numb, as if their auras don't recognize eachother.

That’s the thing, the hits WOULD land, she WOULD feel them. His Aura is the same, even if RK doesn’t think he’s Jaune Arc. It’s all a mental thing, there’s no magic or anything involved. They are the same person

Actually, it would feel like they hurt MORE, because the whole time Yang would be able to feel this nauseating self hatred covered up by an oil sheen of positivity. She’d be able to feel Jaune in mental/emotional agony under the mask of the Rusted Knight

Which makes it hurt even more when her twin says to her face that if he could’ve killed himself before they ever met to keep him from ruining her life, he would’ve done so without hesitating. Because she can FEEL that he’s not lying, he’s absolutely telling the truth

And Ruby, meanwhile, is going through her own identity crisis, so arriving in the Ever After and seeing her big brother so far down his own rabbit hole that he’s cheerfully telling them he’d kill himself again doesn’t do Ruby any favors

Jaune’s one of the strongest people she knows, and if HE took the easy way out and couldn’t continue being him, then why should she keep being Ruby Rose?

Then there’s the whole thing about them both being fans of the story as children. The Rusted Knight is a hero, he’s THE hero, brave and moral and unbending in the face of evil. So to find out that he’s Jaune, not just that, that he’s the last resort Jaune’s mind had after breaking so utterly?

He knows them, but he pities them for loving him. Feels sorry for THEM for being “tricked” into loving someone so deplorable. He hates himself so utterly that he killed himself and fled into this shell of a person

Jaune’s lucky he has a lot of Aura, because after that, the sisters can’t help what they do. Blake and Weiss have to pull them off of him, because “The Rusted Knight” doesn’t try to defend himself

He’s not Jaune Arc, he’s not that monster. But he’s still the person who killed their brother, so he just takes the hits.

He deserves them

[crimeronan]

#the owl house#epic post i love their dynamic so much#a pair of shin kickers#also i love acknowledgments that Hunter genuinely liked Luz a lot and seemed to have a lot of fun with her#even when he was trying to be her ✨️Enemy✨️#if the show wasnt fighting its like to get every episode made without getting canceled and they got to stretch the seasons out more#luz and hunter could have had such a kim and shego dynamic#battling each other from opposite allegiances. thwarting each others plans. but also like#hunter: hey did you do something different with your hair? [blasting a death ray at her]#luz: [blocks it by using an ice glyph] i did :D!#hunter: looks good man looks good [tries to brain her with the head of his staff] (via @lollytea)

YOU UNDERSTAND ME LIKE NO ONE ELSE. YES

the idea of luz and hunter having a much slower-burn enemies to frenemies to friends arc gets me EVERY TIME. i would KILL for them to have more individual interactions between hunting palismen and hollow mind.

like i can so clearly imagine a stupid episode plot wherein eda is getting something fabulously illegal from the night market & hunter starts to shut the whole thing down & eda's like quick luz!! distract him he likes you

luz: he WHAT-?

eda: NO TIME FOR THAT, GO BE A SCRAPPY HUMAN FOR ME

(we stan a negligent crime owl mom. eda has never done anything wrong in her life)

luz and hunter start scrapping with a combination of vicious wild magic and even more vicious beating-the-piss-out-of-each-other, as they do, and they're clearly both having a great time with it. the tone is very low stakes, it's a fun battle but it's nothing like the amity-hunter in eclipse lake or the lilith-eda in agony of a witch, yknow. it's a friendly duel! that might incidentally kill one or both of them

then one of the spells from hunter's staff hits luz square in the chest.

luz shouts in pain and drops like a stone.

hunter freezes immediately, flashsteps over to her to see what the damage is. he's like, "how bad is-- can you sit up??" he's transparently anxious, hovering over her like an older brother who just saw a younger kid eat shit on their bike. maybe even takes off his mask for better wound-assessing visibility??

luz is like [weakly] "yeah, i think so." sits up very slowly. winces a lot about it. hunter visibly exhales in relief

BAM

FIST OUTTA NOWHERE.

LUZ CLOCKS HIM IN THE NOSE AND HOPS UP PERFECTLY FINE

hunter, clutching his face: AUGH - HUMAN -

luz, scampering off, cheerfully shouting back at him as she goes: hahAHAHA! YOU DO LIKE MEEEEE!!! :DDD

[tokoyamiaddiction]

Sick sense of two | MHA reader insert

Venom! Reader

Genre; Angst, Action

Pairing; A little bit of Todoroki x reader

Sypnosis; A weakened Reader, who was abducted alongside Bakugou in the training camp, is amidst a battle between the heroes and villains, trying to prevent the villains from taking them and Bakugou back into their stronghold.

Warning(s); Slight mention of blood, mentally distressed reader

Context; The Reader has a venom quirk, a symbiote that interacts with them, heals wounds, fights, can control their body, can shoot out tendrils, but needs a specific substance only found in brains and chocolate to function, or else he resorts to feasting on Reader's organs. This takes place in the training camp arc when All might was fighting All for one and Bakugou was trying to escape the league.

I wrote this exactly a year ago..

So basically I wrote this based on a Wattpad fic called 'Symbiote' (I'm pretty sure it got deleted), I really liked the fic but I didn't like this part so I changed it (for myself). I never planned on posting this anywhere but I'm bored haha. I don't expect many people to read this but oh well, I wanna see how active the MHA community still is on tumblr...

FIRST PERSON P.O.V

"All Might is holding back...!" I hiss, my voice laced with hurt and agony. Agony from the horror of knowing why the mighty hero who had come to our rescue, the number one savior in Japan, the ultimate power and symbol of peace, was being absolutely demolished by this savage villain with a mask that hid his harrowing disfiguration.

"Because we're here, he can't risk hurting us," Bakugou said as if completing my sentence. I could hear the uneasiness in his voice, and as I was about to turn to look at him, my attention was hurled away when Toga, the blonde schoolgirl, lunged in our direction with her knife.

The grip around the wooden plank in my clutch tightened as I jumped away from her reach, just in time for bakugou to throw a small explosion in her wake, preventing her from stepping closer and propelling bakugou back to widen the gap between them.

My being tensed when I heard someone's footsteps quickly rush in my direction from behind me. I quickly turned around to find the green lizard man only an inch away from me, his hands outstretched with clear intentions to tackle me. I crouched and recklessly jumped under and past him, my balance betraying me.

I grunted as I fell to my side, but I hurridly propped myself up and slammed my makeshift weapon into the side of the green villain's knee. He yelled in pain and doubled over. I took the chance to shuffle to my feet and scurry to bakugous side.

Our backs are pushed against each other, our heaving in sync. I chew the inside of my cheek whilst I try to ignore the aching in my bones, the pounding against my ears, and the burning of my blistered palms, all while the ringing in my ears sounds louder.

"We can't keep dodging them like caged rats!" I yell, raising my voice in order for bakugou to hear me amongst all the commotion.

"I'M NOT FUCKING STUPID, PARASITE FREAK! I KNOW THAT!!" He snapped his head in my direction, veins bulging from his neck. My eyebrow twitched as I looked back at him.

"Well yeah- we need to find a way out of here, or move this fight somewhere else. At least for all mights sake or in the hopes of the heroes-" My words are cut short when Bakugou hastily yanks me by the neck of my sweater and pounces back using his explosions to move us away from more attacking villains.

"QUIT STATING THE OBVIOUS AND GIVE US ACTUAL IDEAS!!" He yells in my ear as we land, my legs barely holding me up. I grimace at his loud voice then scowl in annoyance. My gaze moved from Bakugou to Compress who was charging at us with his hand outstretched. I was quick to react and through the girthy wooden log at him, my aim precise and my swing strong— the echoing 'crack!-' sounding after the log had collided with his mask serving as evidence.

Bakugou whipped his head around but I swiftly grabbed the collar of his shirt to refocus his attention back to me.

"Make an explosion- a BIG one, one that'll sprain your wrists- at shigaraki's direction. I'll use venom and quickly get us out of here, but we'll have to make a stop at the grocery store right after- before venom's done chewing down on my kidneys!" I announce, a stern, and exhausted, look piercing my face "Ok??!"

Bakugou gazes at me for a moment or two, his brows knitting as usual, with one raised slightly higher than the other. He looked as if he was considering my words, or perhaps calculating them? Then his eyebrows sat back on the same level, dropping closer together in a deep scowl.

"No."

"WHAT?!"

He pushes me aside and I stumble a little, he then throws an explosion at one of the villains that I could only assume was rushing towards us, obviously. He brought his palms together and made an explosion that launched him back, over shigaraki. He threw another explosion, closer to the blue-haired male which sent him tumbling to the side, making a path for me.

I run to his side.

"It's not going to work, and you're going to die. I can tell that you're barely holding yourself together trying to use the least amount of energy so your alien quirk doesn't start chowing down on you."

Another explosion goes off, and another villain is sent back.

"I can see your arm. Even when you were knocked out cold the black thing was covering it cause it was injured. You clearly have nothing left." He concludes, not meeting my gaze. My mouth falls agape then my teeth clenched in frustration.

"I'm saving my energy for the finale!" I retort, grabbing a mid-sized stone for defense. I hear my classmate's gruff voice scoff.

" 'finale', please, stop shitting yourself. I'll tell you what'll happen if we go with your plan, Your quirk'll turn on you halfway through and you'll die and we would have accomplished nothing. Or, we'll get out, then you'll STILL die because WHAT STORES ARE GOING TO BE OPEN NOW!?"

"STOP SAYING I'LL DIE-" We dodge another attack.

"We keep dodging until we wear them down, then we'll find an opening. And stay on your feet, dammit." He says and I get up from my crouching position. I turn to him with a mix of a jarred and frustrated expression on my features.

"Wear THEM down?? Pompom, they're not the ones with a goo-ey mass of garbage about to maul them from THE INSIDE OUT-" My exaggerated gestures pause when a large ramp of... ice suddenly materializes a distance away from the battlefield. The air suddenly stills as we all turn to the gigantic crystal, startled. The shock lingering in the air is only doubled once I see a figure slide on top of the icy surface before it's flung across the air.

The figures glide above ground in the sky, the sky filled with smoke and concrete residue and dust, but in spite of it all, they resembled a shooting star. A shimmer of hope shining amidst the devestation and choas.

And my eyes are wide. Wide with confusion and scenarios and hopes, the warmth of the hopeful star envelops me, And I squint,

But I don't know what hit me until another force does.

An explosion, an explosion from right beside, a large explosion, an explosion strong enough to strain his wrists. Bakugou's explosion.

I'm warm then I'm hot then it's burning and I'm grimacing and flying and falling and I tumble and my sides hurt, but god my face, my face burns from the-

The explosion.

My breath hitches, and I force my hot face up from the ground. I stare at them. I stare at Midoriya, Iida, Kirishima, Bakugou. I stare at them in dread. I can barely make them out as they fly across the sky. Fly further and further away from me. It's like the warmth I had only felt a second ago was ripped cruelly out of my chest. blood drains from my face. I feel cold now, and I realize how cold it is and how cold I am. My hands are quivering under my weight as they press against the floor, stones, and pebbles jabbing into my rusted palms.

I'm feeling too much and I don't want to feel anymore, I feel betrayal and sadness and hopelessness and worthlessness and anger.

I don't want to feel anymore

I really don't want to feel anymore

"[Name]! Focus! Run!"

Venom  is the one who snaps me out of my stooper, despite running out of energy and saving what he could so he doesn't have to resort to his instincts. The tiniest amount of dread is lifted off my chest when I hear his voice, it reminds me that I'm not yet alone. That if I die I can choose to die by him rather than those lowlife bottom feeders. And in the sickest way that gives me more comfort than deemed ordinary.

I blink a few times and regain my focus, while the league is distracted with my classmates and fussing over Bakugou, I shuffle to my knees, wincing at the stinging in my arm.

"Venom" I whisper.

"I can't. If I do anything I'll kill you."

My eyes screwed shut for a few seconds. 'Bakgou was right'

"They abandoned you." Compress looms over me, his mouth visible while his broken mask covers his eyes. I jolt and my eyes dilate. "They left you here to rot."

My throat goes dry and my lips purse together, sweat beading down my face. I'm speechless. And I'm ashamed. Ashamed of how I'm believing- agreeing, with his words.

"I have to say, that was quite the heartbreaking display. The way your eyes lingered on them as they swept away, almost unaffected by your doom. The longing behind your eyes... I felt my heart tremble a bit at your expense." He lifted his hat from atop his head and pressed it against his chest, a melodramatic gesture. " I might be a villain, but I'm not completely void of any emotions."

My mind is quick to start making excuses for my friends, 'they couldn't have known', 'they must've thought I could still use venom', 'they expected Bakugou to take me with him'

"My, your face is tattered with burns... not only did Bakugou leave you without a second thought, he also injured you, knowing that you're quite sensitive to fire. It's as if he intended to hurt you" He continues, his voice more sinister, more hypnotizing.

My face scrunches up and my knees grow weaker and my stance is feeble. The hurt and the pain and the anger and the Realisation is all building up once again, and I can feel myself cracking under it all. Under all the pressure, under all the emotions.

"You know nothing...!" I hiss, glowering at his form. He heaves out a soft sigh of defeat. He places his hat back a top of his head and hums.

"Perhaps you're right,I don't know much about you, or your friends. But from what I've seen, you seem... unwanted, by them at the very least." He says it so casually, and I know his play of words is nothing but a ploy to break me. And my does it work.

It's like a bucket of cold water was dunked over my head. That was exactly it, that was the word that summed up the tens of hundreds of emotions I was feeling all at once. I felt so unwanted, so unimportant. Something you could so easily discard without a second glance. I'm colder and my heart starts to hurt, and all the exhaustion and pain in my body is starting to win as I start to buckle under it all.

There is nothing else I can possibly do, if I stay here and fight, All might will be held back, and there is no doubt that I'll be captured either way, and there is no way for me to escape. I'm helpless.

I'm still glaring at Compress, and I know he sees it. I know he sees it all. I know he sees the way my brows are drawn inwards, and how my irises quiver, and how my jaw is clamped so tightly against itself, and how my face is twisted with anguish. And he can see defeat creep up my back.

