#also I very very barely hardly talk about animal sacrifice but like the warning still felt

[ahollowgrave]

-pokes you gently- so what's it like getting a reading from Selenite and how likely is she to tell you outright when you'll die? For reasons :)

(Mentions of: Bones, Animal Sacrifice below the cut.)

The reading room is small and cramped -- Nite prefers the word ‘close.’ Scarfs dyed hues of blue are draped over the light sources, casting a watery mosaic onto the low ceiling. The smell of incense hangs in the air, hazy. There are no windows and only two doorways; the one you just came through has a fall of fabric serving as its door. As it drapes shut behind you it muffles the waiting room and the city beyond, making the sounds distant and otherworldly.

The center of the room hosts a small, round table with a lip around the edge. Two equally plush chairs face each other over it. Shelves line the walls, each one filled to bursting. Jars of buttons, of coins, of metal shavings, bags of varied materials and sizes, some with drawstrings open and their contents spilling out: dried seeds, teeth, bits of bone. Locks of hair carefully glued and pinned into intricate knots or frames or braids. Bits of rock and brightly gleaming crystals in wide-ranging hues. Feathers and scales and claws of beasts. Not to mention the trinkets; Lockets, charms and their bracelets, rings, keychains, and necklaces fill the empty spots, or their own jars, or hang precariously from the corner of shelves. It is hard to take it all in, truly. As your eyes adjust they find that Nite is already waiting for you. A low, pastel light emits from her hair and in the quiet room, barely audible, you can make out the whirring of her eyes as they focus on you, take you in.

(I talk about bones and animal sacrifice from this point on!!) What happens from here depends so much on the customer and their question! Nite uses bones in her reading in the forms of Osteomancy and Scapulimancy. The former is when one is ‘casting’ with bones and other objects and diving things from the way the objects fall. The latter is divining the future from the markings on the shoulder blade of an animal; often an animal sacrificed in the name of the question asker.

Her strongest, clearest readings are done via Scapulimancy. However, because this involves venturing outside of the safety of S9 most of Selenite’s customers don’t reach for this method. Mostly, hunters or fighters of The Arcadion. Thankfully, if a client truly wants a reading done this way, Obsidian (@iron-sparrow's S9 beauty) is happy to do the perilous part for them. For a fee, of course! Maintenance isn’t cheap, even if being done by your best friend.

So, most of Selenite’s readings are done via Osteomancy.

For reference, Osteomancy heavily features bones (of animals) hence the name! However, a practitioner will mix items of importance in with the bones. Hence all those trinkets! Depending on the client, depending on the question, depending on recent events, and the vibes of the day, Selenite will change out the items in her basket.

Selenite does not wear a regulator anymore and when she realizes a client will meet with death soon she makes a promise -- often just to herself but sometimes directly -- to remember and mourn them. Sometimes she asks for something of theirs on that last meeting and often this gets added to her collection and used when she feels moved too.

Not all her clients are seeking answers related to their death! In fact, few are. But that doesn’t mean Selenite doesn’t know, doesn’t learn.  If they haven’t asked directly she won’t tell them directly! S9 already fears death and grief too much for her taste and she won’t add to it. Truly, this knowledge is a burden and it is not one Selenite seeks to give to lay on her client’s shoulders. Mostly she wants them not to be scared when Death comes.

When asked directly she answers directly.

Thank you for the ask! And your patience in my answering!

[graniairish]

Walking on eggshells

So this is my first own story here. I hope it is written in an understandable way. (Please ignore any grammatical errors. English is not my mother tongue.)

Title: Walking on eggshells

Words: 6761

Warnings: language (some explicit words), harassment and insults, heartbreak

Summary:

Daryl and reader have been close friends since the early days in Atlanta. They are deeply in love with each other but have no clue about it.

At some point new people join the community, including a young woman who is immediately after Daryl.

Reader is not exactly thin, no size zero, but also not fat, rather curvy, feminine. Even in this apocalyptic time. (you are just the way you are.)

Daryl has withdrawn more and more from reader, avoids contact. Reader believes he does that because he now has a perfect woman by his side.

However, Daryl avoids reader because he does not know how to deal with his feelings.

One day reader goes on a run that goes wrong. To save their group, the reader does a suicide stunt, that can cost her life.

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

"Ya even know what ya're doin’?"

Those were the first words Daryl Dixon had ever said to you.

It was still at camp in Atlanta. Daryl stood over you, the sun behind him, as he looked down at you as you made a stew from a basket full of leaves and mushrooms.

“Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing here. My mother taught me as a child which mushrooms and plants are edible, and which can be used as medicine."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

"If ya say so."

With that he dropped something in front of you.

"Maybe the whole thin’ tastes like somethin’ with that," he said before he turned around and made his way back to his brother.

Your eyes followed him - confused. Only then did you notice that he had thrown about a dozen freshly hunted squirrels in front of you.

Maybe the grumpy redneck was not that bad after all, you thought to yourself with a smile as you started to skin and gut the dead animals.

It was not long before a friendship developed between you. You were the only one he really let near him after the disappearance of his brother and Sophia's death. And after the farm was overrun by Walkers, he was by your side to comfort you.

He was always there for you, just as you were for him. You cared for each other.

But you only noticed how deep the feelings really were on your side when Daryl - after the incident with Woodbury - had turned his back on you and everyone else and disappeared into the woods. Just to be with his brother.

The realization that you were infinitely in love with the withdrawn redneck hit you hard. And just seeing him walk away hurt you so much that you could not breathe.

Without knowing it, Daryl had broken your heart into a million pieces.

It felt like he took a part of you with him.

More and more you withdrew from the others. From time to time, you even slept in the old management office of the Prison, far away from the cell block, from everyone else, from your family. You just wanted to be left alone in your grief and heartbreak.

In the first time you had gone through hell emotionally and a psychological breakdown would not have been long in coming. And if it had not been for Maggie, you probably would not have found your way back.

She had been your solid rock and, without you really noticing, had become your best friend - your sister.

And after a while it got better. It did not hurt that much anymore. Although it was not quite true. It still hurt - hurt infinitely - but the distances that those waves of grief hit you grew larger.

And then suddenly Daryl was back.

It was a shock to you.

And the moment he moved back into his cell in the cell block, you moved out. There was no trace of you or your belongings in the whole building anymore.

Quietly, and without anyone noticing, you moved into the management's office - permanently. The thought of being so close to him - physically - without actually being able to be close to him was just unbearable for you.

And so you had retreated.

Daryl did not seem to mind. It almost seemed as if he had not even really noticed it.

You hardly had any contact with each other. He rarely talked to you, and if he did, then only what was necessary and as monosyllabic as possible. He even seemed to be avoiding you.

But that's how life works - hard and unfair.

And you cannot choose who to fall in love with.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. But it only worked like that in movies and love songs, right? It did not work that way in real life, at least not for you.

As time goes by you had devoted all your concentration to your small farm. Your mother taught you how to handle plants as a child. In your previous life - before the apocalypse - you also had a vegetable garden with which you mostly tended yourself. So you knew the job and it was easy for you.

You lived in your own little world where you worked side by side with Rick and spent your meager free time with Maggie. Sometimes Carol would join you, but you had already noticed that she somehow always dropped a few comments about Daryl.

You did not want to talk about the redneck, let alone think about him. So, you ignored her as best you could - or at least her suggestions.

But it was not that easy. Your whole prison family knew how deep your feelings were for Daryl. No matter how hard you try to hide it, hide yourself from it.

Then Woodbury fell. New people came to the Prison and with them a young woman - Michelle. Probably only in her mid-twenties, model type, blonde, pretty. A typical homecoming queen.

To you, she made it seem like she had never worked hard in her entire life. She was the type of person who always muddled through, for her own benefit.

And just a few days after moving in, she was permanently on Daryl's heels. She asked questions, talked to him, spent most of the days near him.

But worst of all, she was openly flirting with the man you loved, and he did not seem to mind. Your stomach cramped painfully at the sight, and you had not been able to eat for two days.

Your heart, painstakingly patched together, broke one more time. After that you had avoided Daryl and his blond girl for almost a week, avoided them like the devil had shunned holy water.

But it could not go on like that. And at a certain point you realized: as long as Daryl was happy, nothing else mattered. At least for you.

To make matters worse, there was that cruel little voice in your head that kept whispering to you why Daryl was interested in Michelle and not you. It kept talking to you, all the time.

And then the little wheels in your head started spinning until you were caught in a vortex of thoughts.

She was thin and delicate; you were rather well built.

Her shoulders were narrow; yours were broad.

Her stomach was flat; but you had unmistakable love handles.

She had a firm, shaped ass; you childbearing hips - as your mother used to call it.

Her golden blonde hair always fell in gentle waves down her back. You always had your y/h/c ones in a messy bun. And after hours of hard work in the gardens, you always looked like a half-plucked chicken.

You would never have any chance of comparing yourself with this beautiful, gorgeous woman. Michelle was perfect.

You were just you.

But the worst part of this whole thing was that this woman could not leave you alone. She had won, the man was hers. What else did she want from you?!

Every now and then she dropped small comments, out of the earshot of others. But so that you could hear them very well.

"Hard to believe how one can be so well fed.”

“Are you secretly eating your way through our supplies?"

"Given your size, a whole bunch of Walkers could get fed up with you for a week."