He can see me give up. He sees my face finally scrunch up and my eyes shut in defeat. He sees my figure loosen, he sees me slide on my knees and sit, my back slouched and my head down. I'm defeated. I feel humiliated that I let them win. That I'm letting them win.

The pain is worse, the pounding is stronger, the ringing is louder, the prickling in my palms and knees and the stinging burns littering the side of my face and the tightening in my muscles and the rattling of my bones and I'm so cold I fear my hands and feet might start to lose all sensation in them.

My expression tightens as I practically feel Compress's relief and the grin stretching across his face.

A click, a second click, then a boom, and it's an explosion. A small one, but it still manages to make me gasp and jump back onto my hinde. My heart is hammering against my chest again and I'm no longer composed, not the way i was composed when I was dodging attacks from the villains just a few minutes earlier. For whatever reason I'm panicked, I'm petrified, and I'm so incredibly tired. Tired from another devastation occurring one after another. Compress yells something I don't catch, and then I suddenly can't see him anymore as thick, pink smoke surrounds me. I'm breathing heavily and my head's swerving in every direction, my pupils darting at every movement.

A hand appears from within the smoke and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet and running, pulling me with it. They say something but my head tunes it out. Their voice is familiar, but I'm in too much of a daze to match the voice to the individual. I can't see anything as we zoom away through the smoke, I can barely make out the back of their head.

Am I being saved? Who's saving me? Is it a hero?

My knees start to weaken involuntarily, and now I'm being dragged more than I'm being escorted. My savior realizes this and stops running for a split second. He's a man. I can tell from his build. He sweeps me from the back of my knees and cautiously throws me over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry" He utters. Then he continues to sprint away. I don't understand the apology, and I don't bother to, because relief is all I feel at that very moment, and I feel so much stress and paranoia and panic seep from my muscles. Then my eyes are heavy, they're really heavy and I'm so tired.

"NO! [NAME]! STAY AWAKE! [NAME]!"

I hear my slow breathing against my ear, my chest rising and falling against the man's shoulder, and I'm slumping forward.

My gaze falls on the person's hair, it's grey.

My eyes are closed and everything aches.

I'm so cold.

___________

I'm so warm

My hands are really warm. They're hot. But the good kind of hot.

Something is on my face. It stings.

My eyes flutter open. I blink a few times trying to make out my surroundings. A low rumble echoes through my chest then I hiss as I feel something cold press against the burnt side of my face. I weakly attempt to shoo the thing away but something is grabbing my hands.

"[Name]? [Name] Are you awake!?" A voice speaks. That same voice. My eyes are blown wide and my heart begins to beat so furiously I can hear it roar in my ears. My back straightens against the ragged wall and I'm about to jump up, push, pull, hit, run, anything my mind deems necessary enough to protect me. But I pause when I make out the figure sitting before me.

"Shoto-?" My voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes are slightly wide, I'm not sure if it's because he's panicked or he was simply startled by my reaction. He nods.

"Yeah, I got you out of there." He says, his voice as monotone as ever. I gape at him for a few seconds, my pulse steadily slowing down and my breathing calming. My shoulders relax and my back leans on the hard concrete wall.

I blink.

Then I blink again.

Then I realize my feet are cold, and I tell him for some odd reason, and he blinks, unsure of how to react. Then I realize my hands are really warm. And the side of my face is really cold and it stings. He's holding something cold to my face, and he's holding both my hands in the other.

He's holding my hands.

My breathing stops and I stare down at my hands, my shoulders tensing yet again. I'm frozen in place as I'm not sure what to say or how to react. Chilling silence falls between us, and I can tell he's confused.

"Please don't make out"

He finally realizes why I've been gaping silently down at my hands and he hurriedly lets go of my hands and pulls both of his hands away, removing the cloth from my face and taking away the warmth my palms once possessed.

"Oh- sorry-... you were freezing." He mutters awkwardly. I nod slowly then shake my head, murmuring a small 'it's ok' under my breath.

I pulled my hands closer to me and rubbed them together.

They didn't abandon me. They were planning to rescue me too. They had a plan for me. They wanted and were ready to save me, despite the risks. Todoroki walked into an active fighting zone just to save me. My lips press together and I grip my hands tighter, overwhelmed by relief, and joy, and guilt.

"I thought you left me." I whisper. "I thought... i thought you guys were... I was so scared, I was so upset, I was so... mad." I huddle into myself further, my teeth gritting together.

"I'm so sorry, im so sorry you had to risk your life like that, I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I'm really sorry." My voice cracks. And Todoroki is silent for a while.

"Don't be sorry. It's understandable." Is all he said, and that seemed like more than enough from him. I look up at him with a deshevled look on my face, then I frown as I meet his gaze.

"Why are you wearing a wig...?" I ask, looking at the grey wig on his head. He pursed his lips awkwardly and removed the prosthetic. "Wait why are we here- where are we??" I look around, and we appear to be in an alley, a really narrow one for that matter.

"It was for a disguise... it was Yoayorozu's idea." He answered.

"Yoamomo's here?" My eyes widen. It made sense, where else would they get smoke bombs from.

"Yes. We need to meet up with her. The others are probably starting to worry." He says. "Can you stand?"

"Uh yeah I think so..." I slowly push myself up, leaning on the wall next to me. Todoroki follows suit, his hands slightly outstretched so he could catch me in the scenario of my balance faultering. I test my balance and I'm relieved to find myself with the energy to walk, I glance down at my clothes and exam them, my face scruntching up as my eyes travels across the dirt and blood and rips tainting my attire. And I remember the pounding in my head.

"Oh- Also," Todoroki reached for something in pocket, then pulled out two large, dark chocolate bars. My eyes widen as I stare down at the wrappers before me. "I remember Midoriya saying something about you and needing chocolate so I figured..."

"Thank you...!" I say before Venom takes control over my body and snatches the chocolate from his hands, quite recklessly.

"Can you be any slower!? Hello, I'm starving!"

Venom's words echo in my head as he shoves the chocolate down my throat.

[a-couple-of-notes]

OKAY what a finale, folks! Deliberately not reading everyone else's thoughts until later (although I did chat briefly with @kshaar -- thank you for enduring my walls of Discord text), but I'm beginning my processing by writing this out.

I have a few issues with how all of this played out, as I'm sure many of you do, but I mostly really liked this finale. I'm so, so aware that it's hard to stick a landing--especially in a fandom as theory-heavy as Marvel, with the dedication of the queer fanbase on top of it. I think it's commendable how much they executed well, and how deliberately they aligned it with their vision of the show, not the one that would make everyone happy (if there is such a thing).

To the stuff I liked: unpopular opinion, but I like the order of the episodes as it is--final big boss fight first, quiet intimate flashback as the finale. Or, at least, I see the vision--I'm still iffy on whether the pacing actually feels good, but that probably needs another rewatch. This show has always been about unpacking Agatha, peeling off her masks until we get to some kind of truth, ugly or beautiful or both. Of course the ending is the truest thing we've ever gotten out of Agatha--the real story of her son and his death.

I loved everything about Nicky, Rio, and Agatha in the flashback. It is so beautifully mundane. A mother's love. A natural death. Selfishness. Grief. Anger. It's gorgeous, and the version of the ballad we got felt so, so fitting.

Everything about Jen! That unbinding spell...whoo. Sasheer Zamata knocked it out of the goddamn park with her performance--the joy, the sorrow, the agony of relief. Man. Even if the rest of the finale flopped on its belly (which it didn't), that alone would have been worth the price of admission. (Also ALSO: Agatha hate-flirting with Jen over confession of horrible traumatic action that fucked up Jen's whole shit! The Jen/Agatha truthers win!)

Alice. Alice my beloved. Ali Ahn, you do so much with the little screen time you have and I applaud you for it. I'm very grateful their cap on her arc was "I could make my life mean something/you're a protection witch. You died protecting someone" and not "you get to see your mother again" because, as I pointed out in the tags of one of my previous posts, that's the real tragedy of Alice. Her life, her freedom, her potential.

To the things I'm mixed on: that final battle, man. I think they did an admirable job of focusing what could have been a generic Marvel magic-blast-y slugfest into distinct character beats, but there was a lot going on in that fight. And compared to previous Rio and Agatha interactions, their big climactic one felt a little...weightless. Those factors make it much less clear why Agatha and Rio are fighting--like, on an emotional level; I understand intellectually why--which means that what also feels unclear is...

...The not-a-sacrifice. I like 90% of this. I like that Billy is finally able to communicate with Agatha via mind powers, because he's started to accept how alike they are. I like that Nicky is once again Agatha's turning point. I even can get behind the sacrifice as the creators' intention--not what I would have preferred, but a solid narrative choice nonetheless. Still, I am super unclear what, exactly, Agatha is thinking when she turns around. Is she just remembering Nicky himself--how much Billy is like him and how ashamed she would be if she left? If so, it feels odd that Agatha's version of sacrifice is kissing Rio so honestly. Later, we learn that Agatha was taking a risk to become a ghost. So when Billy asks how Nicky died, is Agatha remembering how Rio gave him time--the kiss as a fucked-up version of recognition, the risk being Agatha relying on Death's special treatment once again? That would be a better end to Agatha and Rio's arc, but there's no expository line, no echoing "I can only offer time." And Agatha and Rio. DON'T. TALK. IN PRESENT-DAY EPISODE 9.

This is my main gripe. I am aware I am griping with Megalopolis and FFC, not the show or its creators. But goddamn if more Aubrey Plaza would have fixed almost everything in that finale--and I mean this in a narrative sense, not just because I love Aubrey Plaza. It would have clarified where Agatha is ending re: her relationship with Rio (and Nicky), and it would have bookended the first episode so well (the three-player drama returns!) I am actually irritated about this.

Ghost Agatha looks so goofy. Like, I understand the vision here--the parallels to her mother, and of course Agatha would find a way to piss off Rio in her own domain. It's iconic. Still. There's something about Ghost!Agatha that's so much harder to buy into on a gut level, a kind of emotional distance created in such an emotional, tactile show.

Billy. Oh, Billy. I like your arc. I like its execution, while heaving a grudging sigh of "yeah, that makes sense for this story but I'm still kind of disappointed" re: the creation of the Witches' Road. I love the idea that Billy's ultimate arc was to accept the darkness in himself, and all the things he's capable of. But I really, really wish Agatha had had one more conversation with...not you. (Agatha naturally falls into a mentor-type role for Billy, which isn't necessarily bad or not part of her arc, but does at least lead to me feeling like we don't get an endpoint for Agatha in present day that's entirely her own.)

And I suppose that's the crux of my mixed feelings: the show began with Agatha asking who she was, before Billy even came into the picture. The viewers get to see a glimpse into Agatha's real self in the Ep. 9 flashback. But at the end of episode 9, Agatha is still running from it. She's barely touched her own grief (yes, yes, insert joke about Rio here), and we don't see her making that choice. I emphasize that because I am not categorically opposed to Agatha not completing her grief arc; god knows 9 episodes would have struggled to do that. I'm fine that they left some threads hanging. It's just that something in between Agatha (not-)sacrificing and Agatha coming back as affably-evil Casper is missing, and it feels like a gaping omission.

Other notes: Billy dramatically charging up the hex to create a memorial was great--another way the finale lets us into the beauty of the mundane. It's not to bring everyone back, or go down the Road again. But it's important, this act of remembering.

Though I'm disappointed we didn't get found family coven true, I'm at peace with how that thread wound up. This was a show about Agatha; the coven as individuals act as foils and reflections of her. They break and succeed in similar ways as Agatha. And they were a coven--a messed-up, broken coven who tried their best. It wasn't enough to save them, but it was enough for them to grow closer to the people they wanted to be. Agatha using something from every witch in her coven--Alice's protection spell, Lilia's divination, Jen's healing--in the fight was truly poignant, and tells me she'll remember them and carry them forward. (Also, the contrast against the flashback! "I cannot heal, I cannot protect you from what's coming, and I cannot divine when she'll come for you." Agatha needed them to be her coven! And they were. And they were.)

Final thoughts: (This is a misnomer; I'm still digesting.) Agatha All Along became a more complex, difficult show than I thought it would be pre-Episode 5. Occasionally this meant it disappointed me, had places where its budget, scheduling, Marvel-ness, and decisions regarding exposition struggled to connect things, but overall, it's a damn good show. And I would rather see a funny, challenging, ambitious show made with love for the craft than a safe, big-budget, chopped-up Marvel movie in a blender. And hey, it was super gay! (Please don't come near me with the "Bury Your Gays" stuff. Please. It's not that, I promise you.)

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 5

Part (5) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I really meant to finish this arc today... looks like there's going to be one more chapter after this, though... Such is the way of writing, I guess...

Warnings: Minor flashbacks/PTSD, reference to torture, loads of guilt and tension, otherwise mostly just fluff and angst

WC: 3,820

Science disproved the fallacy of “muscle memory” eons ago. The antiquated theory that cells somehow held some semblance of thought toward self-preservation, enough at least to react independent of heightened nerve bundles, now resided only in layman’s speech in which the physiology behind impulse control, voluntary and involuntary motions, and even the sympathetic systems responsible for endless bodily functions initiated by the fight or flight response were simply inconsequential. Whether someone believed their hand jerked away from a burning iron due to the hand’s fear of pain or from the spinal cord’s ability to recognize and react to such acute dangers absent direction from the brain doesn’t change the reality that the hand moved before the individual ever registered that they were burning.

I wasn’t burning. I wasn’t drowning, nor was I bound to some unbreakable surface. Logic told me that the danger had passed, but my body remembered only the agony of being held on the edge of death for what could have been days or minutes for all my mind could make sense of it. The delicate tissues lining my airways couldn’t forget the hurt from that chilled, rancid water, and the part of my brain that held no value toward thought or rationale overruled any hope of overcoming the frenzied panic reawaken by the memory of that hurt.