It hurt, hurt infinitely. But you were willing to endure everything. You did not want to make a scene. Did not want to get upset, maybe to draw more unwanted attention to yourself.

In the depths of your heart, you only wanted one thing. You just wanted Daryl to be happy. Everything else does not matter to you.

But what you failed to notice in all your self-doubt and self-sacrifice was: Daryl was not happy.

You were both blind to each other's intentions, had no idea why the other acted the way he was doing.

But the inner circle of your family, especially Maggie and Carol, knew what was going on. And having to watch the two of you - while you did not notice it yourself - slowly but surely drove everyone to despair.

The whole thing was like a fucking soap opera!

You and Daryl had barely spent time together and avoided each other as best you could, so you had not noticed all the little signs that spoke volumes to all the others.

How his ears turn red when you have been near him.

How he sometimes looked at you a little longer than others.

How he changed his shifts in the guard tower just so he could take care of you when you were near the fences during your work.

The moment Daryl faced you for the first time since his return, the floor was torn from under his feet. When he saw your y/e/c eyes looking at him, he felt his heart swell. Warmth spread in his chest and he had thousands of butterflies in his stomach. The redneck had never felt anything like that before and it terrified him.

It was something he could not handle.

He knew he screwed up when he left you because of his brother. The way you behaved towards him was unmistakable. Daryl did not want to endanger the little friendship that was still between you. He could not risk losing you for good.

So he gave you your freedom and just adored from a distance - without you noticing.

But from a certain point in time all his thinking was focused only on you. Or rather, to hide what he really felt about you - how much he loved you.

Daryl was so busy hiding the love he felt for you that he did not even notice how much this young woman from Woodbury was constantly flirting with him. Of course, it had not escaped him that she ran after him like a lost puppy; and yes that annoyed him.

But weren't all of these newcomers a pain in the ass?

He was not interested in this blonde woman, not a little bit. Daryl does not care about her; he does not even listen to her most of the time.

If he was honest, he did not even know her name.

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

In the last few weeks, it had become routine for the redneck to be on guard duty in the early hours of the morning. Not just because he was an early riser- and finally got some peace up here from the intrusive people from Woodbury - but because you went to work in the vegetable gardens shortly after sunrise every day.

And from high up there he had the opportunity to watch and admire you unnoticed.

You have always been used to working hard, and everyone who saw you knew that you had no problem with it and that you could lend a hand. Rick once joked that you could overshadow any Amish when it came to your work ethic. You just shrugged your shoulders and replied that you had no problem with that as long as you didn't have to pray for hours.

So you and Daryl spent the mornings together - without your having a clue about it. You, lovingly watching over the plants in the vegetable patches, he on the guard tower, lovingly watching over you.

As the sun rose higher and higher on its way across the sky, it made the sweat shimmer on your skin as you patiently devoted yourself to each of your tasks without taking a break. The black tank top you wore on that hot summer day stuck to your body and framed it perfectly. Your figure was like an hourglass, and each of your curves came out sensually.

At least as far as Daryl could tell. For him you were perfect, just like you were. He could watch you for hours without getting tired of it, could watch you for the rest of his life.

Only when the crotch of his jeans became uncomfortably tight did the redneck look away from you. His thoughts had taken a suggestive course, and the images that emerged in his head were by far no longer suitable for minors. Daryl would surely spend this evening in his fist again - dreaming of how you would feel lying under him, how you would smell, how you would taste, and what sweet noises would come over your lips if he would touch you where you needed it most.

"Everything's okay," he heard a familiar voice next to him.

Damn it, did the time really go that fast? Was his shift already over?

"Are you okay? You seem a little distracted to me."

Carol had come to relieve him. But Daryl, in his fascination for you, had not even noticed her.

"’m okay."

"Yes, of course, and your thoughts were on the task in front of you the whole time."

There was unmistakable amusement in Carol's voice. With a knowing smile, the woman leaned on the railing and watched you work for a while.

"Can you please finally tell Y/N that you love her. So that we can finally all get on with our lives? It's really not nice to see you two walking around each other on eggshells."

Daryl was embarrassed. He was caught with his hand in the cookie jar by Carol. Still, he tried to stay as cool as possible.

"I have no idea what ya're talkin’ about."

But the woman was not easily fooled. She knew very well what was going on in the man in front of her. Just as she knew how you felt about him.

"I hear what you say, but your ears say something else.”

Daryl flinched. Sometimes he hated the way his body betrayed him.

“What the hell,” Carol had to keep from laughing “I didn't even know that they could get so red."

"Stop it woman."

Again and again, Carol tried to get her friend to finally confess his love to you. Because in her eyes you were both wasting valuable time. And being able to spend time with loved ones was the most important thing now.

You had not noticed any of this. You were too busy tying up the tomato plants and removing the leaves so that they brought the greatest possible yield. After all, many mouths had to be fed, and you all needed supplies for the coming winter.

And it was precisely these necessary supplies that prompted Rick to ask you to go on a run the next day with others. Of course, you immediately agreed, after all, everyone went on these runs at some point. It wouldn't be your first time, and certainly not your last time, that you would take part in something like this.

But who could say that in these uncertain times?

What you did not know at the time was, that Michelle would be there too. Maybe then you would have refused. But now you sat in the back seat of the pickup truck in silence, staring stubbornly out the window.

Michelle just a few inches away from you.

It had been clear to Maggie from the start that this constellation would not bring any good. However, even the young woman would not have expected what dimensions the whole thing would take. And in what a heartbreaking catastrophe it would end.

During the entire journey Glenn and Maggie tried to break the mood. The four of you sat in the truck and drove a few hours until you finally arrived at your destination.

It should be a simple thing - in and out, quietly, quickly, unseen.

But what no one had expected was the behavior that Michelle had displayed when it came to doing her part. She had absolutely no desire to be actually a part in this job.

And Michelle let the three of you feel that very clearly.

She neither wanted to help find the necessary supplies nor carry them; even found it outrageous that she had been asked by Rick to join in and risk her life. She had never had to do this before, why now?

It took you so much strength to stay calm and not yell your opinion on Michelle's face - or beat her across the street.

You did not like this woman, not a bit. For you, she was a narrow-minded, self-centered, selfish slut who cared about only herself. And what Daryl saw in her was incomprehensible to you.

But when Michelle began to risk all of your lives because of her loud behavior, even Maggie's patience ran out. The eternal insults in your direction were just the cherry on top. Maggie would have liked nothing more than to give this snotty brat a huge slap in the face.

But to make a shitty day even more shitty, that was unfortunately your smallest problem.

Michelle's loud complaints drew the attention of more and more walkers, and at some point, you had difficulties getting back to your car.

You had just successfully cleared a pharmacy when you saw the horde slowly approaching on the street.

That was by far the worst scenario, and your greatest fear.

It was all happening so quickly, and the only thing you thought was that Michelle had to make it back to the Prison alive. You could not risk Daryl losing someone he loved again. No matter what a fucking bitch she was. You knew it would destroy him.

The way back to the pickup was long and the Walkers unfortunately closer than wanted. The heavy backpacks did not make it any easier to escape them quickly. So you stayed back when Maggie, Glenn, and Michelle started running back towards the truck. You knew your partners needed a distraction to make it through.

And what could be a better distraction than you.

"Come to me you damn motherfuckers! Here I am! Come and catch me you bloody bastards! You ugly fuckers!" you screamed on top of your lungs, tried to make as much noise as possible.

The walkers slowly turned to you and came to hunt you down - to kill you. You would be their lunch. Scared to death your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you thought it was about to pop out.

From that point on, you could not remember anything. Your brain just shut down, went into survival mode. You only ran on instinct, no more active thinking.

In a way, like the Walkers you tried to escape from.

Maggie turned when she heard your voice, and the blood froze in her veins. She thought you were right behind her, but you were still near the entrance to the pharmacy and the horde of walkers was on the way to you.

"Y/N!" her voice was desperate.

She was about to turn back to you – to help you - but Glenn could not and would not let that happen.

"Come on Maggie, we have to get the car. We'll come back for her; I promise."

Glenn took his girlfriend's hand and pulled her forcefully with him.

Michelle had not noticed anything of that, she was the first to take a seat in the pickup and firmly locked the passenger door behind her.

When Glenn finally started the engine and Maggie - now in the back seat - turned her eyes back to the pharmacy entrance, you were gone.

Your best friend was in a panic.

"Where is she? Oh my god, where is she?"

Only then did she see you on the canopy of the building - the backpack with the bandages still firmly strapped around you.

"On the roof, Glenn, she's on the roof! We have to get her!" the young woman screamed in desperation.

She could not and did not want to lose her friend. Not now and not like this.

“and preferably before these things figure out how to climb”, was Glenn's addition when he turned the truck and drove towards the pharmacy.

"Are you crazy," squeaked Michelle, "do you want to die just to maybe save her life?"

Maggie's eyes darkened, and Glenn realized immediately that she had now reached the limit. Another word from Michelle and his girlfriend would feed this woman to the Walkers with no trace of guilt.

"You shut up now, bitch! You're to blame for all this shit. If you’d shut your damn mouth and done what we've all done hundreds of times before, none of this would have happened! These fucking things would never have noticed us."

Michelle gasped to give Maggie a neat answer, but Maggie was faster.