That first, desperate gasp left me spasming beneath such violent coughs, my body could do nothing more than curl weakly onto its side, diaphragm convulsing both from the effort to clear my lungs of every drop of that putrid liquid and from the simple, consuming need for air that had been denied from me for far, far too long. I felt myself reach toward my face, hand trembling as my fingertips darted over my cheeks, my hair, searching for that mask before it could tighten around my lips once more, before it could be used to rob me of sight that I might find myself even more helpless, unable to guess towards when that water would begin to drown me leaving me panicking anew at every sound, every hint of movement around me.

But there was nothing there.

My legs shifted in thoughtless, jerked motions if only to confirm nothing remained locked around my ankles, vaguely noting that no merciless restraints had prevented me from turning onto my side. Only my own weakness hindered my movements. The surface below me was far too soft in light of the memory of whatever I’d been bound to… The walls around me were too clean… And that voice…

“Easy, med’ika… shh, just breathe.” Chest still jerking with an occasional cough, I managed to look toward that familiar voice, and the depth of mourning that suddenly swept through me left me cold in a way I couldn’t explain. I would find no solace in denial after glimpsing the heartbreaking regret in those golden eyes. My nightmares had been real. Comet couldn’t even bring himself to reach for me yet, hands hovering before him as he forced himself to maintain some measure of a “safe” distance between us lest his presence send me into the same panic I’d lost myself in when I woke to find Wolffe holding me.

I loathed the lingering terror, but seeing how the kind man before me hurt because of my pain… that’s what drew the flood of tears to my eyes, and when I looked at him once more, when I let him see the desperate need burning through me, something too close to a sob escaped him. Free of that earlier hesitation, he lowered himself onto his knees at my bedside, movements torn between rushed and gentle as he pulled me against him, and I readily pressed myself into that embrace, fingers clawing into the sleek fabric atop him ribs, face burring itself into the notch of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry… Maker, I’m so sorry…” He murmured, lips shifting atop my hair. My chest twisted at his words, mind reaching for any way I might convince him that he wasn’t at fault, that there was no way to anticipate an attack by a third party; that his guilt only left me crying harder against him for the guilt it stirred within me, but all I could manage was to shake my head, silently begging him to understand.

“Shh, we’ve got you, med’ika… You’re safe now.” My hand tightened around his shirt, straining to force some measure of steadiness into hitched breaths as I dragged my mind back from that grief and fear if only for the hope that it might grant him some quiet as well. His embrace didn’t waver even after the tension began to ease from my aching body, and I made no effort to push even a whisper of distance between us.

“How-” The first attempt at speech nearly sent me back into a wretched coughing fit, but I managed to suppress it, wincing as I cleared my throat. “How did you find me?” Still, my voice was barely audible, the hoarse words dragging painfully along the raw tissue of my throat.

“Wolffe.” He answered simply, but the moment of hesitation that followed drew my gaze up to find him gnawing absently at his cheek, eyes turned blindly toward the far side of the room. “I… I think he reached out to the… to…” His jaw tensed, mind churning over how to answer before shifting to sit atop the edge of the mattress with a sigh, and I didn’t fight the way he carefully dragged me onto his lap. “I think he figured if he could get the kind of intel we came here for, he probably had some way of figuring out where’d they’d take you.” Oh… my father… I didn’t press for more and nodded as I rested my head back against Comet’s shoulder, pleased to feel him relax slightly in response.

Only then did I begin to really notice pain beyond the burn that accompanied every breath, the consuming ache set deep in my lungs. My left arm was immobilized in a splint, and I could feel the subtle pressure of bandages wrapped around my chest and leg.

“What happened?” I asked, the question barely more than a wheeze as I flared my fingers pointedly. With a sigh, his hold finally began to loosen.

“It was just dislocated.” He explained, thumb dragging absently over my arm, almost more as a self-soothing gesture than in an attempt to comfort me. “You bruised a couple ribs when the gala blew up – got a nice burn on your calf from it. Looks like most of it was just from when you were…” His arms tightened nervously, again stumbling slightly over his words. “Trying to get free.” He finished, voice dropping as though it would lessen the impact those words might have. Just the thought of how violently I’d fought against those damned restraints, the terror fueling my limbs well past what they should have been capable of threatened to draw a cold sweat from me. Still, I found myself looking down to see the thick layer of cloth wrapped about my wrists, clearly able to imagine how the skin had been worn raw and torn in my frenzy.

“And the datachip?” I could hear the cold acceptance in my own voice, certain that it had been lost and all the effort and planning and pain amounted to nothing.

“Safe.” He assured me quietly. “They got the bracelet, but we ended the connection before they could trace it back.” I let out a slow sigh of relief at that and tried to let myself treasure a moment of stillness, to let my mind drift thoughtlessly as I fought to to convince myself that the horrors of that dark room might be left in the past, and that I might find solace in the knowledge that I was still alive, that, despite how certain I’d been of my own impending death, how much I’d longed for the comfort of what release it surely promised, I’d survived.

-

We were barely a day out from the Negotiator. I didn’t want to think about how everyone would react to what had happened, didn’t want to think about how I’d react to even trying to tell them. Despite the dread of dealing with that impeding conversation and all it entailed, still I was eager to rejoin them, to escape the tense quiet staling the air of this ship; the way Boost and Sinker stifled even the hint of a disagreement, how strained Warthog’s laugh had become. Even Wolffe had fallen into something far too somber, making no effort to avoid me though I could see the guilt in his eyes if ever we crossed paths. I hated it.

When I tread thoughtlessly into the bunkroom, I hadn’t expected to find him lying prone atop his cot, eyes intently closed though I held little doubt that he was still awake. I hesitated for barely a breath before yielding beneath the need urging me forward. His brow cocked, eyes opening just enough to glance toward me before shutting once more as I nestled onto the thin pad beside him, barely an inch separating us.

“Something wrong with your bed, kid?” He asked, voice falling back into what, to anyone else, surely sounded more akin to an irritated growl than the subtle teasing I knew it to be.

“Yeah. It’s way over there.” I retorted, and I relished the balm of comfort gleaned from the way his lips twitched ever so briefly into a smirk. Still, I could stand the silence that followed for only so long amidst the scream of questions roaring through my head.

“Did you know?” It was barely loud enough to be called speech, all mirth from that brief quip abandoning me. His throat shifted, jaw tensing a moment before opening his eyes to stare blindly at the empty bunk above him.

“What part?” The softness in how he spoke only worked to remind me of that terrible guilt, and I suddenly feared it was a curse they’d never be able to free themselves of.

“My father.” He was still for a moment before quietly drawing in a deep breath.

“No.” He whispered. “I knew he was from Agamar; that he’d lost his family to the war, but I didn’t know who he was until you met him.” I swallowed back whatever relief or remorse or regret vied to break me and shifted just enough to rest my forehead against his shoulder.

“Was he behind the bomb?” He didn’t need to answer me. I knew I was right by the tension that stole through him.

“He figured you’d be out by then.” Wolffe explained, as though it might quell whatever betrayal he feared the confirmation might bring, but I felt nothing; allowed myself to feel nothing even as I wondered if I should blame my father for what had been done to me.

“Comet said he helped you find me?” A small grunt caught in his throat, and I pulled back just enough to see the beginnings of a scowl distort his face.

“Comet talks too much.” Wolffe mumbled but let out a short huff before explaining. “I had to tell him who you were – he wouldn’t risk any of his operatives until I did.” I didn’t hear the apology laced through those quiet words. My body went stiff, air staling in my chest, numb to whatever hurt still lingered there. Would he know what my capture meant? What they’d do to me? Was he replaying our every shared word lit anew with the heartbreaking realization that I’d known him the instant I saw him, that I’d chosen not to reveal myself when he’d failed to recognize me in kind?

I didn’t notice Wolffe’s gaze turn toward me, didn’t note the sharp concern in eyes far more comfortable in an impatient glare until his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I let myself be drawn flush against his side, cheek resting atop his chest.

“He’s made his own choices. Try not to blame yourself for the actions of a man you haven’t seen in nearly a decade.” The deadpan look he shot me was enough to draw a small chuckle. Before I could respond, the bunkroom door opened behind me.

“That poor man…” I whispered, unable to fathom what he must be going through now. Wolffe didn’t try to hide that familiar eyeroll, drawing my attention back to him.

“Ooo, we’re having a cuddle party on the commander’s bunk?” I was laughing before Wolffe’s warning growl fell silent, knowing those words easily carried throughout the ship.

“Boost.” His chest rumbled with the threat laced through his brother’s name, but Boost was already in motion, and the cot groaned beneath his weight as the man hoisted himself gracelessly across us, shuffling noisily until his back rested against the wall and his legs stretched overtop mine and Wolffe’s thighs, hapless grin toying with his lips in blatant disregard for the lethal glare Wolffe had trained on him.

“Boost.” He called again, voice lowering into something far more dangerous.

“Think the long-necks’ll get pissed if we break it?” Warthog asked mere seconds later, his own words nearly breaking out into a laughter of his own. Wolffe let out a slow tense sigh as the pilot pushed his way onto the bed above me, forcing the both of us to shift until he’d wedged his torso beneath our shoulders.

“Depends on the story you come up with to explain how it broke.” Boost replied.

“The Commander already sent in the report – you’d have to find a damn good reason for it to break outside of the actual mission.” Comet advised from behind me, already easing himself onto the too-thin strip of remaining mattress.

“Nah, we’ll just tell ‘em they built it wrong.” Warthog replied, chuckling at his own words. Despite his nonchalance, the instant the bed began to creak, we all tensed, but he went back to laughing openly when Wolffe craned his neck to glare at the man.

I’d forgotten about this. Hunter and his brothers were close, but it was different here. Where once the 104th was a standard battalion, now only five remained. That kind of loss could have driven them apart, ruined by grief and despair. Instead, they sought refuge in what few brothers they still had. The simple act of touch brings with it a comfort that can’t be replicated with drugs or kind words. The innocence fueling the need for that comfort, for the silent reassurance that they were still alive, was precious, and when the weight of this war fell too heavily on their shoulders, there was no one who understood that burden more than the men around them.

-

If felt like hours had passed before something begrudgingly pulled me back to a weary awareness, unsure at first what had woken me, but even in the darkness, I found the brilliant gold of Sinker’s eyes studying the dark cloth immobilizing my shoulder. The muscle lay bunched beneath his cheeks, brows drawn harshly together, tense breaths so near to breaking even as his fingers rested lightly atop my arm. The instant his gaze flicked to mine, the instant he realized I was awake, that I’d seen him in that moment of vulnerability, his expression instantly softened, but he made no effort to pull away from me.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He murmured, voice barely audible amidst the lazy, deep breaths of his sleeping brothers nestled all around me. “We’re still a few hours out – you should get some more rest.”

I didn’t try to reply, mind already teetering back into that gentle release, but I couldn’t forget the initial glimpse of despair I’d seen in him, heart breaking at the reminder of how deeply they hurt because of what happened to me. Without a word, I flared my fingers out, unable to move the limb more than slightly twisting my wrist toward him. His lips pulled into a weak smirk, shoulders sinking beneath of heavy sigh, but he shifted to slip his hand in mine. Body relaxing with a slow breath, I held him firmly against me, chin tucking against my chest enough to lightly touch my lips to his knuckles as I let my eyes slide shut once more. Still, he didn’t try to pull away, not until long after I’d fallen back into a gentle sleep.

-

Knowing that each passing second brought me closer to the Negotiator, to the inevitability of reliving those horrors first in telling Cody, and then again in telling my squad only worked to drive me back to the brink of panic. I couldn’t stay in a room with them; couldn’t see their remorse and not dread the thought of seeing that same expression haunt Hunter’s face, of the rage that might threaten to overwhelm Crosshair or the sorrow that would weigh on Wrecker… I hadn’t begun to figure out how to tell any of them… what to tell them. What was I allowed to tell them…

It was easy to hope the following day would bring some reprieve to the stiffness with which they held themselves around me, that a night piled in that too-small cot together might free them of that tension, but I was to be granted no such relief. Conversation had never felt awkward with them before, but now they tripped over nearly every word shared with me, as though second guessing if they were about to say something that might remind me the lifetime I’d spent drowning at the mercy of my interrogator, which, in turn, left me unable to think about anything but that helplessness, that utter certainty that I was dying, and the terrible acceptance that I was powerless to stop it.

I’d found myself practically hiding in the fresher for that last half hour, torn between grief and relief to finally let myself slip back into the safety of my armor before rejoining the others as the ship began to dock.

“Still can’t get used to seein’ you in those colors.” Warthog grunted from pilot’s chair.

“It’s been over a year, Warthog.” I drawled, forcing what I hoped to be a lightness into my still-scratchy voice.

“Yeah, but… did they have to go with something so… edgy?” I instantly felt my shoulders tense.

“Sorry.” He muttered after several long seconds. I had to grind my lips between my teeth to keep my breath from hitching, unable to either apologize for my tone nor to dismiss the exchange altogether. No one spoke again until the engine faded into a quiet hum before finally shutting off, and I again found myself loathing the tension, loathing myself for having brought it back en force so thoughtlessly as we approached the ramp.

“They’ve more than earned the right to wear whatever they want… and we do enough stealth missions to warrant darker colors.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, for it to sound like I was berating him, but I was too anxious to restrain that flash of anger, and my heart sank at the heavy silence that instantly followed.

I should have assumed they’d be there; that Tech would alert the others the instant the non-GAR issued ship made its approach and found some way to prepare myself, but I could do nothing more than stare at the collection of eager faces and hesitant smiles awaiting me at the base of that ramp; should have thought toward how I might steel myself for seeing those familiar faces fall into uncertainty and concern upon noting that damned sling that I should have omitted at least for those first few minutes. I should have offered some light-hearted reassurance, found some means of dismissing their fears before they could begin to twist and grow with all the unanswered questions for those past few days, but I had nothing – no gentle greeting nor quick-witted remark as automated movements led me toward them in the wake of Wolffe’s steps.

“Um…” The strangled sound caught in my throat, unable to look at them even through the protective cover of my helm’s visor. “I have to debrief with Commander Cody.” The way my comms system distorted my voice seemed only to worsen the lingering hoarseness, and I tried to pretend I didn’t see the way Crosshair’s expression turned rabid. “I’ll find you after.” I added in something too close to a mutter before continuing after my old commander.

They didn’t follow me, nor did Boost or the others as I trailed aimlessly behind Wolffe into the bowels of the massive Destroyer, unsure what havoc might unfold the instant we were out of sight. Would Hunter be able to keep his brother in line if my old squad told them what happened? Would he even try? My thoughts were too jumbled to worry over it for long. There was just too much for any one thing to hold my attention for more than a heart-wrenching second, and I quickly gave up any effort to do anything more than keep my strides even.

“You going to be alright?” Wolffe asked, pausing several meters before that familiar door. I hadn't noticed him remove his bucket, but automatically slipped mine off in kind as he glanced pointedly toward Cody's office. I’d suspected he wouldn’t be joining me, that he needed to find General Plo for his own debrief, and it was almost a relief knowing he wouldn’t be with me for this. I didn’t want him to hear me try to recant that nightmare when he was still struggling with the aftermath, too.

“Yeah… I’ll be fine, Wolffe.” I offered, lips pulling into a small smile that neither of us believed. He almost turned away, but paused, brow just hinting at a frown as he looked at me. With a quiet sigh, he let his hand trail through my hair to rest gently against the back of my head before lightly touching his forehead to mine.

“Be safe, kid.” He said, and the vainly hidden note of defeat those short words left me floundering. Still my lips shifted around that too familiar reply, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“Still not a kid.” The short breath that escaped him shook just enough to nearly ruin me, gaze darting up to find his eyes ground shut.

“I know.” He murmured, voice rushed. His grip tightened for just a moment, expression pinching with something too near pain, and then it was gone, posture once more portraying every ounce the rigid commander he’d always been as he tread steadily down the hall. I couldn’t move for several seconds; couldn’t breathe beneath that flash of… what? That was more than just guilt… I wanted to chase after him; to throw something or scream, but found myself thinking back to the tense quiet that had fallen around us in the cockpit mere days prior… Whatever it was… the time for it had passed.

Next Chapter

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[julesthecutiepie]

Daryl Dixon's Child Daughter/ Season 7 Part 1:

(Super long but wrote this drabble. I'll continue it just let me know how you like it! Daryl's got a 7 year old during the Negan Arc and she's a sparkfire. She gets taken in by the saviors after the the incident where that bat gets a cracking. )

Title: The Gathering Storm

In the eerie silence of the moonlit clearing near the Hilltop, a sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air. Daryl, Rick, and their companions knelt, their breaths held in anticipation, eyes fixed upon the imposing figure of Negan. His presence seemed to warp reality itself, casting shadows that danced with menace across the forest floor. Daryl's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles blanching under the weight of suppressed emotions.

Negan paced before them, a dark specter clad in leather, his coat billowing behind him like the tattered shroud of a fallen angel. With a twisted grin, he swung Lucille, the barbed wire coiling around the bat's surface, a macabre dance of death.

"Who's it gonna be, boys and girls?" Negan's voice slithered through the silence, dripping with malice like venom from a serpent's fangs. "The game is simple. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe."

Each syllable of Negan's cruel nursery rhyme reverberated through the clearing, slicing through the tense atmosphere like a blade. Daryl's heart thundered in his chest, a primal rhythm echoing the dread that gripped him. He exchanged a glance with Rick, a silent exchange of understanding amidst the chaos. They both knew the stakes, the cruel reality that any one of them could become the next victim in Negan's deadly game.

As Negan's finger hovered over each member of the group, the weight of his gaze bore down upon them like an executioner's blade poised to strike. Daryl's breath caught in his throat as Lucille's shadow loomed over him, the bat's malevolent presence sending a shiver down his spine.

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, Negan's finger landed on Glenn, his grin widening with chilling satisfaction as he met Daryl's gaze.

"Looks like you're the lucky winner, my friend," Negan's voice dripped with mockery, a facade of warmth masking the cold cruelty beneath.

Daryl's world seemed to collapse around him as he watched in horror, powerless to intervene as Negan raised Lucille high above his head.

"No!" Maggie's anguished cry pierced the night as Negan brought the bat down with a sickening thud, the sound echoing like a funeral dirge through the clearing.

Time slowed to a crawl as Glenn crumpled to the ground, life extinguished in an instant. Daryl's vision blurred with tears as he stared at the lifeless form of his friend, a torrent of grief and guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave.

But amid the anguish, a ember of defiance ignited within him. This was not the end. Not while Negan still held sway over their lives.

With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, Daryl rose from his knees, his jaw set with resolve. Negan may have dealt them a devastating blow, but they would not yield to despair. They would rise, united against the darkness that threatened to consume them.

For in the face of adversity, they would stand as beacons of hope, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. And as long as they drew breath, they would defy the shadows of fate, forging their own path through the darkness.

As the group's despair threatened to consume them, Negan's sinister grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Well, well, well," he drawled, relishing in the agony that etched itself across their faces. "I've got a little surprise for you all."

Daryl's heart sank further, his chest tightening with dread as he braced himself for whatever fresh hell Negan had in store. His mind raced with the images of Glenn and Abraham, their lives brutally snuffed out by the maniacal tyrant before him. He couldn't bear to lose anyone else, not now, not ever.

Negan's whistle cut through the heavy silence, a signal that sent shivers down the spines of those gathered. The Saviors obediently opened a nearby car, revealing a small figure emerging from within. Daryl's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the tiny cowboy boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thump.

"No," Daryl whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.

(Y/N), his precious daughter, only seven years old, emerged from the vehicle, clutching her teddy bear tightly to her chest. Her innocent eyes widened in confusion and fear as she surveyed the grim scene before her, the bodies of Glenn and Abraham sprawled lifelessly on the ground.

Negan's voice cut through the silence like a blade, loud and mocking. "Ain't I just the kindest son of a bitch?" he exclaimed, his words dripping with false generosity. "This little missy here was wandering the streets, looking for her Papa. Instead of putting a bullet in her pretty little head, Simon here was kind enough to bring her in."

(Y/N)'s bottom lip quivered, her tiny frame trembling as she took in the horror that surrounded her. Daryl's heart shattered into a million pieces as he watched the fear flicker in her innocent gaze. He had tried to shield her from the brutality of their world, but now she stood witness to its darkest depths.

Tears welled in Daryl's eyes as he reached out to comfort his daughter, his voice choked with emotion. "It's okay, (Y/N)," he whispered, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. "Daddy's here. Daddy's gonna keep you safe."

But deep down, Daryl knew that safety was but an illusion in a world ruled by monsters like Negan. And as (Y/N)'s screams echoed through the clearing, a stark reminder of the innocence lost, Daryl vowed to fight with every fiber of his being to shield her from the darkness that threatened to consume them all. (Y/N)'s screams pierced the air like a dagger, her terror escalating as the harsh reality of the scene before her sank in. With trembling hands, Daryl tried to shield her from the gruesome sight, pulling her close as she cried out for her Papa.

"Papa! Papa!" (Y/N)'s sobs wracked her tiny frame as she clung to Daryl, her tears mingling with the dirt and blood staining his clothes. "Where's Papa?"

Daryl's heart shattered anew at the sound of her desperate cries, his own grief threatening to overwhelm him. He had seen so much death, so much loss, but nothing could have prepared him for the agony of witnessing his own daughter's anguish.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Daryl murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he rocked her gently in his arms. "I'm here. I'm right here."

But (Y/N)'s distress only seemed to intensify as she struggled to make sense of the nightmare unfolding around her. "Uncle Glenn… and Abraham…" she choked out between sobs, her small voice thick with sorrow. "They're… they're dead."

Daryl's heart clenched with pain as he held her tighter, a silent vow to shield her from any more harm. But then (Y/N)'s trembling voice cut through the chaos, her words sending a chill down his spine.

"I… I stole a car," she confessed, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos of the clearing.

Daryl's shock was palpable as he stared down at his daughter, a whirlwind of emotions raging within him. Anger, fear, disbelief—all fought for dominance as he struggled to comprehend the gravity of her actions.

"You what?" Daryl's voice was low, his tone tinged with disbelief as he reprimanded her. "(Y/N), why would you do something like that? You know it's dangerous out here."

(Y/N) flinched at the reproach in her father's voice, her lower lip trembling as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "I… I wanted to find you, Papa," she whimpered, her voice barely audible above the din of the clearing. "I was… I was scared."

Daryl's heart clenched with guilt at her words, a pang of remorse stabbing at his soul. He had failed to protect her, failed to shield her from the horrors of their world. And now, she stood before him, a fragile beacon of innocence in a sea of darkness.

As (Y/N)'s tears continued to fall, Daryl held her close, his own tears mingling with hers as he vowed to keep her safe. For in this world of shadows and death, there was one light that he refused to let be extinguished—the light of his daughter's love. And come what may, he would fight to keep that flame burning bright. Negan's laughter cut through the tension like a blade, a cruel symphony of dominance echoing through the clearing. His eyes glinted with anticipation, relishing the power he held over their fates as he announced his decree to the group.

"Congratulations, folks! You now work for me," Negan declared, his voice booming with triumph. "And as for you, Daryl," he continued, his gaze fixing on Daryl's battered form, "and your little girl, well, you're coming with me."

Daryl's heart sank like a stone as Negan's words sank in, the weight of his declaration settling like a leaden shroud upon his shoulders. His eye throbbed from the rough treatment he had endured at the hands of the Saviors, a grim reminder of the powerlessness that gripped him.

(Y/N)'s wide eyes turned to her Papa, her lip trembling as she took in the sight of his bruised and bloodied face. Fear gnawed at her young heart as she clung to him, seeking solace in his battered embrace.

"Papa," she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "what's gonna happen to us?"

But before Daryl could respond, Negan's henchman, Simon, approached with a menacing grin, his intentions clear. (Y/N)'s cries pierced the air as she recoiled from his advance, her small frame trembling with fear.

"No! Let her go!" Daryl's voice rang out, his protests drowned out by the loud protests of the group. But the weight of Negan's authority loomed large, casting a shadow of despair over their futile resistance.

With a cruel smirk, Simon reached out to pick up (Y/N), his grip firm and unyielding as she struggled against him. Daryl's heart clenched with helplessness as he watched his daughter being torn from his arms, a helpless witness to the cruelty of their oppressors.

But amid the chaos and despair, a spark of defiance flickered within Daryl's soul. No matter the odds, no matter the darkness that threatened to consume them, he would fight to protect his daughter. For in this world of shadows and brutality, their love would be their greatest weapon—a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

Negan's laughter reverberated through the clearing like a twisted symphony of malice, his amusement evident as the Saviors obediently brought him the struggling, crying child. (Y/N)'s tear-streaked face was a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded them, her small form shaking with fear and defiance.

"Well, well, well," Negan chuckled, his voice dripping with false affection as he crouched down to (Y/N)'s eye level. "Ain't you just the cutest little thing I ever did see?"

(Y/N)'s sobs intensified at Negan's words, her tiny fists pounding against Simon's chest as she refused to yield to the man who stood before her.

Negan's grin widened as he reached out to her, his tone falsely soothing. "Come on now, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice laced with sinister charm. "Come to Uncle Negan."

But (Y/N) recoiled from his touch, her eyes blazing with defiance as she refused to succumb to the fear that threatened to consume her. "No! I want my Papa!" she cried out, her voice raw with emotion.

Daryl's heart clenched with anguish as he watched helplessly, his hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to rush to his daughter's side. But the weight of Negan's authority held him in place, a grim reminder of the powerlessness that gripped them all.

Negan's laughter echoed through the clearing once more, a cruel symphony of dominance as he reveled in the chaos that surrounded him. And as (Y/N)'s cries continued to fill the air, a sense of dread settled over Daryl like a suffocating shroud.

For in this world ruled by monsters and madmen, the innocence of a child was but a fleeting illusion—a casualty of the darkness that threatened to consume them all. And as Negan's grip tightened around (Y/N)'s trembling form, Daryl knew that their struggle was far from over.

As Negan's laughter reverberated through the clearing, Daryl felt a surge of rage and helplessness coursing through him. His daughter, (Y/N), clung desperately to Simon, her cries echoing off the trees as she resisted Negan's advances. Daryl's heart twisted with anguish at the sight, his hands balling into fists as he longed to rush to her side, to tear her away from the clutches of the maniacal tyrant before them.

But Negan's grip on power was ironclad, his authority unyielding as he approached (Y/N) with a predatory grin. "Come on now, sweetheart," he cajoled, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Uncle Negan's got a surprise for you."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in terror as she recoiled from him, her small form trembling with fear and defiance. "No! I want my Papa!" she cried out, her voice raw with emotion.

Daryl's heart clenched at her words, a surge of protectiveness flooding through him as he watched helplessly from his place on the ground. Every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to fight tooth and nail for his daughter's freedom. But he knew that any move against Negan would only result in further tragedy.

Negan's laughter echoed through the clearing once more, a chilling reminder of the power he held over them all. "Oh, isn't she a feisty one?" he chuckled, his gaze fixed on (Y/N) with a twisted mixture of amusement and malice. "I like this kid."

Rick's voice cut through the tension like a knife, his plea echoing off the trees as he begged for (Y/N)'s release. "Please, Negan," he implored, desperation thick in his voice. "She's just a child. Let her go."

But Negan merely chuckled in response, his grip on (Y/N) tightening as he turned to walk towards the waiting car. "Sorry, Rick," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. "But this one's mine now."

Daryl's heart sank as he watched Negan carry (Y/N) away, his daughter's cries fading into the night as she disappeared from view. Anger and despair roiled within him, a storm of emotions threatening to consume him whole.

For in this world of shadows and cruelty, the innocence of a child was a precious rarity—a beacon of light in the darkness that surrounded them. And as Negan's laughter echoed through the clearing, Daryl vowed to do whatever it took to protect his daughter from the horrors that awaited her.

(Y/N)'s small hands tightened around her teddy bear, her knuckles white with determination. As she twisted the plush toy, a glint of steel caught the moonlight—a hidden knife concealed within its fabric. With a fierce growl, she lunged forward, the blade slicing through the air with unexpected speed.