"If I hear one more word from you, if you just beep, I'll feed you to these Walkers!"

Michelle's reply was interrupted by the gruesome sound of breaking bones as Glenn brutally drove through the horde of walkers who were now confused and trying to understand what was going on around them.

You were still standing on the roof. Your gaze was focused on the scene before you but not fearful, as if your self was not there at that moment.

"You have to jump," Glenn called to you when he brought the pickup to a stop right under the roof.

And with that you jumped onto the back of the truck. The fall was higher than expected, and there was a thump as you hit the flatbed. Immediately Glenn had accelerated the car again and drove away as fast as he could in the direction of Prison.

Desperate, Maggie kept calling your name, but you just did not answer. Maybe you were in shock. After all, it was not common practice to voluntarily sacrifice oneself as a meal for these monsters.

A few miles out of town, Glenn finally stopped the car, and Maggie was by your side in an instant. But she was not prepared for what she saw. You were passed out and a small pool of blood had formed under your head. The thud she had heard - when you landed - had been your head when it hit the loading wall.

"Oh my God."

Immediately Maggie was at your side, looking for your pulse with trembling hands. And there it was - weak - but she felt it.

"Please open your eyes Y/N/N", the young woman pleaded as she lovingly brushed the hair off your face.

"Maggie?" Glenn's voice was timid, almost frightened, as he stood next to the pickup and stared at your broken body.

"We have to get her to my father as soon as possible!"

Maggie's harsh words seemed to loosen Glenn from his stupor.

"Okay, no problem, I can do that."

And with that Glenn was back behind the wheel and gave full throttle. Maggie stayed with you on the flatbed, took off your backpack and trying to stop the bleeding on your head.

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

Rick and Daryl were in the courtyard of the prison, discussing the next runs when the pickup truck drove through the gates with screeching tires. It was immediately clear to both of them that something bad must have happened.

Without wasting time, the two men ran towards the car.

"What happened", Rick called out.

But Daryl could not hear Glenn’s answer. Everything around him fell silent and vanished when he saw you - bleeding, passed out - in Maggie's arms.

Without thinking further, he jumped on the flatbed and leaned over you. He caressed your pale cheek with trembling fingertips before desperately looking for a pulse on your neck.

Frightened, he held his breath until he felt it, your heartbeat.

Even but so weak.

"We have to take her to my father."

Maggie had not even finished the sentence when Daryl had already taken you in his arms - bridal style - and was on the way to the infirmary with you.

With a lover's desperation, he clung to you as he ran all the way.

“Don't do this to me. I beg ya, please don't die to me."

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

Daryl never left your side for a moment. He sat like a statue and held your hand. He did not say a word, did not move. Neither when Hershel examined you, nor when he sewed your laceration.

He listened quietly to the vet's diagnosis and what he thought might happen in the next few hours or days.

Only when Maggie came with a bowl of water and a cloth to wash off the dirt and blood did he break free.

"Let me …" Daryls voice cracked, and the knot in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything else.

He took everything from Maggie's hand and put it on the little table next to your bed.

The redneck looked broken. The young woman could clearly see how much he loved you. And she knew that if you died, Daryl would vanish. He would just cease to exist.

“I'm so sorry,” Maggie said quietly, and a tear rolled down her cheek, “I thought she was right behind me. But … but she wasn't."

"It's not ya’ fault." Daryl's voice was barely perceptible.

Slowly he dipped the cloth into the warm water and began to carefully wash the blood off your face.

"Daryl I’m ... I’m"

"I know."

“Y/N is strong, she is tough. She will be okay."

Daryl just nodded absently while he concentrated fully on washing the blood off your temple.

And so Maggie left the redneck alone with you in the infirmary.

With trembling hands, he began to clean your neck. Little by little he washed your whole body- took care of you quietly and lovingly- making dirt, blood and sweat disappear, made you as clean as he saw you before you went on that fucking run.

Then he sat there, hour after hour, just looking at you, holding your hand. You looked so fragile. You lay there injured and pale, almost like a corpse. Only your quiet, even breathing told Daryl that you were still with him.

Inside Daryl, everything contracted painfully at the thought that you might not wake up again. Slowly he leaned towards your face. He looked at every birthmark, every wrinkle, every freckle, as if he wanted to burn them into his memory.

“I don't know if ya can hear me,” he finally began with a trembling voice.

“But I ... I ... I “, he had to laugh bitterly.

“’m a bloody coward. Why can' I jus’ say it?"

Daryl took a deep breath, he had to get his fear under control somehow. He had to tell you. He would never forgive himself if he did not do it now.

What if you died.

"I love ya Y/N. 've been in love with ya since ... I actually have no idea how long. But I love ya. I should have told ya much earlier. I don' know why I didn't. But I love ya."

Daryl fought back tears but lost.

"Oh God please, I beg ya, please come back to me. Give me a chance to show ya how much I love ya. Just one chance to prove myself to ya." and with that Daryl collapsed on top of you, crying and sobbing.

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

It took you two days to open your eyes again. Two days in which Daryl had not left your side. Two days of going through hell and back again. In which even he had sent a quick prayer or two towards heaven.

It was as if you had been awakened from a deep sleep far too abruptly. And it took a while before you knew where you were. You felt dizzy and tired. Your head hurt like hell. And you were confused.

First, why you were in the infirmary, and second, why Daryl was sitting next to your bed looking like he had not slept in days – your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispered, "how are ya feelin’?"

"Tired", your voice was scratchy from not using it for a long time, "my head hurts."

“You hit ya head bad. Hershel had to patch ya up."

"What happened?"

"Can't ya remember."

"No ... Yes …. but not ... not really ... only up to a certain point."

You were nervous, were not used to Daryl being so close to you. You did not want to make a fuss about yourself, and yet you liked the attention this man was giving you.

“I can still remember the horde of Walkers who came up to me, but then … nothing ... I can't remember what happened then."

You had not noticed that tears had started to run down your temples until Daryl lovingly wiped them away with his thumb.

"Hey ... shh ... take it easy. Everythin’ is okay. Everyone’s fine. Please don't get upset, ya have a concussion. Hershel says ya need a lot of rest now."

And suddenly you were silent. Never before had Daryl spoken to you with such a loving tone in his voice or had touched you in this way. You did not understand what was happening here.

But he said you had a concussion. Perhaps it was to blame for this filter through which you noticed this whole interaction.

“I'll let Hershel know that ya woke up. I'll be right back; promise."

Confused, you looked after the redneck. Something had happened that you had no idea about. But you did not want to worry about it now. Your head hurt too much, and you just wanted to sleep.

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

When you opened your eyes again, Hershel was sitting in the chair on which you had previously seen Daryl.

"It's nice to see you again with your eyes open Y/N," said the older man with a friendly smile, "you worried us very much."

"‘m sorry. "

"It's okay. How do you feel?"

"Okay. Tired, head hurts."

"Something else?"

"No, except that I feel like I'm wrapped in cotton wool."

Hershel sat and listened to you before nodding.

"Daryl said you can't remember what happened."

"Not really."

"Don't worry, that's nothing unusual with this type of head injury."

He patted your shoulder encouragingly.

"Will I be able to remember one day?"

"You know kid, sometimes it is really good not to be able to remember some things."

"Probably."

“But now you should rest first. I know you have questions, but answers will come later. After all, you have to regain your strength."

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

You knew you had slept, but not for how long. Because the next time you opened your eyes, Carol was sitting on that same chair. But there was something else. Could it be that it smelled of her venison ragout?

"How are you, Y/N/N?"

"Still tired, but the headache is almost gone."

"Good to hear. You gave us all a real scare."

"I'm sorry."

"Especially Daryl. I've never seen him so frightened."

You looked questioningly at the older woman next to you. You were used to it that she kept dropping allusions about Daryl - at least when she talked to you. But you just did not understand that statement at all.

Daryl was never afraid of anything. Why would he ...

"Well. Are you hungry?" Carol had a friendly smile on her face when it broke your train of thought.

At that moment, your stomach made a loud rumbling noise.

“I'll take that as a yes,” smirked the gray-haired woman, “Daryl went hunting so that I could cook this. He knows it’s your favorite."

Unsure you looked at Carol before you took the bowl from her hand and slowly began to eat. It was true, that was your favorite food - if there was such a thing at all in times like this.

"You know that he loves you," she suddenly began out of nowhere

"Of course, we are family," did you try to belittle the matter.

“Okay, let's reformulate the whole thing again. Daryl is in love with you, absolutely and one hundred percent madly in love with you. A 'you're the only one for me' love. Without any misunderstanding."

When she said that, you choked on the stew right away and now you sat in front of her, coughing and snorting.

“And I know you love him too. So don't try to deny it at all. Everyone here knows that. Or how blind do you think we are? Although ... apart from Daryl. He has no idea. He probably wouldn't even understand if it bites his ass.”

At this picture you had to laugh.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith in order to reach their goal. You two really have to start talking clearly to each other. You two belong together like pepper and salt Do you actually notice how much you waste your precious time? Neither of us knows how much of it is left. You should know that now, because honey it was damn close."

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

Sleeping was your main occupation right now. A concussion took time and a lot of rest to heal. So it wasn't uncommon for your life to consist of short scenes at the moment.