Negan's eyes widened in shock as (Y/N)'s attack caught him off guard, the blade narrowly missing his face but leaving a deep gash across his hand. Pain flared through him, fueling his anger as he recoiled from the unexpected assault.

Simon's growl of fury echoed through the clearing as (Y/N) turned her attention to him, her tiny form a whirlwind of fury as she slashed at his arms with wild abandon. Michonne's voice rang out in a desperate plea, her screams blending with the chaos of the moment as she begged (Y/N) to stop.

Daryl fought against the weight of his own helplessness, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to reach his daughter. But Negan's grip on her was unyielding, his strength overpowering as he finally subdued her.

With a triumphant grin, Negan lifted (Y/N) into his arms, her struggles futile against his ironclad hold. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, his voice filled with twisted admiration. "Looks like I underestimated you, kid. There's a reason I adore you so much."

(Y/N)'s breath came in ragged gasps as she glared defiantly at Negan, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that belied her tender years. She had been hiding a knife in her teddy bear all along, a secret weapon concealed within the innocence of a child.

As Negan carried her away, a sense of dread settled over Daryl like a heavy fog. His daughter, his precious (Y/N), had shown a strength and resilience beyond her years. But in the clutches of a monster like Negan, her defiance only served to fuel his twisted admiration.

With a heavy heart, Daryl vowed to do whatever it took to protect his daughter from the darkness that threatened to consume her. For in this world of shadows and brutality, the innocence of a child was a fragile thing—a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. And as Negan's laughter faded into the night, Daryl knew that their struggle was far from over. Negan's grip on (Y/N) was ironclad as he wrestled her into the backseat of the car, the sound of her cries piercing the air like a dagger to the heart. She fought against him with all her might, her small fists pounding against his chest as she screamed for her Papa.

"Papa! Papa!" (Y/N)'s desperate cries echoed through the clearing, her voice raw with fear and anguish as she pleaded for Daryl to come to her rescue.

But Daryl was nowhere to be seen, his fate sealed as Negan's henchmen threw him roughly into the back of a nearby box truck. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the night like a final nail in the coffin of their hopes.

Inside the car, (Y/N)'s tears flowed freely as Negan buckled her tightly into the seat, his movements rough and callous. "There, there, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't you worry. Daddy will be joining us soon enough."

But (Y/N)'s cries only intensified, her small frame trembling with fear and uncertainty as she stared out the window, searching desperately for any sign of her father. The world seemed to blur around her, a whirlwind of chaos and despair threatening to engulf her whole.

As the car pulled away, leaving behind the clearing and all that remained of their shattered lives, (Y/N)'s heart felt heavy with grief. She clung to the hope that somehow, someway, her Papa would find a way to rescue her from the clutches of the monster who held her captive.

But in the darkness of the night, surrounded by shadows and uncertainty, the road ahead stretched long and treacherous. And as (Y/N)'s tears continued to fall, she knew that the journey ahead would be fraught with danger and despair.

Yet somewhere deep within her, a spark of defiance flickered—a small ember of hope that refused to be extinguished. For as long as she drew breath, she would fight. Fight for her freedom, fight for her family, and fight for a future where the shadows of the past could be left behind, and the light of a new dawn could shine once more. As the car rumbled along the darkened road, Negan's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. "I'm sorry you had to see that, kiddo," he muttered, his tone surprisingly soft as he glanced at (Y/N) through the rearview mirror. He winced as he wrapped a blood-soaked towel around his injured hand, the pain a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded back at the clearing.

(Y/N)'s gaze remained fixed on him, her expression a mixture of defiance and mistrust. She clutched her teddy bear tightly to her chest, the plush toy offering a small measure of comfort in the face of the unknown.

Negan's eyes narrowed as he studied her, a calculating glint in his gaze. "So, kiddo," he drawled, his tone deceptively casual. "You got any more surprises up your sleeve?"

(Y/N)'s jaw tightened as she shook her head defiantly, her eyes flashing with determination. Despite the fear that gripped her heart, she refused to show any sign of weakness in the presence of the man who held her fate in his hands.

Negan chuckled at her response, the sound dripping with amusement. "Smart girl," he remarked, his voice laced with thinly veiled menace. "But just remember, (Y/N), in this world, it's always good to have a few tricks up your sleeve."

With a knowing smirk, he turned his attention back to the road ahead, leaving (Y/N) to grapple with the unsettling realization that her fate was now inexorably tied to the whims of the man who sat behind the wheel. As the miles stretched on and the darkness of the night enveloped them, (Y/N)'s mind raced with thoughts of escape and survival.

For in this world of shadows and uncertainty, one thing was certain—she would need to summon every ounce of courage and cunning if she hoped to emerge from this ordeal unscathed. And as she clung to her teddy bear, a silent vow took root within her heart—a vow to defy the darkness that threatened to consume her, and to reclaim her freedom no matter the cost. (Y/N)'s small voice broke through the hum of the engine, laden with worry and uncertainty. "What… what's gonna happen to my Papa?" she asked, her words trembling with fear as she dared to voice the question that had been weighing heavily on her mind since they had been torn apart.

Negan's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, meeting (Y/N)'s eyes with a steely resolve. "Your Papa? He's gonna learn to play by the rules," he replied, his tone clipped and authoritative. "Just like everyone else."

(Y/N)'s heart sank at his words, a knot of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She knew all too well what it meant to be under Negan's thumb—to live in fear of his cruelty and capriciousness. But the thought of her father enduring the same fate filled her with a deep sense of despair.

She clutched her teddy bear tighter, seeking solace in its familiar embrace as she struggled to hold back tears. The uncertainty of their situation loomed large, casting a shadow over her hopes for their reunion.

Negan's eyes softened slightly as he glanced at her in the mirror, a hint of sympathy flickering behind his steely gaze. "Don't you worry, kiddo," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Your Papa's a tough son of a gun. He'll be just fine."

But (Y/N) couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her heart. She knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, and that her father's fate hung in the balance. All she could do was cling to the hope that somehow, someway, they would find a way back to each other—that their love would be enough to guide them through the darkness and into the light once more.

The road stretched out before them, illuminated only by the dim glow of the headlights cutting through the thick veil of darkness that enveloped the night. Inside the car, the atmosphere was heavy with tension, each mile traversed bringing them further into the unknown.

Negan's eyes flickered with amusement as he glanced at (Y/N) through the rearview mirror, his lips curling into a sly grin. "So, kiddo," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the confined space of the car. "Do you have a mother?" As the car continued to roll down the desolate road, (Y/N) sank into a silence that seemed to swallow her whole. Her mind churned with thoughts of her father, her heart heavy with worry for his safety. The gentle hum of the engine provided a steady rhythm to her thoughts, a constant reminder of the distance that separated them.

But the tranquility was shattered by the sound of Negan's voice, loud and obnoxious, cutting through the quiet like a knife. "You know, kiddo," he began, his tone brash and boastful, "you're gonna love your new mommies."

(Y/N)'s stomach churned at the mention of the word "mommies," a sense of unease knotting in the pit of her stomach. She turned to face Negan, her gaze steady despite the fear that gripped her heart. "Mommies?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to comprehend his words.

Negan's grin widened at her reaction, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Oh yeah," he replied, his voice filled with false enthusiasm. "I've got a few wives back at the Sanctuary. They'll take care of you real nice."

(Y/N)'s mind reeled at the revelation, her thoughts swirling with confusion and apprehension. The idea of being surrounded by strangers, forced into a role she had never asked for, filled her with a sense of dread. But she knew better than to show weakness in the face of the enemy, to let Negan see the fear that gnawed at her soul.

Instead, she forced herself to remain composed, to meet his gaze with a steely resolve. Inside, her heart screamed for her father, for the safety and security that only he could provide. But for now, she would bide her time, waiting for the moment when she could break free from the clutches of the tyrant who held her fate in his hands. The car rumbled to a stop outside the imposing walls of the Sanctuary, the headlights casting eerie shadows that danced across the cracked pavement. (Y/N)'s heart pounded in her chest as Negan pulled her out of the vehicle, his grip firm as he guided her towards the entrance.

She scowled as his rough hands adjusted her hair, smoothing down the stray strands with a care that bordered on possessiveness. His touch made her skin crawl, each caress feeling like a violation of her autonomy. But she knew better than to protest, to show any sign of weakness in the face of the man who held her fate in his hands.

Negan straightened her shirt with a satisfied grin, his eyes lingering on her like she was some pretty little doll to be dressed up and paraded around. "There we go, kiddo," he declared, his voice dripping with false affection. "Looking sharp."

(Y/N)'s lip curled in disdain as she resisted the urge to recoil from his touch, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. She may have been young, but she refused to be treated like some plaything for Negan's amusement.

As they crossed the threshold into the Sanctuary, (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock at the sight that greeted her—a grim reminder of the brutality that lurked within these walls. Strapped to Dwight's back was a crossbow, its sleek metal frame glinting in the dim light.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the weapon, her voice trembling with indignation. "That's… that's my daddy's crossbow," she snapped, her words sharp with accusation as she glared at Negan.

Negan's grin faltered for a moment, his amusement giving way to irritation at her boldness. But then he chuckled, a cruel glint in his eyes as he met her gaze. "Is that so, kiddo?" he replied, his voice deceptively calm. "Well, ain't that just too bad."

(Y/N)'s little hand flew out, her palm connecting with Negan's cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the courtyard, a defiant gesture that sent shockwaves through the assembled crowd.

Negan's laughter rang out like a clap of thunder, the sound mingling with (Y/N)'s furious cries as she refused to back down. She may have been small, but she possessed a fierce determination that belied her years—a determination to stand up to the tyrant who sought to bend her to his will.

As Negan's grip tightened around her arm, dragging her further into the depths of the Sanctuary, (Y/N)'s resolve only grew stronger. She may have been trapped behind enemy lines, but she would never surrender her spirit, her defiance a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness.

Dwight's smirk only deepened as he caught (Y/N)'s glare, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and begrudging respect. He had seen many come and go through the gates of the Sanctuary, but there was something about this defiant little girl that stirred a flicker of admiration within him.

(Y/N) held Dwight's gaze with a steely determination, her jaw set in defiance as she refused to back down. Despite the fear that coiled in the pit of her stomach, she refused to let Negan and his cronies see her cower. She may have been small, but she possessed a fire that burned bright within her soul—a fire that would not be extinguished by the darkness that surrounded her.

With a defiant toss of her head, (Y/N) continued to drag her teddy bear along with her, its worn fur comforting against her trembling fingers. The toy may have seemed insignificant to those around her, but to (Y/N), it was a symbol of the love and protection that her father had always provided.

As they passed through the bustling corridors of the Sanctuary, (Y/N)'s eyes darted from face to face, taking in the sight of the other Saviors who roamed the halls like shadows in the night. Each one bore the mark of Negan's influence, their expressions a mixture of fear and obedience that sent a chill down her spine.

But amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one caught her attention—a young boy with a haunted look in his eyes, his gaze flickering with recognition as he caught sight of her. For a brief moment, their eyes met, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them before he vanished into the shadows.

(Y/N)'s heart ached for the boy, his presence a reminder of the countless lives that had been touched by the cruelty of Negan's regime. She knew that she was not alone in her struggle, that there were others who longed for freedom and justice just as fiercely as she did.

But for now, she would bide her time, waiting for the opportunity to strike back against the tyrant who held them all in his grip. And as she followed in Negan's wake, her grip tightening around her teddy bear, she vowed to never lose sight of the hope that burned within her—a hope that one day, they would rise from the ashes and reclaim their stolen freedom.

As they ascended to the higher floors of the Sanctuary, Negan's voice echoed through the corridors, his words a sinister guide through the labyrinthine depths of the compound. (Y/N) followed in his wake, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to keep pace with his long strides.

"This floor is for the workers," Negan declared, his voice carrying a note of disdain as he gestured towards the dimly lit corridors that stretched out before them. "But we're going higher, kiddo. Much higher."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in apprehension at his words, her mind racing with questions and fears. What awaited her on the upper floors of the Sanctuary? What horrors lurked in the shadows beyond?

But before she could voice her concerns, Negan ushered her into a large room that served as the living quarters for the Saviors. The space was vast and utilitarian, filled with rows of neatly made beds and a rudimentary kitchen area that buzzed with activity.

(Y/N)'s gaze swept over the room, taking in the sight of the other Saviors who moved about with purposeful efficiency. Some exchanged terse words in hushed tones, while others tended to their duties with grim determination. It was a world unto itself, a microcosm of the twisted society that Negan had forged in his own image.

But amidst the cold steel and concrete, there was a glimmer of warmth—a full stock of supplies that lined the shelves, a testament to the resources at Negan's disposal. Food, water, medical supplies—all lay within reach, a tantalizing promise of security in a world fraught with uncertainty.

Negan grinned as he surveyed the room, his eyes alight with satisfaction at the sight of his domain. "Welcome home, kiddo," he declared, his voice dripping with false affection. "You're gonna fit in just fine here."

(Y/N)'s stomach churned at his words, a sense of dread settling like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She may have been within the walls of the Sanctuary, but she knew that she was far from safe. For in this world ruled by the whims of a madman, even the illusion of security could be shattered in an instant.

As the women approached, (Y/N)'s heart raced with apprehension, her instincts screaming at her to flee. She recoiled instinctively, her eyes darting towards the door with a desperate longing. But her escape route was blocked by Dwight, his form looming in the doorway like a silent sentinel.

"Don't even think about it," Dwight warned, his voice low and menacing as he fixed (Y/N) with a steely gaze. His words sent a shiver down her spine, a stark reminder of the consequences that awaited her should she attempt to defy Negan's authority.

(Y/N)'s scowl deepened as she stepped back, her fists clenched at her sides as she braced herself for whatever came next. The women approached with false smiles plastered on their faces, their voices dripping with saccharine sweetness as they cooed at her like she was some kind of pet.

"Well, well, well," one of them crooned, her voice oozing with false affection as she reached out to tousle (Y/N)'s hair. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing?"

(Y/N) recoiled from the woman's touch, her eyes blazing with defiance as she shook off her hand. She may have been young, but she refused to be patronized or treated like some helpless child.

The other women exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a mixture of amusement and condescension as they sized up the newest addition to their ranks. They may have been Negan's wives, but to (Y/N), they were nothing more than accomplices to his cruelty.

As they continued to fawn over her, (Y/N)'s patience wore thin, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Leave me alone," she snapped, her voice tinged with anger as she backed away from their advances. "I don't need your pity."

The women's smiles faltered for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing their features before they regained their composure. But (Y/N) refused to back down, her eyes blazing with defiance as she stood her ground against the forces that sought to break her spirit.

For in this world of darkness and despair, she would not be swayed by false promises or empty gestures. She would remain true to herself, a beacon of hope amidst the shadows that threatened to engulf them all.

As Sherry, Amber, Tanya, and Frankie approached (Y/N), their voices joined in a chorus of faux sweetness, their attempts to soothe her only serving to heighten her unease. (Y/N)'s muscles tensed as they closed in around her, their cloying gestures of affection feeling like suffocating chains binding her to this place.

Sherry, perhaps sensing (Y/N)'s discomfort, took a step forward, her expression softening with a feigned concern. "It's okay, sweetheart," she cooed, her voice a honeyed melody that grated on (Y/N)'s nerves. "The others can be a bit overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to it. We're all family here."

(Y/N) bristled at the word "family," her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she regarded the women before her. They may have been Negan's wives, but to (Y/N), they were nothing more than strangers in a strange land—a far cry from the loving embrace of her father's arms.

Sherry's gentle coaxing fell on deaf ears as (Y/N) remained steadfast in her resistance. But before she could protest further, Negan's voice cut through the air like a whip, his tone brimming with impatience.

"Enough with the coddling, Sherry," Negan snapped, his voice echoing with authority as he strode into the room. "(Y/N) needs to meet her new moms, whether she likes it or not."

(Y/N)'s heart sank at his words, a surge of panic rising within her chest. The thought of being forced into the company of these women, these strangers who served as willing accomplices to Negan's tyranny, filled her with a sense of dread unlike anything she had ever known.

But as Negan's wives closed in around her once more, their smiles tinged with a hint of malice, (Y/N) knew that she had no choice but to play along—for now, at least. For in this twisted game of survival, sometimes the only way to win was to bide your time and wait for the right moment to strike. As Sherry guided (Y/N) over to the table and seated her, the other women gathered around, their expressions a mix of curiosity and excitement. (Y/N) tried to mask her apprehension with a forced smile, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for whatever came next.

Frankie, with her nimble fingers, began to playfully tousle (Y/N)'s hair, eliciting a reluctant giggle from the young girl. Tanya, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, eagerly offered to paint (Y/N)'s nails, her hands already reaching for the polish with a childlike eagerness.

Meanwhile, Sherry, her smile warm and genuine, presented (Y/N) with a stack of coloring sheets and a box of crayons. "Here you go, sweetheart," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the midst of the chaos. "Why don't you color while we chat?"

(Y/N) nodded, her smile widening slightly as she took the coloring materials in her hands. It was a small gesture, but it helped to ease the tension that had settled over her like a suffocating blanket. She forced herself to relax, to let go of the fear and uncertainty that threatened to consume her.

As (Y/N) colored, the women chatted amongst themselves, their voices a gentle hum that filled the room with a sense of camaraderie. Sherry shared stories of her life before the apocalypse, of dreams and aspirations that now seemed like distant memories. Frankie regaled (Y/N) with tales of her own childhood, her laughter infectious as she recounted antics and adventures from days gone by.

Despite herself, (Y/N) found herself drawn into their conversation, her laughter mingling with theirs as she allowed herself to be swept away by the warmth of their camaraderie. For a brief moment, she forgot about the horrors that lurked outside these walls, about the uncertainty of her fate in this new world.

But as the hours passed and the sun dipped below the horizon, Negan's voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone sharp with impatience. "Dwight," he called out, his voice carrying a note of irritation, "it's getting late. Check on Daryl."

(Y/N)'s heart sank at the mention of her father's name, a surge of worry coursing through her veins. She glanced up from her coloring sheets, her gaze meeting Dwight's for a fleeting moment before he turned and left the room.

As the door closed behind him, (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder how her father was faring. Was he safe? Was he in pain? The questions swirled in her mind like a storm, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the fragile peace she had found in the company of Negan's wives.

But as she returned her attention to her coloring, her resolve hardened like steel. No matter the odds, no matter the dangers that lurked in the darkness, she would find a way to reunite with her father. For in this world of chaos and despair, their bond was the one constant she could cling to—a beacon of hope in the face of adversity. As (Y/N)'s exhaustion caught up with her, her eyelids grew heavy with weariness, her small frame sagging with fatigue. Sherry's gentle offer to put her to bed was met with a grateful nod from the young girl, her tired eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude.

With a tender smile, Sherry scooped (Y/N) up into her arms, cradling her like a precious doll as she carried her to the bedroom. (Y/N) leaned against Sherry's chest, her head nestled into the crook of the woman's neck as she savored the warmth and comfort of her embrace.

Meanwhile, Tanya's excitement bubbled over as she eagerly volunteered to help (Y/N) get ready for bed. With Sherry's assistance, the women carefully drew a bath for (Y/N), the warm water soothing her tired muscles and washing away the grime of the day. (Y/N) sighed contentedly as she sank into the water, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the blissful serenity of the moment.

The wives took turns bathing (Y/N), their laughter filling the air as they playfully splashed each other like mischievous children. Despite her weariness, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at their antics, the warmth of their camaraderie washing over her like a comforting embrace.

Once (Y/N) was clean and refreshed, the women carefully dried her off and dressed her in fresh clothes, their gentle touches a soothing balm to her weary soul. They took turns brushing her hair, the rhythmic motion lulling (Y/N) into a state of relaxation as she leaned back against the pillows.

From the doorway, Negan watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, his chuckle echoing through the room like a dark melody. As (Y/N) settled into bed, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion, Negan's grin widened, a sense of twisted satisfaction settling over him like a heavy cloak.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," he called out, his voice filled with false warmth as he turned to leave the room. "Tomorrow's a brand new day."

As the door closed behind him, (Y/N)'s eyelids fluttered shut, her breathing slow and steady as she drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber. And as she slept, her dreams were filled with visions of her father, his comforting presence a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded her.

As (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by the gentle morning light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. The soft aroma of pancakes wafted through the air, teasing her senses and drawing her out of her slumber.

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, (Y/N) sat up in bed, her gaze drifting toward the source of the enticing smell. There, in the small kitchen area, Tanya was bustling about, a cheerful smile adorning her face as she flipped pancakes on the griddle.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened with wonder as she watched Tanya work her culinary magic, her nimble hands shaping the batter into adorable teddy bear shapes. She had never seen anything quite like it before, and a gasp of delight escaped her lips at the sight of the whimsical creations taking form before her eyes.

"Tanya, are those… Teddy bear pancakes?" (Y/N) exclaimed, her voice filled with awe and excitement.

Tanya turned with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she nodded. "That's right, sweetie!" she chirped, her enthusiasm infectious. "I thought you might like a special breakfast this morning."

(Y/N)'s heart swelled with gratitude as she slid off the bed and made her way over to the kitchen, her stomach rumbling in anticipation. She watched eagerly as Tanya plated the pancakes, arranging them in a playful stack with a dollop of whipped cream for good measure.

With a gleeful giggle, (Y/N) eagerly tucked into her breakfast, savoring each bite of the fluffy pancakes as if they were the most delicious treat in the world. The warmth of the kitchen, the laughter of her newfound friends, and the taste of the pancakes combined to create a moment of pure joy—a fleeting respite from the trials and tribulations of their harsh reality.

As she ate, (Y/N) couldn't help but marvel at the kindness and generosity of those around her. In this world of darkness and despair, they had managed to find a glimmer of light—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still hope, still beauty, still moments of joy to be savored.

And as she savored her teddy bear pancakes, (Y/N) made a silent vow to cherish each moment, to hold onto the fleeting moments of happiness with all her heart. For in the midst of chaos and uncertainty, it was these small acts of kindness that gave her the strength to keep fighting, to keep hoping, to keep believing in a better tomorrow.

As Sherry greeted her with a warm smile, (Y/N) felt a sense of comfort wash over her, the gentle touch of the woman's hand soothing her like a balm. She sat patiently as Sherry styled her hair, her fingers working deftly through (Y/N)'s locks with practiced ease. (Y/N) couldn't help but beam with excitement, the prospect of seeing her daddy filling her with anticipation and joy.

"Can I see my daddy now?" (Y/N) asked eagerly, her eyes alight with anticipation.

Frankie, who had been lounging nearby, let out a sleepy yawn before nodding in agreement. (Y/N)'s heart soared with hope as she watched Frankie disappear from the room, her mind racing with thoughts of reuniting with her father.

But to (Y/N)'s dismay, it was not her father who returned with Frankie. Instead, it was Negan who sauntered into the room, his grin wide and infectious as he greeted her with a boisterous enthusiasm.

"Hey there, baby girl!" Negan exclaimed, his voice filled with false warmth as he leaned in to plant a kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead. "Missed you at breakfast!"

(Y/N)'s stomach churned with unease as Negan joined them at the table, his presence casting a shadow over the joyful atmosphere. She forced a polite smile, her discomfort evident as she picked at her food.

As they shared breakfast together, (Y/N) couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that gnawed at her insides. She longed to share the special pancake breakfast with her daddy, to see the joy on his face as he marveled at the whimsical creations Tanya had crafted for her.

"I wish I could show my daddy these pancakes," (Y/N) mumbled softly, her voice tinged with sadness.

But Negan's response only served to deepen her disappointment. "Well, guess what, sweetheart? Your daddy's right here!" he exclaimed, his grin widening with a smug satisfaction.

(Y/N)'s eyes narrowed in disbelief as she regarded Negan, a spark of defiance flickering in her gaze. "You're not my daddy," she stated firmly, her voice unwavering despite the uncertainty that swirled within her.

Negan's laughter filled the room, a hollow sound that echoed off the walls like a mocking taunt. "Oh, we'll see about that, baby girl," he replied, his tone laced with menace as he reached out to tousle her hair. "We'll see."

(Y/N) watched skeptically as Frankie held up the outfit, her eyebrow arching in silent protest at the sight of the pink overalls. She had never been one for frills and lace, preferring the practicality of her worn jeans and faded t-shirts. But as she glanced at the eager expressions of the women around her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity.

"Um, thanks?" (Y/N) muttered, her uncertainty evident as she reluctantly took the outfit from Frankie's outstretched hands.

Frankie beamed with pride, her excitement palpable as she gestured toward the outfit. "I thought you might like it! It's super cute, right?"

(Y/N) shrugged, trying to muster a polite smile as she examined the overalls. They were undeniably adorable, with their pastel pink hue and delicate floral embroidery. She couldn't deny that they had a certain charm, even if they were far removed from her usual style.

As Tanya eagerly showed her the brand new shoes, (Y/N)'s skepticism softened slightly. The shoes were a vibrant shade of pink, adorned with sparkly embellishments that caught the light and shimmered in the morning sun. They were unlike anything (Y/N) had ever owned before, but she couldn't deny that they held a certain allure.

"Wow, those are really something," (Y/N) murmured, her voice tinged with reluctant admiration as she examined the shoes.

Tanya grinned, her excitement contagious as she handed the shoes to (Y/N). "I thought they would look perfect with your outfit! You're going to look so cute!"

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile at Tanya's enthusiasm, her apprehension melting away as she realized that the women were only trying to help. Maybe stepping out of her comfort zone wouldn't be so bad after all. With a newfound sense of determination, she set about getting dressed, eager to see how the outfit would look once she had it on.

(Y/N) stood hesitantly before Negan, her small frame tense with uncertainty as she eyed his outstretched arms. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting dappled patterns on the floor as she hesitated, torn between the safety of the room and the unknown beyond.

Negan's grin widened as he beckoned to her, his voice dripping with false affection. "Come on now, sweetheart," he crooned, his tone laced with an unsettling charm. "Don't be shy. Daddy's waiting."

(Y/N)'s heart fluttered with unease as she glanced around the room, her eyes seeking reassurance in the faces of the women who watched with eager anticipation. Sherry offered her an encouraging smile, her eyes soft with warmth, while Tanya bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet, her enthusiasm infectious.

With a resigned sigh, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her small feet padding softly against the floor as she closed the distance between herself and Negan. His arms opened wide, welcoming her into his embrace with an exaggerated flourish.

"That's it, baby girl," Negan murmured, his voice coaxing as he scooped her up into his arms. "Come to daddy."

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat as she found herself enveloped in Negan's embrace, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the chill that gripped her heart. She shifted uncomfortably in his arms, her gaze flickering toward the door, a silent plea for escape echoing in her eyes.

But Negan held her fast, his grip firm yet oddly gentle as he adjusted her in his arms. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned toward the door, his grin widening as he prepared to lead her out into the world beyond.

"Let's go for a little walk, shall we?" Negan suggested, his voice oozing with false charm as he began to stride confidently toward the doorway. "Just you and me, baby girl. It'll be fun, I promise."

As Negan scooped (Y/N) up into his arms, her small frame tensed with hesitation, her eyes darting between him and the women gathered in the room. "Wait," she murmured, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Can… Can Sherry, Tanya, and Frankie come too?"

Negan paused, a bemused smirk playing on his lips at (Y/N)'s unexpected request. "What's this, sweetheart?" he teased, his tone laced with amusement. "You want your mommies to join us for a little stroll?"

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at Negan's teasing, but she pressed on, her gaze pleading with him. "I just… I really like them," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can't they come with us?"

Sherry, Tanya, and Frankie exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of surprise and warmth at (Y/N)'s words. Sherry stepped forward, her smile gentle and reassuring. "Of course, honey," she said, her voice filled with tenderness. "We'll come with you."

(Y/N)'s face lit up with relief at Sherry's response, a wave of gratitude washing over her. With her mommies by her side, she felt a sense of comfort and security that she hadn't realized she was craving.

Negan chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Well, I'll be damned," he remarked, his tone playful. "Looks like we've got ourselves a family outing."