With a sound - like a purring cat - you stretched in the hospital bed before opening your eyes. You no longer had any sense of time, and only the sunlight falling through the barred windows told you that it was probably afternoon.

"Hey."

Only now did you notice that Daryl was with you again.

"Ya feel better?"

"Yes."

Daryl seemed kind of nervous. But that wasn't possible, why should he?

"I've been here before, but ya slept and I don't want to wake ya", his words just gushed out of him.

Could it be? Was he nervous?

"Okay ... yes ... uhm ..."

You were easily overwhelmed with this situation, and somehow your head just seemed to have been swept clean. You could not find any words.

"We take turns. Hershel thinks there should always be someone with ya. Because of the concussion. Rick has already been here, and Maggie of course."

"And Carol."

"Yea."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For the food. Carol said you went hunting especially for it."

"No problem."

“I still appreciate it. And for ... that you are here ... with me."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

And then there was silence. The conversation with Carol kept going through your head. What she said. Could it really be true?

You knew that Daryl has always been more of a man of action than a man of words. And it was clear to you that if you did not take the first step now, you two would probably never get anywhere.

"Carol spoke to me", you started when you sat up

The man across from you was obviously nervous now. You could tell all too clearly by the fact that he was starting to chew the inside of his cheek.

"With me too."

"Apparently something like an intervention is going on here, could that be", you smiled, trying to loosen up the mood a bit.

"Seems so."

Daryl looked at you for a few moments. You could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I'm a coward, Y/N," he finally began.

You had expected a lot, but not a statement like that.

"No, you’re not. How did you come up with such an idea?"

"I was a complete idiot and too cowardly."

"What are you talking about Daryl."

In your opinion, this was going completely wrong right now. You actually wanted to tell him you loved him, and now it seemed to end in a vortex of self-doubt.

"I love ya, Y/N.”

And with that your thoughts became silent.

“I am terribly in love with ya. And out of fear I didn't say anything. But then I saw ya lying on the flatbed of that fucking truck, covered in blood and passed out. At that moment, my heart stopped. And I swore to myself that when ya're okay again, when ya've got throu’ this, that I'll finally tell ya what I feel for ya. Y/N I love ya. "

During Daryl's monologue you forgot how to breathe and just listened intently while thousands of butterflies fluttered around in your stomach like they're having a bloody party there.

It took you some time to realize that Daryl was waiting for a reaction from you as he gnawed his thumb in fear.

"I love you too," it gushed out of you before you even realized you had said something.

And then there was silence again. You and Daryl just looked at each other. Unsure what to do now. After all, you were both in uncharted waters.

"And ... and now," you asked uncertainly.

"Don't know," Daryl just shrugged.

"I mean ... um ... are ... are we ... together now?"

You carefully ventured out of cover.

"Um, yea ... if ya ... if ya want that."

"Oh my god, yes please", you replied in one breath.

Suddenly the tension between you had dissolved and you both had to laugh. It was so surreal. Two adults acted like teenagers in love who had no idea what to do.

But then Daryl slowly leaned in towards you. Your heart was pounding when you could finally feel his breath on your face. But before your lips touched, he stopped. He wanted to give you the opportunity to evade him if you did not want this.

But you wanted it, wanted it more than anything else in your life. And when you had overcome the last few inches, you finally felt his lips on yours.

The feeling was amazing. As if at that moment an electric shock had run through your whole body, and at the same time it was like coming home.

Everything around you no longer existed, was no longer important. Here and now, it was just you and Daryl. The way his lips moved with yours, how his fingers slowly ran up your arms until they were in your hair.

Everything was so intense. And when you finally parted to take a much-needed breath, Daryl leaned his forehead against yours.

"Ya have no idea how long I've been dreamin’ about this."

"Probably as long as me."

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

When Rick was about to visit Y/N in the early evening hours, he saw Carol and Maggie standing in the door to the infirmary.

"Everything's okay," he wanted to know.

The two women turned around with their index fingers over their lips.

"Shhhh."

Both did at the same time.

"Be quiet and come here," Carol whispered, "you really have to see that."

Rick approached the two women curiously. What could be so interesting that Carol and Maggie were half-hidden behind the door, staring into the infirmary?

He was confused, but when he saw what fascinated them so much, his heart swell. A satisfied smile played on his lips, as he was seeing what was going on less than five paces away.

Daryl was lying - half sitting - on the bed. His back supported on the wall behind him. Y/N was snuggled close to him, head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. Absently, the fingers of his right hand traced patterns on her upper arm as he read to her from an old paperback.

Everyone could see the love that bound these two people. And thank God the two finally understood that.

"Seems like we finally have a happy ending," said the former deputy with a broad smile.

"Thank God", Maggie exhaled, "nobody wanted to watch this puppy love shit anymore."

“Yes,” laughed Rick, “but you have to admit there was something exciting about the whole thing. As if it had been our very own little soap opera."

"You're right, but I prefer my best friend happy."

"And what do we do now. I mean this seemingly endless heartbreak theater has come obviously to an end."

"Gossip- Rick is afraid he'll get bored?"

Maggie's voice was teasing.

"No, that's not how it was meant."

"Don't worry, Rick," said Carol with a smile, "I think the whole thing has a sequel anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, has someone told Michelle yet?"

All three looked at each other with big eyes before they having to resist laughing convulsively.

This story could get really interesting after all, they agreed.

part two

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p5

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for how fast this came out. Brain Cell Bae, feast on the serotonin my dear 💖

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: canon consistent violence, blood, gore, fight scene, talk of human sacrifice, talk of child sacrifice, talk of animal sacrifice, reference to bestiality, talk of dismembering monsters, beheading monsters 

some background for y’all that don’t know: King Minos had a deal with Poseidon that he would sacrifice his prize bull to the god every year but one year Minos couldn’t do it. He was way obsessed with this fine ass bull and sacrificed the second best and Poseidon got PISSED. So, like the little shit he is, he made Minos’ wife get hot for the bull and hence we have the Minotaur. This is an extra big no no in ancient Greece bc bulls were practically worshiped and seen as holy. There’s some other fucked up shit to do with bull sex but like I’ll let you live on in blissful ignorance like I wish I could. 

also just in case y’all didn’t know the Greeks used to collect and sell gladiators sweat as perfume. Idk how that smelled good but like, as a thirsty hoe, I kinda get it. 

heres part 4!

__________

Geralt woke to screams. 

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, let alone where he was. Jaskier was curled in his arms, still sound asleep as the screams made way to sobs and the singing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. It was time, but Geralt felt nothing.

He shook Jaskier awake and snatched the ball of twine and sword, tucking the blade into his belt and praying to Athena, Poseidon, any god that would listen that the guards wouldn’t shove it loose. Jaskier snatched the twine from his hand and stowed it in his own clothes just in time for the soldiers to reach their cell. 

They were ushered at sword point up a path to the back of the palace where dingy stone steps lead down to a massive stone door, underground by a dozen feet at least. Jaskier clung to Geralt’s hand, clenching his jaw tight and looking forward as they were lead to the doors. It took three men to open them and Geralt heard someone in their party mumble about how well and truly fucked they were. He couldn’t blame them. 

They were shoved through the arch, surprisingly without ceremony, and the doors were heaved closed behind them.

When the rumble of stone on stone finally ceased and they were left with near darkness Geralt finally felt the panic. Everyone was looking at him, he could barely make out their features, but he knew, and all he could do was stare at the door. 

Jaskier gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the now glowing gold ball of twine, “Geralt?”

Something snapped into place deep in Geralt’s gut and the panic vanished. He took the twine and tied it to the door before removing the sword from his clothes and handing the dagger to Jaskier.

“Do not stray from the twine. Stay with the group.” He growled, now better able to see from the light of the yarn. Everyone was terrified, but they were his responsibility now, and if he had to scare them further to keep them safe he would. 

“What if it sneaks up on us?!” A young girl squeaked, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“We’ll hear it. Now, follow me.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

Geralt frowned, ready to admit like before that he hadn’t a clue, but then he heard it. It was faint, and he could only hear inhales, but there was snarling breathing that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a monster.

“I do.” He turned to go before anyone asked any more questions. 

Jaskier was at his heels, one hand gripping the dagger and the other clutching at Geralt’s belt to stay close, “Geralt, do you really know where we’re going?” he whispered.

“I can hear him.” Geralt muttered. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to strike as he lead the way down the arched corridor, unraveling the twine as they went. 

They walked on for what felt like forever, the hall twisted and turned, even went up a flight of stairs, but nothing about it seemed very maze-like. Jaskier kept quiet, but Geralt could feel his hand at his back trembling. Others in the group were whispering, They say it has a battle ax and Maybe it'll kill us quickly. 

Geralt held a hand up upon coming to their first T, “Everyone hush.” He closed his eyes, doing his best to listen past the panicked panting of the group. It was there, just barely, but the deep breathing of something much bigger than him was coming from the left. 

This continued for hours, or maybe it was only minutes, Geralt couldn’t tell,  until everyone could hear the beast’s steady breath and see a faint orange glow around a corner. 

Geralt stopped, turning to face the terrified group of teenagers, “Stay here and stay quiet.” he instructed. Then, handing off the glowing twine and whispering to Jaskier, “If I die you have to run. Sprint back to the doors, all of you should be able to open them. I’d tell you to go now if I weren’t afraid of waking it.” 

Jaskier had the gal to look offended, “If you think for one second I’m letting you go in there alone-”

“You will. The ship we came in on will be leaving in the morning with or without us. Be on it.” Geralt was getting jumpy, being a little more aggressive than he needed to, but the thought of Jaskier being left to die in this labyrinth without him was overwhelming and he’d never had more adrenaline coursing through him before. 

Jaskier held Geralt’s face between his hands and drew him in for a lip bruising kiss. Geralt’s unoccupied arm looped around his waist and pulled him close as his whole body screamed at him to run away with him. Nothing sounded better right then than sneaking out of the labyrinth and sailing off to some other island where they could live their lives in peace. No responsibility, no destiny, no monsters. 

Someone cleared their throat and Geralt pulled back, blushing furiously as he switched his sword back and forth between his hands, “That was one hell of a goodbye kiss.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Good luck, not goodbye. You’ll be fine.”

Geralt nodded and peeked around the corner, catching a glimpse of a large open hall with a fire burning at its center and what one might have mistaken for a pile of furs and pillows laying in front of it. He ducked back into the corridor, pressing his back against the wall and doing his best to take a deep breath that wasn’t a panicked gasp. His limbs felt like goatskins full of water and his palms were already starting to sweat. He barely kept his face under control as he tried to work up the nerve to move. 

Jaskier held his free hand, gently massaging at the tendons, “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“It’s huge, Jask,” Geralt whispered, mortified that he’d made it all this way, and now when it mattered he couldn’t stifle the panic. 

“You threw a man twice my size halfway across the deck on our way here. You are strong and brave and deceptively intelligent.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at his words but let him continue, needed him to continue, “The blood of the gods runs through your veins and you’ve been blessed by the goddess of strategy and wit herself. You can do this.”

“Athena sending my mother to the sea is hardly a blessing.” Geralt argued, pushing off the wall and squeezing Jaskier’s hand before letting go. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, eyes somber despite his annoyed expression, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Geralt nodded and, though his limbs were still shaking, he stepped out into the hall of the Minotaur. 

He ran over all the advice he could remember from every soldier he’d spoken with as he crept toward the sleeping beast. As he got closer to the fire he saw the bones of previous sacrifices, some no bigger than a child’s, and the remnants of animal carcasses that were far fresher. The stench was getting progressively worse as he approached, so much so that he wondered if he might vomit before he could attack. He wanted to look back, he wanted to run back, but he kept his eyes trained on the beast before him. It was at least twice his size, covered in a strange coat of hair with a tail to match. Horns protruded from it’s forehead, long and sweeping forward in dramatic curves. He couldn’t see it’s face and prayed he wouldn’t have to while it was still alive.

When he was within feet of the Minotaur he raised his sword, gripping it in both hands and set his feet, readying to stab it in the neck. It was laying on its side, half curled into a fetal position as it slept. He felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. It wasn’t given a chance, wasn't guilty of the sin its mother committed or the offence her husband had committed against Poseidon. With it sleeping so still and so vulnerable he almost forgot the horror stories he’d heard from before they caged it here. He paused a moment too long.

As he brought down the blade the creature shifted and his sword cut deep across its back rather than a fatal blow at the neck. 

The roaring scream it let loose was disorienting, it rattled Geralt’s bones and had him shuffling backwards. It rolled to its hands and knees, or what functioned as knees, and Geralt slashed at it’s arm, slicing through thick ropy muscle as if it weren’t there. He thanked the gods the sword Triss had given him was sharp as he jumped out of the way of the Minotaur’s other arm swinging at him. He brought his sword down where he had just been standing, barely missing the monster’s forearm, but exposing his side, just like Eskel had warned not to. The Minotaur, now standing upright and towering over Geralt, kicked him in the ribs, sending him tumbling across the floor. He barely kept hold of his sword as he rolled to a stop, gasping for breath. 

It snarled at him, stomping closer on cloven hooves but holding one arm close to its middle. Geralt waited, kept gasping for breath long after he’d regained the ability to breathe properly and let the thing get closer. When it was within reach, raising it’s good arm in preparation to pummel Geralt into the stone, he lashed out again with his sword. This time the metal swiped clean through the canon of its left leg, severing the hoof from the leg completely. The Minotaur fell forward, nearly pinning Geralt to the ground as he scrambled out of the way. It struggled to push itself up on its one good arm but Geralt kneeled on its back, knee digging into the wound across it’s shoulders. He barely registered the screams of pain and outrage over the thrumming of his own pulse as he grabbed one of its horns with one hand and dragged his sword across its throat with the other. 

The screaming stopped, replaced by a stomach churning gurgle and trickle of blood. A deep, nearly black red liquid oozed out in every direction from the beast’s wounds as it struggled and twitched. Geralt didn’t want to take any chances. Cursed beasts had magical properties and he’d be damned if he left the thing alive enough to heal. Before the corpse began to cool he hacked and slashed until the head was completely severed from the body. 

Only then did he feel the pain radiating from his side all the way down his leg and into his toes. He threw the Minotaur’s head toward the corridor he’d entered from and collapsed on this good side, barely missing the rapidly expanding pool of blood. He grunted out a labored “Fuck.” before he heard shuffling feet and felt hands under his arms.  

Jaskier and the girl with all the questions were hauling him toward the fire. 

When they set him down Jaskier’s hands were flitting over his body searching for injuries, “I told you you’d be fine.” he teased, an undercurrent of fear cutting through his tone.

“Not fine,” Geralt huffed as Jaskier prodded his side and he tried to sit up, “Alive.”

“You probably broke a rib, go slowly.” Jaskier warned, helping Geralt up.

“You’re a doctor now?” Geralt teased, wincing as he straightened to full height.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s chest, “I’ve been kicked by a cow or two.”

He pulled Geralt close and kissed him softly, sighing like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. 

When he released the prince he rearranged the soft grey fabric and whispered so only Geralt could hear, “I could sell your sweat for a fortune right now.”

Geralt laughed and rolled his eyes, beginning to limp back to the other Athenians and scooping up the Minotaur’s head by the horns, “Lets go, I need a bath.” 

____________________

Next part here!

[pricklerick]

so, i’m such a slut for the “presumed dead” trope

Because I am all about that emotional rollercoaster drama bs. Anyhoo, here’s a fic idea that I will never write.

So, remember Prince Nebulon of the Zigerions? He was just a prince, right? Who is Queen of the Zigerions? Let’s call her Queen Z. Queen Z is pissed off that Rick blew her kiddo to smithereens, and she’s out for vengeance. It takes her a while to find Rick, though, because... well, they never did get that concentrated dark matter recipe, did they?

Alright, so Rick and Morty off on some planet, right? Where totally doesn’t matter, because I’m too lazy to create any legit plot for this. But wherever they are, Morty’s got this bad gut feeling, and Rick is sort of half exasperated/half affectionately blowing him off. Because Morty is always a little drama queen, and half the multiverse is pissed off at Rick for some reason or other. Jeezus, Morty, calm your tits.

Maybe they get separated for a bit. Maybe Morty storms off in a huff. But for whatever reason, Morty is gonna find some evidence of a huge Zigerion conspiracy against Rick. Maybe he overhears part of the plot, or sees some files laying around, or whatever. Again, it doesn’t matter. Morty is horrified at what he discovers, and now he’s doing his absolute damnedest to find Rick and warn him.

Queen Z’s plan is to kill Morty and capture Rick. She’s done her research, okay. She doesn’t care about the concentrated dark matter recipe anymore, she just wants Rick to suffer the way she suffered. She knows that Rick’s got one weakness - well, one weakness aside from crippling ETOH withdrawals.

Morty.

The Zigerions stage it so that Morty is on some platform somewhere, or a ship, or a balcony. Somewhere elevated. Morty is there, and Rick knows that he’s there, and hell, maybe Rick at this point is actively looking for Morty, or maybe he’s starting to have some misgivings himself. Either way, this platform, this elevated place... it just fucking explodes. Like huge massive cataclysm, ash and viscera littering the atmosphere, no survivors kind of explosion.

And Morty was on this platform.

(except, duh, he wasn’t. he was busy trying to get to rick)

But Rick’s gonna go nuts, right? He’s just watched Morty die, and fuck, somebody is gonna pay dearly. Many somebodies. No holds barred, teeth bared, sword flashing, blood and bits repayment. Rick is like a thing possessed, kicking ass and taking no names and absolutely wrecking shit... until he’s darted in the neck by an assassin with a tranq gun.

Meanwhile, Morty is terrified, cowering beneath or behind something, watching all of this happen.

Rick’s body is dragged away, and Morty is lost, right? Let’s cut Morty a break and say they took the ship to get here, but still... these guys have Rick. We know that Morty has the ship, but Rick has the portal gun. Rick has everything.

What is Morty without Rick?

And man, here’s another trope that I just go nuts for - anxious, codependent, terrified Morty trying to hack it in a world without Rick. We’ve seen Morty grow a lot throughout the show, but what if we stranded him with limited resources on an alien planet? Like, long term. We know he’s a little badass (it’s my personal headcanon that Morty really isn’t all that stupid, either). He’s got a quarter of Rick’s DNA, none of Rick’s chemical dependancies, and a guilt complex the size of Seattle. Morty is exactly the kind of fucked up that would assume that he owes Rick enough to devote his entire life to rescuing him.