(Y/N)'s heart swelled with happiness as Negan adjusted his grip, making room for Sherry, Tanya, and Frankie to join them. With her extended family in tow, she felt a surge of excitement building within her, eager to explore the world outside the sanctuary walls. (Y/N)'s laughter bubbled up from deep within her as Negan swung her upside down, her world momentarily flipped on its head as they traversed the courtyard of the sanctuary. With each joyful giggle that escaped her lips, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, the simple act of being carried by Negan bringing a sense of lightness to her spirit.

The warmth of the sun kissed her upturned face, its golden rays casting a gentle glow over the bustling compound. For a fleeting moment, (Y/N) closed her eyes, basking in the radiant embrace of sunlight, the cares of the world melting away in its warmth.

As Negan's steady footsteps carried them forward, (Y/N)'s laughter mingled with the sounds of the sanctuary—a symphony of activity and camaraderie that surrounded them like a comforting embrace. The courtyard bustled with life, Saviors going about their duties with a sense of purpose that filled the air with energy and vitality.

With each step, (Y/N) felt a sense of freedom coursing through her veins, the weight of the world lifting with every playful swing of Negan's arm. In this fleeting moment of joy, she felt truly alive, her laughter a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity.

As they journeyed across the courtyard, upside down and carefree, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures of life—a warm embrace, a ray of sunshine, and the laughter of loved ones echoing through the air. And in that moment, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them with courage and resilience, buoyed by the strength of the bonds that held her close.

As (Y/N) swung from Negan's arm, her gaze swept across the sanctuary, taking in the details of her surroundings with a keen eye. With each passing moment, she absorbed everything she could about the people and the place that had become her new home, her inquisitive nature driving her to learn more about the lives of those around her.

Tanya, ever the cheerful presence, shared snippets of her past with (Y/N), her voice filled with warmth as she recounted her days as a chef in a world long gone. "I used to whip up gourmet meals for fancy folks," she explained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. "But now, I'm cooking up survival here with the best of them!"

Frankie, the spirited masseuse, chimed in with her own tales, her voice tinged with a hint of mischief as she regaled (Y/N) with stories of pampered clients and luxurious spas. "I used to work wonders with my hands," she chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Now, I'm kneading out knots and tensions in a whole different way."

Sherry remained quiet, her expression guarded as (Y/N) observed her from her upside-down vantage point. Despite her reticence, (Y/N) could sense that there was more to Sherry than met the eye—a hidden depth that spoke of secrets and sorrows left unspoken. In a world where survival often meant burying the past, (Y/N) understood that many chose to conceal their true selves behind a facade of strength and resilience.

As they continued their journey through the sanctuary, (Y/N) listened intently as Negan conversed with another Savior about patrol routes and security protocols. Curiosity burned within her, and she seized the opportunity to pose her own question to the man.

"What did you used to do before all this?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine interest as she swung from Negan's arm. "Before the world went to hell, I mean."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened with intrigue as she glanced around at Negan's wives, her surprise mirrored in their stunned expressions. It was rare for anyone to stump Negan, let alone his own inner circle.

Negan, ever the enigma, turned his attention back to (Y/N), his grin widening into a mischievous smirk as he lowered himself to her level. "Well, well, well, little lady," he began, his voice dripping with playful secrecy. "That's a secret I'll have to keep to myself."

(Y/N)'s curiosity only deepened at his response, her mind racing with possibilities. What hidden past lay behind Negan's charismatic facade? What secrets lurked beneath the surface of the man who held sway over their lives?

With a knowing glint in his eye, Negan reached out to tousle (Y/N)'s hair, his gesture both affectionate and teasing. "But who knows," he added with a wink, "maybe one day I'll tell you the whole bloody tale."

(Y/N) couldn't help but grin at Negan's playful banter, a sense of camaraderie forming between them in that moment. Despite the uncertainty of their circumstances, there was a bond of trust and understanding that transcended the chaos of their world—a connection forged in the fires of adversity and shared experiences.

As they continued their journey through the sanctuary, (Y/N)'s mind buzzed with excitement, her thoughts consumed by the tantalizing mystery of Negan's past. And though the secrets of his history remained shrouded in mystery for now, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Negan than met the eye—a depth and complexity that defied easy categorization.

(Y/N)'s heart pounded in her chest as she watched in horror, her breath catching in her throat as the door swung open nearby. Her eyes widened with disbelief and anguish as she saw her father, Daryl, emerge from the darkness, his battered form a stark testament to the brutality of their captors. He was barely recognizable, his clothes torn and bloodied, his face a mask of pain and defiance.

A choked sob escaped (Y/N)'s lips as she took in the sight of her father, her entire body trembling with fear and sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to throw her arms around him and never let go. But before she could take a single step, Negan's strong arms encircled her, lifting her off the ground with surprising ease.

"Daddy!" (Y/N)'s voice cracked with desperation as she reached out for Daryl, her heart breaking at the sight of him being dragged away towards the walker-infested fence. She struggled against Negan's grip, her small fists pounding against his chest as she fought to break free.

But Negan held her tightly, his smile as chilling as it was infuriating. "Sorry, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "But Daddy's got other things to worry about now. You're with me."

(Y/N)'s chest heaved with emotion as she glared at Negan, her eyes blazing with defiance even as tears streamed down her cheeks. She refused to let Negan tear her away from her father, refused to let him break their bond.

But as Daryl fell into line with the other prisoners, his gaze never leaving hers, (Y/N)'s heart clenched with anguish. She knew that she couldn't reach him, couldn't save him from the horrors that awaited him.

And as Negan led her away, his grip tightening around her trembling form, (Y/N) vowed to never forget the sight of her father's battered face, to never lose hope that one day they would be reunited. For in this world of darkness and despair, their love was a beacon of light—a guiding force that would lead them through the shadows and into the dawn of a new day.

As they settled down amidst the vibrant hues of the courtyard, (Y/N) couldn't shake the heaviness in her heart, the image of her father's anguished face burned into her mind. Yet, she tried to push aside her fears, if only for a moment, as Negan offered to play a game with her.

Negan's smile was almost disarming as he produced a deck of Uno cards, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "Alright, kiddo, how about a little game of Uno?" he proposed, his voice surprisingly jovial as he shuffled the cards with practiced ease.

(Y/N)'s pout persisted, her brows furrowed with worry, but she nodded reluctantly. She knew that refusing Negan's offer would only invite trouble, and she desperately needed a distraction from the turmoil churning inside her.

As the game progressed, (Y/N) found herself surprisingly engrossed, the simple act of playing cards providing a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of their reality. She stole glances at Negan, the man who held her fate in his hands, and couldn't help but feel a pang of confusion at his seemingly genuine attempt to bond with her.

But beneath the surface, (Y/N) remained vigilant, her guard never faltering as she navigated the delicate balance between compliance and defiance. She may have been forced into Negan's world against her will, but she refused to let him break her spirit.

And as the Uno cards flew across the makeshift table, (Y/N)'s determination burned brighter than ever, a silent promise to herself that no matter what trials lay ahead, she would never surrender to the darkness.

The wives observed (Y/N) with a mixture of concern and curiosity, their protective instincts kicking in as they witnessed the young girl's fluctuating emotions. Despite the heaviness of their surroundings, (Y/N) seemed to loosen up in Negan's presence, her youthful energy bubbling to the surface as she immersed herself in the game of Uno.

As the cards flew and the laughter bubbled forth, (Y/N)'s serious facade began to crack, revealing glimpses of the carefree child hidden beneath. With each playful gesture and infectious giggle, she seemed to shed the weight of her worries, if only for a fleeting moment.

The wives exchanged glances, their expressions softening as they watched (Y/N)'s transformation. Despite the darkness that surrounded them, there was a sense of hope in the air, a reminder that even in the bleakest of times, moments of joy could still be found.

(Y/N)'s antics grew more animated with each passing minute, her movements becoming increasingly exuberant as she reveled in the simple pleasure of being a child. She spun around in circles, her laughter ringing out like music in the courtyard, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere that often pervaded their lives.

And as Negan joined in her antics, his own laughter mingling with hers, there was a brief respite from the harsh realities of their world. In that moment, they were simply a group of people, bound together by shared experiences and the fragile hope of a better tomorrow.

For (Y/N), it was a brief reprieve from the shadows that haunted her dreams, a chance to embrace the fleeting joys of childhood amidst the chaos of their reality. And for the wives, it was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the light of laughter could still pierce through the gloom, if only for a moment.

As the game of Uno progressed, Negan found himself growing unexpectedly attached to (Y/N). Her infectious laughter and playful antics warmed something within him that he had long believed to be lost amidst the harsh realities of their world.

With a grin that bordered on genuine warmth, Negan leaned in closer to (Y/N), his eyes sparkling with affection as he declared, "You know what, kiddo? You're the cutest potato in the garden."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise at Negan's unexpected compliment, a giggle escaping her lips as she looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Potato?" she repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Negan chuckled, his heart swelling with a strange sense of fondness for the young girl. "That's right," he affirmed, his tone playful yet genuine. "You're tough and resilient, just like a potato. And just like a potato, you've got a heart of gold."

(Y/N)'s laughter filled the air once more, her eyes shining with newfound affection for the man who had unexpectedly become a source of comfort in the midst of chaos. Despite his reputation as a ruthless leader, there was a softer side to Negan that few ever had the chance to see—a side that revealed in the simple joy of companionship, even in the most unlikely of circumstances.

As the game drew to a close and the courtyard began to quieten, Negan found himself reluctant to part ways with (Y/N). He ruffled her hair affectionately, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced around at the wives, who watched the interaction with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"You're alright, kid," Negan remarked, his voice tinged with genuine affection as he stood up, offering (Y/N) a hand to help her to her feet. "Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

(Y/N) nodded eagerly, her smile radiant as she reached out to take Negan's hand. In that moment, amidst the rubble and ruins of their world, a bond had formed—one that transcended the barriers of age and circumstance, offering a glimmer of hope in a sea of darkness.

And as they parted ways, each going about their duties with a newfound sense of purpose, Negan couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected joy that (Y/N) had brought into his life. For in a world where trust was a rare commodity, their unlikely friendship was a beacon of light amidst the shadows, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still room for laughter and love.

As (Y/N) strolled alongside Tanya, the warmth of their intertwined hands offered a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty that hung in the air. Tanya's gentle smile and reassuring presence served as a soothing balm to (Y/N)'s restless thoughts, grounding her in the present moment.

The other wives chatted animatedly amongst themselves, their voices a soothing backdrop to the rhythmic sounds of their footsteps echoing through the courtyard. (Y/N) listened intently, picking up fragments of conversation that hinted at the complexities of life within the sanctuary walls.

As they walked, Tanya spoke of her experiences before the world had changed, sharing stories of her life as a chef in a bustling city far removed from the desolation that now surrounded them. (Y/N) found herself captivated by Tanya's tales, her imagination painting vivid pictures of a world long since lost to the ravages of time.

Occasionally, they would pass groups of Saviors going about their duties, their faces etched with determination as they worked tirelessly to maintain the sanctuary's fragile existence. (Y/N) observed them with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, acutely aware of the power dynamics at play within their community.

But amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, (Y/N) found solace in the simple act of walking hand in hand with Tanya. In that moment, she felt a sense of belonging—a feeling that she had longed for since the world had turned upside down.

As they continued their journey, (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder what awaited them at their destination. Would they find her father, battered and bruised but alive? Or would they be met with disappointment and despair?

But for now, all she could do was focus on the present moment, drawing strength from the companionship of those around her as they navigated the uncertain terrain of their shattered world. And as they walked, hand in hand, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope flicker within her heart—a hope that despite the darkness that threatened to engulf them, they would find a way to persevere, together. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm, comforting light as the women tucked (Y/N) into bed, their gentle hands smoothing the covers over her small form. Tanya, Frankie, and Sherry exchanged fond smiles as they settled around her, ready to read her a bedtime story.

Frankie held up a worn book, its pages well-loved and dog-eared from countless readings. "How about a story about a brave man who fought against all odds?" she suggested, her voice soft and soothing.

(Y/N)'s eyes sparkled with anticipation as she nodded eagerly, snuggling deeper into her pillows in anticipation of the tale to come.

As Frankie began to read, her voice a melodic cadence that filled the room with warmth, Negan slipped quietly into the doorway, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Mind if I join in?" he interjected, his tone light and playful.

The women exchanged knowing glances, their expressions fond as they made room for him on the edge of the bed. Negan settled in beside (Y/N), his presence a comforting weight at her side.

Together, they listened as Frankie spun a tale of bravery and courage, of a man who faced insurmountable challenges with unwavering resolve. Negan chimed in at intervals, his deep voice adding an extra layer of drama to the story.

But despite the captivating narrative, (Y/N) remained restless, her mind buzzing with thoughts and worries that refused to be silenced. Negan noticed her fidgeting and leaned closer, his gaze softening with concern.

"You having trouble sleeping, kiddo?" he asked, his tone gentle as he reached out to tousle her hair affectionately.

(Y/N) nodded, her brow furrowed with frustration. "I can't stop thinking," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Negan chuckled softly, the sound a warm ripple of amusement in the quiet room. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" he teased, a playful twinkle in his eye. "I need my beauty sleep if I'm going to keep up with these lovely ladies here."

(Y/N) scowled playfully at his jest, her lips curling into a half-hearted pout. "I don't want you to go," she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Negan's expression softened, a warm smile touching his lips as he reached out to brush away a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo," he reassured her, his voice gentle but firm. "I'm right here with you."

(Y/N)'s gaze softened at his words, a flicker of trust and reassurance passing between them. She sighed softly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket.

Negan's playful demeanor shifted to one of quiet concern as he regarded her, his eyes soft with affection. "What can I do to help you relax, (Y/N)?" he asked, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Tell me, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you get a good night's sleep."

(Y/N)'s mischievous grin widened as she leaned closer to Negan, her eyes dancing with playful mischief. "I'd sleep so much better if you weren't breathing," she teased, her voice laced with mock seriousness.

Negan chuckled at her boldness, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, is that so?" he replied, his tone light and teasing. "Well, lucky for you, I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon."