(also, morty just watched rick go ape-shit in response to his ‘death.’ that kind of visceral, emotional reaction from rick would probably awaken something fierce in morty)

I want this to go to dark places. I want Morty to have to learn the hard way how to survive in a universe that has very little regard for a half-grown human. I want him hurting and hungry and hunted. I want him forced to compromise his morals, but never his drive. I want to see what reality spits out when it chews up Morty. Most of all, I want to see how Morty is the same, but also how he is fundamentally different from Rick. Not just a difference in innocence and experiences like the show suggests, but in the substance of their souls. Where does Morty draw the line? Where won’t he?

Also, hot damn, I want to see Morty modify or improve on some of Rick’s gadgets. Maybe he’s not the innovative genius that Rick Sanchez is, but he’s no moron, and he’s helped Rick through enough shit that he can pick things apart and cobble them back together. Trial and error (mostly error) is a good teacher.

Meanwhile, Rick is held hostage on the Zigerion home world, or maybe on a station that orbits it. I don’t know and I don’t care. Basically, Rick’s stuck in suspended animation - a simulation within a simulation.  Queen Z is forcing Rick to relive the day he lost Morty, over and over and over again. It’s like this nasty, really fucked up groundhog day experience. No matter what Rick does, he fights with Morty that morning. And no matter what Rick does, he ends up losing Morty in the most horrific ways. Every fucking time.

This goes on for years, okay? Maybe even a decade. Long enough that Morty can hardly even remember the sound of Rick’s voice or the smell of the booze on his breath, he just knows that his whole purpose in life is to rescue Rick.

And he manages it one day, finally. Morty dispatches the guards, waltzes into the high security chamber, and sure as shit, there’s Rick, lying there as if he’s just sleeping. Time hasn’t touched him. He hasn’t aged a day. After Morty has sacrificed his whole life to get to this point, it sure seems anticlimactic.

He wakes Rick up, disconnects him from the machines, but it’s not an instant thing, right? Think Han Solo recovering from carbonite. Rick’s not used to a physical body anymore, even though the suspended animation has left him intact. Morty is like massaging his arms and legs and talking to him in this low voice.

And for Rick, shit, that’s disorienting. Like, say Zigerions don’t really have a sense of smell or something, like they can’t replicate it perfectly or whatever. So imagine Rick waking up slowly from this awful nightmare and suddenly being bombarded with senses that he hasn’t experienced in a decade. Is this real? What is real?

And, naturally, once his brain boots back online, Rick’s not gonna recognize Morty.

Now, Rick’s smart. He knows he’s been captured and trapped in a simulation, but he’s not sure for how long. The last real memory he has (and you better sure as shit believe that Rick has held on to that last memory) is of Morty going up in a ball of flame and the carnage that occurred afterward. Rick got jabbed in the jugular with a huge needle while in the middle of a full blown cognitive meltdown, and now he wakes up to some fuckwad running his callused stinking hands all down his thighs.

Rick’s pissed. He’s gonna come up swinging.

So I want this blood-rage fueled fight between disoriented!Rick and badass mofo!Morty, in which Rick thinks he’s fighting for his life, and Morty is just trying his best not to die (and also, not to kill Rick). And man, it’s awkward. Morty has mad skills, but he’s handicapped in that he is also trying to protect his opponent. And Rick is all adrenaline and cybernetic modification, but blinded by bright lights and bitterness, and held back by this shaky, shitty, wrung out body. It’s gritty and intense, and also, there’s this looming threat of they are still in the belly of the enemy’s ship.

I don’t know how Morty is going to get through to Rick that he’s being rescued, that it’s been ten years, that ‘hey, remember me, i’m you’re dweeb grandson.’ Honestly, I think Morty is just gonna have to incapacitate Rick, sling him over his back, and hope for the best.

They get out, Morty hauls Rick back to whatever bolt hole he’s crawled out of, and then... then the real work starts.

Convincing Rick is probably gonna be hard in itself. This man has lived in a simulation for ten years. But never in his wildest dreams (or darkest nightmares) would Morty have survived and thrived... without him.

There’s a reckoning here for Rick. Learning to trust this stranger, this capable stranger who says he’s Morty all grown up but acts like the survivor of a nuclear apocalypse... it’s an insane sort of cognitive dissonance. Rick is going to be forced to recognize Morty for who he is, to know him by the substance of his soul, and that realization (though obviously not in those words) is huge for Rick. Morty has changed, but really, not all that much. There are some physical similarities - under all the scars and facial hair, Rick recognizes the set and shade of Morty’s eyes, maybe the expression he makes when he’s annoyed or thinking hard. But it’s more than that. Physically, there are infinite Morties. Somewhere along the way, Rick comes to recognize his Morty.

And with this is gonna come a truckload of self-loathing and resentment. Morty is independent now. He grew up. He doesn’t need Rick anymore. The dynamic of their relationship has shifted irrevocably. That’s gonna leave Rick reeling.

And Morty? Fuck, Morty is gutted. This man that he’s devoted his entire life to, the object of all of his pain and sacrifice and hero-worship... is really just an embittered, drunken asswipe. There’s really nothing holding them together anymore... Well, nothing but just one thing.

Rick and Morty both need vengeance on Queen Z.

Finding her, taking her down, it becomes Morty’s new ambition. Morty is the kind of man who always needs a higher purpose, and he finds his in retribution. Rick is just petty enough not to take this shit lying down. Not by a long shot.

Working together is hard. Rick is eaten up with guilt (he’s watched this kid, this stuttering, useless, ridiculous kid that he - gag - loved, die over and over again). Morty would do anything for Rick, would have always done anything for Rick, and Rick still can’t manage to make things right between them. Morty has to accept the fact that really, he’s more disappointed in himself than he is in Rick anyway. He’d idolized this man for all of the wrong reasons.

But fuck, I want these two to reinvent themselves. This is a relationship of equals now, or damn near it. Halves that complement a whole. I want Rick to map all of Morty’s scars, scars that Morty earned for him. I want Rick to nitpick the modifications Morty made to his portal gun, and to (secretly) be a little impressed. I want Morty saving Rick’s ass, over and over again, and Rick (finally) getting a chance to get even and ribbing on Morty for it. I want drunken confessions and knife fights and sloppy emotions. I want these two to find common ground again as strangers, as comrades, and then,fucking finally, I want them to reconcile their past with the present. Rick has always needed Morty, has always cared for Morty, and Morty has always, always, always been completely and unquestionably devoted to Rick. Time and distance could never annihilate the bond that started this whole mess to begin with - Rick and Morty, forever and ever, for a hundred years.

That’s all, folks. That’s all I want.

Oh, and I also want a fuck-ton of smut.

[westcoastprancer]

My Auto-Spaz-Ography

***WARNING - WAY TOO MUCH UNNECESSARY PROFANITY***

Getting past the only child bullshit...sue me I guess? Not my fault my parents could only handle one of me. Pretty annoying growing up hearing from morons that I must be a spoiled little shit...

Can’t really argue there. Aside from self-inflicted hunger (you know...that junior high self image bullshit..starve and lose 5 lbs in a weekend), I’ve never gone hungry. I’ve never been cold, without clothes, or a roof over my head. I was taught values. So yeah, I am fucking spoiled rotten. No apologies there.

People who continuously stay “stuck” royally piss me off. These weirdos are toxic. Avoid them at all costs. They will not change. You will thank me for this piece of advice sometime in your life. Everybody’s got a problem. So do I. Set goals for yourself. Get the fuck off your sad ass every couple weeks. Find your best friend (if you don’t have one of those...you should seriously consider working on finding one) get trashed, talk it out and let that shit go for a while. If you’re stuck in a rut for more than 2-3 months, get help. Seriously. It’s not embarrassing. It’s way more shitty in the long run when you turn out to be the aforementioned person who just stays fucking “stuck”. On another note, subject of the week has been middle aged divorced broads with kids and how sly and bitchy they are. If they go ape shit on me before getting their facts straight, imagine what they do to all these poor men? No fucking wonder a good, non hot dog throwing down hallway status, loyal, no bullshit broad like me can’t find a solid dude. The good dudes are out there getting berated by these broads they knocked up and can’t get out of it now because...you know...the kids and stuff. I’m glad I took a different path. Can’t imagine being in that desperate place looking for affection because I am 37-47 year old wrinkly, loosey goosey broad thinking I was tossed aside by a shitty man, when I am the nutbag...just looking for attention. It’s easy to get laid. No strings. No problems. Many people make it way too complicated. My friend’s brother is hilarious. He is kinda a douche and I love his stories about profiling chicks. My favorite was when he told this broad at the bar she looked beautiful and she said how he made her day! (First red flag) They go to exchange numbers and she once again tells him what a nice time she had meeting him ( nothing wrong with that) but then goes on daily wishing him a good day. That’s another desperate sign. Come to find out...middle aged. Divorced. Kids. Lonely in the panties. You know the drill. I used to host this radio show called Cryin’ Lovin’ Laughin’ or Leavin’ so I learned these things sort of young. You remember the patterns of people. You know warning signs of crazy. Here’s the most invaluable lesson, most people are batshit crazy. Keep the wall up a while. Test people. I have caught so many good people (so I thought) in lies through the years. Even little irrelevant lies. It doesn’t matter if it’s a friend, relative, colleague, or significant other. When you catch someone in a lie of even the smallest, you wonder what else they are capable of lying about. It changes everything. Be like me. Don’t lie. Sometimes it’s hard, but then you have nothing to hide and having the truth on your side keeps you out of some really shitty situations.Even if it is so embarrassing and you have to put a towel over your head to face the truth...do it. If you don’t believe a word of anything else I say...believe me when I tell you about people. The good and the bad. Just take the time to get to know a person. You don’t want a lazy middle aged squinty eyed salmoncake real estate selling Mom moving her and her kids asses into your house all of a sudden. You ain’t that desperate. Oh and dudes, I’m coming for you...don’t act desperate either. Just don’t. I tend to take your sides on this shit because dudes on the other sides of things are usually just happy to be free, so their demeanor is totally different. But that doesn’t mean I won’t flip sides on you if you guys start getting weird. Covid seems to have made everyone crazy.

Even in a good mood, there is nothing better than a super depressing 90’s country song...am I right? It’s that sad shit that always gets me in my damn near non-existent soul. Look, I randomly placed 6th out of 20 on a totally impromptu Roast Battle at the Laugh Factory in LA one night. One of the roastmasters told me I did so well for my first time because I have no soul. HA HA HA...that one fucking stuck with me. Back to the point - if you can’t sit down with a couple good homies now and then and blast “Alibis” on 10 while chugging Crown, you should really address some things in your monotonous life. Just sayin for someone who doesn’t do the bar scene much anymore and barely has feelings...I know every color of every neon sign. I’m always hashin out a heartache in the back of my mind. Makes me remember not to go there ever again. People suck. I feel like I have already mentioned this. I’m not a “hard” person. I’m a realist. I don’t want to miss fantastic opportunities with people, but I also know those people are few and far between so I really keep my guard up. The right people always tear it down in time. 

People who get offended by profanity seriously piss me off more than a hive of wasps chasing me. Let me be clear...if I wasn’t dropping at least 72 f-bombs a day...I’m not sure where I would be in life. It’s turning all negative events in my life into positivity. I mean when you think about the F word. No matter how you slice or dice it...it does have a positive meaning in any context. “Go fuck yourself.” - Ok! “Fuck that!” - With what?! “Fuck You!” - Time and place please? Etc… Do you know what I am fucking saying?

Seriously asked my father the other day why he didn’t own Hilton chains or something. I’m sick of this fucking sweaty ass work too hard lifestyle with hardly any time to do fun shit. The idea of being some stuck up heiress with holes in my pockets sound fucking fantastic to me sometimes. Maybe just not the stuck up part. Could you imagine me that way? Snap my fingers and a drink comes! First class flights to St. Croix with my inner posse.  Living the goddamn dream. Me and my doggies on a private island!

I’ve become a bit dramatic, I think. For an extremely hard headed Portagee, I can still call myself out when needed. It’s kinda weird not living alone anymore. I’ve got a badass homie around now (wish I would have met years ago) who actually gives a shit how my day was. So I kinda get called out now on my bullshit. (Side note: It’s important to keep company around you who doesn’t enable your negative traits. Your best friends will call you on your shit and help you grow.) Sometimes I’ll lay down and pout all day over some shit that is NOTHING. Just get stoned and forget the fuck about it. I’m sure this is something I’ve been doing for years. Never caught it til now. Checklist to work on. No one likes even a small percentage of a drama queen. Yuck.

Amazing the shit I think of while stoned. What’s the point of dating? Attach yourself to another person for life? Is that even natural? Attach yourself to yourself...not American Pie style you pervert. Attach yourself to doggies. I cannot stress enough how fulfilling life is raising pups. Watching them grow and learn. I’m not even talking about the ones you raise from babies. Even at an older age, your dog will still learn and grow with mental stimulation and affection. It’s so amazing to watch the new things they learn and pick up on. If you treat your dogs well, they will treat you double as well until death do you part. Sure, it’s shitty you get so attached and they don’t live very long, but it teaches you perseverance. True value of cherishing your pals and moving on in your life always keeping a piece of them with you. Sounds fucking gut wrenching sad. It is, but I promise you the time you spend with your pups outweighs the sadness in the end.( If you’re planning on spending zero time with your animal, leave your pet in constant confined spaces, starve or beat it...don’t fucking get one. Don’t even get close to one. They are better off in the wild than with your crazy ass. You ain’t right.)

You can’t be a lying dickface all the time and expect everyone to be nice to you. Saw a good one on Family Guy that touched my sweet heart a little. Stewie to Brian: “You’re not my friend. Friends come and go. You’re family. That’s for life.” Sounds so sweet. In fact I wanted to call my bestie and tell him that. Then I snapped out and realized “family” can be a super toxic F word. Sad thing is I have a pretty big “family” on each side, yet the older I get, I have realized my only family is my parents. In fact, I have created my own family full of non-blood relatives. Life is wonderful in the positive environment I have created for myself through the years. It’s amazing to form bonds with amazing people who have no ulterior motives like wills and money. Fucking money brings out the true colors in people. It’s sad. People spend their whole lives trippin balls over money. That must suck. 

Those dorks at Central Catholic. Even at 15 made me laugh like hell. They’d interview the football “stars” getting full rides to Notre Dame and shit. My favorite was when asked about their favorite band... “Creed man. Such great “hard rock” with such powerful, positive messages.” Those dudes are probably miserable in their physical therapists jobs with their cheating whore wives who come home smelling like ratty vaginas. Someone had to fucking say it. Embarrassing confession: “My Sacrifice” is a FANFUCKINGTASTIC song!

I have a hard time with people. I try my best. I always learn and continue to grow. I got that goin for myself. People suck. People are cruel. (3rd time I’ve said this today?)  People take no time to disappoint me for the most part. If you’re kind to me, I will be twice as kind to you. If you’re a fuckface to me, expect me to be an extra double fuck with a cherry on top. Add some nuts too and suck on that shit. I’m a badass person to have in your life and on your team. If you’re lucky enough to make it into my inner circle, I’ll probably be one of the best friend’s you’ve ever made. If you can’t look at yourself in the mirror and see the person that you would like to be friends with, you need to make some changes. It took me a long time to become my own best friend. If you can’t be solid with spending time with yourself, you can’t be solid with anyone and you’ll eventually become a dead weight. Take the time to get to know yourself and work on it...for me it’s constant. I know there is other people with my qualities in the world. If you find one, take the time to learn about them and ease your way into friendship slowly. Actions speak louder than words. Prove yourself to be a good human. Be patient. The best relationship of any type comes with time and work.

Let’s see…

Don’t be a fucking retail investor.

Don’t be a fucking commie.

Don’t be a fucking douchebag. 

Don’t fucking settle.

Don't stop bettering yourself for you and those you care for.

Don’t stop fucking being YOU!

LO

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Chaol: Motivated by Loyalty? Or Fear?

WARNING: TOD spoilers.  Do NOT read if you don’t want to see anything re: Tower of Dawn!!

This was inspired by this post by @my-name-is-fireheart that gave me insight into why so many people dislike Chaol.  I’m going to start with a little review, and then I’m going to go into a long rambling dissertation.  You have been warned.

Chaol is motivated by two things in his life: his love for Dorian, and fear.  Certainly at the end of Heir of Fire, the latter emotion won.  I think that much of what we tend to interpret as rigid morality is in fact fear.  Apparent loyalty to the King when he didn’t warn Celaena about Nehemia being questioned was in fact a result of him being afraid of the King.  When the King first told hime he was going to have Nehemia questioned, he added, “‘I want six men outside the room.  Make sure there are no complications or interruptions.’  The look the king gave him suggested exactly the sort of complication he had in mind - Celaena.  Chaol knew it was risky to ask questions…”  Risky to just ask questions, let alone go against direct orders to keep quiet about it.  He then didn’t tell Dorian what it was about though Dorian asked him directly, nor did he tell Celaena, “though part of him twisted until it hurt.”  He is already beginning to struggle with the strain between what his morals told him to do (tell Celaena) and his fear of what would result (he or Celaena or both likely killed by the King).

At the end of Crown of Midnight, Chaol now knows that Celaena is part-fae and that Dorian has magic.  This could be a death sentence for both of them, and he fears both that and the magic itself.  This in turn is why he sends Celaena to Wendlyn and withdraws quite a bit from Dorian (a process begun by their respective relationships to Celaena but made much more significant by the magic revelation).  He honestly wants to protect them from the King, but he also fears what they are capable of, especially Celaena.  He’s had, after all, a life-long relationship with Dorian but has known Celaena for barely months and doesn’t really understand her and her motivations, and he has seen her mow men down with his own eyes.  Much more powerful than reading about it in a dossier.

Throughout Heir of Fire, he begins to try to find his own morality and he struggles greatly.  Up to that point, his morality had been defined by how he was raised.  He was taught from childhood to trust the King (maybe - ToD hints that perhaps Chaol’s father was not so much the loyal subject), that magic is evil, etc., etc.  It’s a beautiful parallel of people who are raised in a strict religious context, who start to get exposed to people from other religions, or atheists, or whatever, and begin to question their upbringing and try to form their own opinion about whether these “others” are good, bad, or gray.  This is a very difficult thing to do, especially when you’ve come to realize both you and the two people in the world you care the most about (both of whom fit into the “other” category) are in mortal danger.