But before he could finish his sentence, (Y/N)'s hand darted out from under her blanket, a small knife glinting in the dim light of the room. Negan's reflexes kicked in instinctively, his hand closing around hers with surprising speed, effectively disarming her before she could make a move.

(Y/N)'s laughter rang out, a melodic sound that filled the room with its infectious energy. "Nice try, kiddo," Negan chuckled, his grip firm but gentle as he pushed her back onto the bed with his other hand.

He glanced down at the knife in his hand, a bemused expression crossing his features. "Where did you get this, huh?" he asked, his tone light but tinged with curiosity.

Tanya gasped in horror, her eyes widening in alarm as she realized what had happened. "I-I didn't know she had it," she stammered, her voice tinged with panic.

Negan chuckled softly, his demeanor surprisingly calm given the situation. "Relax, Tanya," he reassured her, his tone soothing. "No harm done. Kids will be kids, after all."

(Y/N) grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she snuggled deeper into her blankets. "I'm the cutest, right?" she teased, her tone playful but with a hint of pride.

Negan's laughter filled the room, a warm and genuine sound that echoed with affection. "You sure are, kiddo," he replied, his voice filled with fondness as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "You sure are."

(Y/N)'s smile widened at Negan's playful challenge, a glint of determination flickering in her eyes. "Just you wait, Negan," she replied with a grin. "One of these days, I'll catch you off guard."

Negan chuckled, his laughter rich and hearty as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "I'll be waiting for that day, kiddo," he teased, his voice tinged with amusement. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his gesture a silent reassurance of their bond.

As (Y/N) nestled deeper into her bed, a sense of warmth and security enveloped her. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle presence of her makeshift family, she felt a profound sense of belonging. And as sleep beckoned once more, she drifted off with a contented sigh, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them with courage and determination.

[coverfossils]

i really could use help because I still don’t know what the FUCK is happening. I’ve at least figured out this is a ghost, a people ghost. not a ghost Pokémon! But who the HELL has experience with that.

[helpmyinterestsareverywhere]

DRAGONS RISING SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!

I'm trying to just get my thoughts out because HOO BOY

Lloyd, my baby boy, how on EARTH did the writers fill him with MORE trauma - im pretty sure hes going to explode soon - Sam Vincent's voice acting WAS SO GOOD, the geniune panicky breathing put ME on edge and the way he sounded in AGONY everytime another vision came OUUUCH - AND AND his vision/fear thingy from the trials?? Devastating how could you let Wu say the words, writers when I get you - also he was trying to be so helpful to Arin please he's just a little guy trying to parent I love him so much

the SECOND we got told about the warrior wolf masks and them shattering the good inside people in order to get strength/Spinjitzu/power etc my IMMEDIATE first thought was "Arin..." and then they bring up the fact that HES SO GOOD SO OF COURSE THIS MEANS THAT HE WOULD GET SO MUCH POWER AND THEN HIS RUN IN WITH RAS AHHH (also while I know it was a weird like knock-out vision, seeing him see Nya and Lloyd as his parents was cute to me (NOT IN A SHIP WAY DONT BE WEIRD) - Nya has been very "Mama Nya" so far and I'm loving it <3) - Arin's arc has been PAINFUL (in a good way) and THAT LAST BIT WITH SORA HELPING HIM DO OBJECT SPINJITZU DONT I KNOW THATS GONNA COME BACK TO BITE THEM IN THE ASS

Nya,,, and Kai,,, AND WYLDFYRE MY BABIES OOOUGHHH HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO THEM - seeing more childhood stuff for Nya and Kai is ALWAYS a delight they were so small just little babies and the way that it was how BOTH of them unlocked rising dragon OOOUGH THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SO MUCH - "My big brother is my hero, and now he's the world's hero, again." 😭😭 genuine agony - especially with Nya and Wyldfyre's hug afterwards - the little sob Nya let out DONT TOUCH ME - they miss him so much, that's his sister and daughter ooooughhh

JAY??? JAY!! what a pleasant surprise - oh jesus how are you traumatised with no memories - he was so terrified to have it revealed that he can use lightning my boy im so sorry - I hope he recovers from the agony of desk jobs soon <3 ALSO THE FLASHBACK WITH COLE AND JAY??? THEY'RE NERDS, THEY'RE SUCH BIG NERDS I LOVE THEM AND MISS THEM PLEASE BRING THEM BACK I MISS THEM THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS YOUR HONOUR - I'm not even gonna think about the fear/vision thing from Nya in the trials because OUCH

Cole and Geo <333 and their family <333 my babygirl Bonzle i love her so much 😔 - WHEN (if) Kai and Bonzle escape that maze thingy they BETTER come out friends - as soon as he meets her he calls her kid??? That man needs to stop being a dad to every breathing that crosses his path

Ras was as awful as always, hate him with every fibre in my being I hope he perishes /pos /pos - Jordana was GENUINELY tweaking out at the end there, can't wait to see her go insane and absolutely rock the Ninja's shit <33

SPEAKING OF ROCKING THE NINJA'S SHIT - CINDER???? godDAMN - what a ruthless little man actually genuinely I want to wipe that dumb smug smirk off of his face /pos - I enjoyed Sora trapping him in a box like a feral cat, deserved <333 (I will say, hearing his voice for the first time was... interesting 👀)

Sora is as wonderful as always, I love her so much <33 SHE WAS SO EXCITED LEARNING SPINJITZU WITH RIYU THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOUR - she's so silly I love her epsecialy since all she wanted to do was hype up Arin because thats her best friend who she loves so much dont talk to me <3

I think that's it?? Just goddamn what an EXPERIENCE - I love Dragons Rising - I can't wait for part 2 <3

[veliseraptor]

for the wip meme, I’ll pull the devil down with me, one way or another, please! I've been obsessed with it since I first saw it on your wip list.

the premise for this one is basically "loki makes the decision to betray asgard and sell out to thanos for the sake of a long game ending in thanos's defeat, and this involves a lot of atrocities that are ultimately undone but 100% still happened as far as loki is concerned, up to and including thor's murder." honestly it's drawing thematically on the fear itself arc of journey into mystery but nastier.

I think my trouble with this one is that I've been lingering too long on the aftermath and it's drawing it out unnecessarily, but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to end it otherwise. and, I mean, there's a whole bunch of stuff that needs to get filled in in the middle, but I feel like the stalling point might be figuring out how to end the damn thing (as is often the case, for me).

excerpt!!!

“My lord,” he said, not bothering to mask the tremor in his voice. Thanos would expect fear. “I return.”  “So you do,” Thanos said after a long silence. Loki kept his eyes down, not daring to look up. “You return, Loki of Asgard, a failure. You failed to overcome one puny planet. You failed to bring me the Tesseract, as was promised. In all that I sent you to do, you failed.”  Loki swallowed hard. There was no need to feign his terror; Thanos’s voice alone sent it vibrating deep into his bones. “I know,” he said. “And I am - I am sorry.” “I do not want your apologies, whelp,” Thanos said. “Take him. Do what you like with him. But do not kill him. I would not offer Death such a pathetic gift.”  “Please,” Loki said quickly. “All is - all is not lost, my lord. It is true that - Midgard still stands. But I do not come before you empty handed, and I have not been idle.”  Lie. Lie as well as you have ever lied, Loki Silvertongue, for the fate of the Nine and beyond rests on your ability to trick a mad god.  “I was captured, true, but I gained the trust of the Odinson when the Aether was found again.” Silence, but the emissary did not seize him yet. “I feigned my death-” Choking on blood, jerking back to life in spasms of agony - “and gained the throne of Asgard. And now I come to you bearing not only the price agreed-” He laid the Tesseract down, “-but another artifact of great power, that I will either give to you or use in your service. I know, too, the location of the Aether. It is with the Collector on Knowhere. If you wish, I would fetch it for you-” “I am sure that you would,” Thanos interrupted. Loki fell silent. He could hear his own breathing, loud and strained; at least that would not play against him.

[lakesbian]

Worm bingo for Lisa Wilbourn?

everyone loves lisa wilbourn

well me too. i love everything wrong with her girl also. really enjoying watching her Intense Agonies this go around. STILL thinking about the arc 3 bit from last night where she's in the other room trying to negotiate with coil--this man who WILL enslave her if she fucks up!--to ensure her team gets the best deal possible. and all of the other undersiders are just being silly teenagers completely unaware. (well, all of the other undersiders but rachel, who is presumably in her room having a nap or whatever.) i really enjoy worm's genre examination/subversion moment where bank robberies in a world where powers are real are so common that brian's response to lisa cheerfully saying they're going to rob one is just an immediate "absolutely not"--because the frequent bank robberies have led to banks becoming highly fortified + not actually keeping too much cash on the premises. high risk, low reward. & there's a reason why lisa is acting like a stereotypical cheesy cartoon villain while brian is acting more level-headed--it's not just solely for the sake of having the idea of a bank robbery dissected, it's because lisa is actively playing up that role as a mask for the gun being held to her head & to make being an undersider seem more tolerable and appealing for taylor! she instinctively smiles while brian is listing off rational reasons not to rob a bank (fully unaware that lisa HAS to convince them to rob the bank), and she instinctively acts cheerful to the point of being almost twee when she has to convince her team to take on a high-risk job so her and everyone on her team doesn't get fucked over. it is sooo good that worm's approach for engaging w/ the idea of more cartoony cops/robbers cape media is by having a character who acts like she ascribes to the idea as a cover for the fact that she has some of the highest stakes possible

[signalterminated]

puella madoka magica au

Reality is coming down around them.

II can feel the fabric of it warp and bend, tears carved at a molecular level spilling antimatter across the sky. A kaleidoscope of color shimmers high above them like a bursting star. Scattered infrared trickles down as particulate, psychedelic nuclear fallout. The taste is akin to pop rocks candy mixed with battery acid. It fizzles on the tongue. Nauseating like a free fall, that split second suspension before a roller coaster drop.

II hasn’t been on a roller coaster since he was a teenager. He breathes out slowly, trying to orient himself in the non euclidean geometry reshaping the ruins around them, spreading like an infection. 

To say they’ve fucked up is an understatement.

They were fools for thinking they could bring Sleep through to the other side. As if they could contain the endless possibility of a thing not meant to be contained, not meant to walk or float or do anything other than be. Oh, He had wanted, yes, and wanted so badly, but He’d been unable to conceive of what that wanting truly meant. How do you picture a color that doesn’t exist, the inversion of everything you are?

It turns out neither had they. They’d simply listened to the want that throbbed in their bones like an ache, trusting blindly that a god would have figured it all out already, gifting them glory and ascension with His emerging as promised. 

But collapsing the barrier between domains hadn’t brought anything other than the collapsing, and now III and IV are gone. 

The First Vessel writhes at his side, and this concerns him more than anything else. 

II musters what energy he has to lean over, chewing his lip to pieces, hands hovering over his beloved friend but unsure of where to place them. This wasn’t supposed to happen. III and IV’s demise, the agony The First displays as he claws at the ground, it's all a composite of every nightmare he’s ever had — only pinching himself won’t make it stop.

“What’s wrong?” II’s voice is tight with worry bubbling over into panic. How quickly helplessness can chew away at his resolve and leave him scrambling. “Please, tell me how I can help.”

Vessel’s throat strains but the only thing he can manage is a whimper. He’s jerking side to side as if he’s trying to hold on, or…no, like he’s trying to keep something in. Fighting back an invisible force raging within.

II’s blood goes cold. His hand darts out to cup a masked cheek, calling out his name yet again, pleading with him to hold on, to focus on his voice, please, he’s right here — 

Vessel’s body snaps upward like a stop motion marionette. II barely has time to register the crack of snapping bones before Vessel’s jaw drops open to let out a scream unlike anything he’s ever heard. It lances directly through II’s skull, pure anguish amplified into a sonic tidal wave that has him drawing his arms up on instinct. 

Thinking past that noise is impossible. It echoes off of shattered glass and rubble until II’s certain the whole world will be swallowed by it. It’s like his soul is being dissolved while he’s still breathing, a violent disintegration of being. A blur of opalescent darkness arcs up from him and shoots into the sky like a bolt of cosmic lightning.

The First Vessel is dying. Sleep is dying, too. 

What’s reborn from their desiccated husks is neither man nor god. Misshapen, malnourished, desperate to exist yet unable to bend to the laws of the universe it’s been thrust into. It cries and the air around it emits superheated vapor, blowing out then turning in on itself to form localized vacuums. The dreams of countless minds spill out from a shifting sea of mouths all caught muttering and giggling and sighing and sobbing, vomiting blurs of sound and light that II can’t bear to look at. They morph and tremble, uncertain now that they’re free, painting the landscape in shadows wherever they crawl.

The ground around them is starting to grow teeth.

“Why?” II can barely hear himself over the cacophony rising from the apocalypse in motion. Tears spill down his cheeks and crystallize. “I don’t understand.”

The thing that is not god or a man is laughing. 

“Why did this have to happen?”

The thing that is not a god or a man is weeping.

Black tar is gurgling underneath him, rising like a tide. Hands sprout from the muck to latch onto his limbs and drag him down with exponential speed. He doesn’t fight it. His head is still craned to the sky, to what remains of the man he loves, and he closes his eyes to pray for one last wish. 

This can’t be how it ends. If he could just turn back the clock he’d stop this from ever happening, do things right, save all of them, he could he could he could —

He opens his eyes to a white ceiling and an alarm blaring in his ears. It figures the afterlife would be noisy and...familiar? That's the word. There's an uncomfortable warmth radiating from the soft sheets beneath him and the duvet above, body heat trapped between both after hours of rest. A mundane discomfort.

Wait a second.

He violently kicks off the sheets tangled around his sweaty legs and slams his palm on the snooze button, heart at a gallop. Dull blue light leaks through the cheap venetian blinds at his window.

His window. This is his room, in his flat, in…

He scrambles for the smartphone left precariously at his bedside table, tapping it on. The date on the lockscreen is January of 2016.

Oh, shit.

Either his brain has just taken him on the longest, most wickedly lucid nightmare of his entire life, or he’s been granted a miracle.