Chaol demonstrates quite a bit of self-loathing in HoF, QoS, and ToD.  His confidence in his upbringing and moral beliefs has been shaken, and he has found himself making decisions he doesn’t understand out of fear of what will happen to him and the people he loves.  It’s a painful journey to watch, but one that so many of us have to go through.  He is basically the straight person in a supernatural comedy of errors - his experience and reactions parallel what most humans would do, if we’re being honest with ourselves.  We would be afraid of these powers, and that fear would inform our decisions, both for good and for bad.

Here’s where I’m going to go off on a bit of a tangent that I promise relates.  I’ve been a life-long horse person, and several years ago I had a catastrophic accident with a horse that were I a hair less balanced in the saddle, did I have a shade less experience, had the horse involved been an iota less athletic, would have resulted in the death of the horse, myself, or probably both.  Luckily we both survived, but I will live with the repercussions of that accident for the rest of my life as my non-dominant arm was severely injured and I have residual nerve damage and structural damage to it.  However, I still ride, even still ride the horse I had the accident on, who belongs to my very close friend.  

Working with animals ten times my size who could kill me easily either on purpose or by accident (the horse in question absolutely did not want to hurt me, he just had a panicked moment), I live in a constant dance with what I regard as a healthy fear.  A while back I read a brilliant article by a rider who stated that we should replace the word “fear” with “common sense” when talking about horses.  When I throw my leg over a 1300 lb animal who can jump a five-foot fence and run at 30 mph, it is common sense to be respectful of what that animal can do; I have to make the decision every single time to get on, to do something I love, knowing that if something goes wrong I could die.  Likewise, when Chaol is interacting with Celaena/Aelin, especially, there is a part of his mind that struggles to not remember that she was beyond deadly even without her magic, her assassin and fighting skill exceed his own, she has killed many while he has killed only one human (Cain).  He can’t forget her gutting Archer Finn because it terrified him - for good reason.  He didn’t know Archer had set up Nehemia’s death, and Celaena never tells him.  All he saw was Archer beg for his life, tell Celaena she was a “good woman,” and Celaena gut him.  It is common sense to fear someone who can do that if they won’t tell you their motivations.  

Aelin/Celaena’s biggest flaw is her unwillingness to be honest and up front about things.  Chaol is the character who calls her out on that the most, perhaps because he recognizes that same tendency in himself.  His fearful common sense reaction to her is strengthened when he realizes she can set the world on fire.  He both fears her abilitiees and wants to rely on them to save Dorian, save the world, and that’s a tough conflict to live with.  Was he unfair to her when she returned, that he had placed expectations on her that she would come back to save Dorian?  Sure - but he was also heartbroken and killing himself for having left Dorian, and had pinned his hopes onto her considerable abilities.  

Speaking of which…the biggest thing Chaol had to heal from in ToD was for walking away from Dorian when the shit went down with Sorscha and Aedion, and Dorian’s magic showed itself to spare him.  It was fear common sense that made him do so; he knew if he remained he’d be completely unable to help Dorian, while from the outside, with the rebels, he may have a chance.  Likewise it was fear common sense coupled with love that had him fight Aelin so hard when she wanted to (justifiably from her perspective) kill Dorian.  

Fear Common sense is incredibly valuable - until it is paralyzing (pun not intended).  When your fear common sense helps you in your decision-making, it’s brilliant, but when it halts it, it’s catastrophic.  Most people who suffer accidents similar to mine continue to ride at first, but find that their relationship with their horse suffers, and over time, they give up on it, or  their riding becomes much more limited than it was.  They lose the glorious sense of communion with another creature that cannot be matched by anything else; but if you ask them, they wouldn’t say they were afraid.  They often don’t even think about the accident consciously.  But the subconscious doesn’t let go, and the more you try to beat it down, the more it latches on.

Chaol actually doesn’t become overwhelmed in the moment, but over the ensuing months, his self-loathing for his decision making leads to his paralysis, both physically (because he essentially sacrifices himself so Aelin can rescue Dorian) and emotionally (leading him to cling to Nesryn despite his lack of feelings for her due to the safety she represents, leading him to be harsh to Yrene initially, etc.).  The problem he was having, though, It wasn’t until he really was being healed by Yrene that he was able to recognize the fear in himself.  

“He had been so afraid - so afraid of magic, of loss, of everything.  And that fear…it had driven him to it anyway.  It had hurried him down this path.  He had clung so hard, had fought against it, and it had cost him everything…Unmoored and raging, he had not wanted to heal.  Not really…Some part of him had whispered it was deserved.  And the soul-wound…He had been content to let it fester.  Failure and liar and oath-breaker.”

Chaol actually was far from a failure.  He succeeded in escaping sure death at the hands of the King; helped free Aedion; helped Aelin gain funds for the war (by helping with the Arobynn situation); protected Dorian from Aelin, and ultimately gave himself up to save both the magic-wielders.  Was he a liar?  Perhaps, to his father; same with the oath-breaker.  Perhaps one could argue he was to Nesryn as well, but Nesryn had in fact released him from any oath when she left with Sartaq, and he never really lied to her about his feelings.  They were consensual sex partners without commitment in QoS, but never did he really promise her anything other than that he would walk out of the castle (and that was hardly his fault).  But he couldn’t see himself as anything else until he recognized his fear, faced it, and saw it through to the other side.  Until he was able to acknowledge it, and make the conscious decision to love Dorian, love Aelin, despite the fear common sense they inspire in him.  Much as I make the conscious decision to ride my horses every day.

Essentially, Chaol’s role in this series is that of straight man to the supernatural weirdness going on around him.  He feels the same fear common sense that we would.  His responses are natural, and realistic, and human.  He represents the process of getting a moral education, a forced expansion of one’s world, that many of us go through as we mature from children to adults.  And he shows beautifully how healing occurs, both physically and emotionally.

[raendown]

Written upon specific request of someone who’s privacy I will respect.

Pairing: KakashiSakura Word Count: 2173 Summary: While the secret is hidden the pressure builds. And when the secret is found the pressure releases. It isn't always pretty. Warnings: Implied past rape, implied past abuse.

Follow the link or read it under the cut.

Reaching Catharsis

He only noticed small things at first. He noticed the way she wouldn’t stand in certain spots in the kitchen, the way she often tried to hurry passed the cupboards as though some bogeyman were waiting just inside the doors to reach out and drag her inside. She had a way of lounging in arms chairs in total relaxation yet the way she sat upon a couch looked as though she were hovering on the edge of her seat, ready to bolt. And he couldn’t fail to notice how she would only ever hold his hand on her left side, never her right.

Kakashi had never been the kind of person for a direct confrontation when he could simply sit back and observe the answers for himself. In retrospect, however, it probably would have been better if he could have just opened his mouth and asked questions like any other decent person would have. Sakura was no delicate flower, he was well aware of that. But he also knew more than most that every person has their demons – and that nothing can prey on someone quite like their own dark secrets.

He just wished he could have known how to help her before he did something so horribly wrong.

Watching his girlfriend of seven months shiver and cower in the corner, balled in to herself and unable to look at him, made Kakashi feel as though there could be no lower trash than himself right at that moment. He’d done something wrong, that much was obvious. It hadn’t been intentional or even particularly overt. Whatever it was had been a trigger of some sort and Kakashi wanted to tear his hair out from the roots. He should have known. Shouldn’t he be able to recognize the signs of trauma better than anybody?

“Sakura?” he called gently. The woman in question tucked her face in to her knees, the sound of messy weeping crawling across his skin like shards of glass. “Sakura, love, I’m sorry. Whatever it was that I did I’m so sorry.”

His words only made her cry harder. It wasn’t the pretty crying one usually saw on movie screens. It was harsh and full, loud and so broken he could barely connect the sound of it to such a strong woman who walked through the daylight with her chin up high. He wanted to burn the world for her; anything to make it better.

It took a long time for the storm of her tears to slow. Sakura never released her tight grip around her own knees and Kakashi never tried to approach her. He sat at the opposite side of the room, perched on the chair by her perfectly organized desk. The chair was pink and delicate and he felt a little like a wooden doll sitting on it, pretty to look at but so utterly useless. Still, he made sure not to make any sudden movements, waiting until Sakura slowly raised her head to give him a hesitant look.

“Hey,” he murmured. Her eyes were red and swollen, the bits of her cheeks that he could see were splotchy, and he just wanted to pull her in to his arms and try to make her feel better.

“You’re still here…” She didn’t sound upset by the fact, which he was grateful for. Instead she sounded as though she were surprised.

“Of course I am,” he assured her. “I’m not sure what it was but I did something which upset you. I would hardly leave you alone after that.”

Her head shook, bottom lip trembling. “No! It wasn’t your fault. I’m just…I…” Her voice wobbled and fresh tears gathered in her eyes until Kakashi leaned slowly to one side, allowing the slight movement to catch her eye without seeming a threat.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He clasped both hands in his lap, making himself as steady as possible. “I don’t think it was your fault either. We all have bad memories Sakura; some people just have worse ones than others. And they carry those memories with them, trying to let them go but never able to put them down. And I know that sometimes those memories come back to us when we least want them to.”

She looked shaken by his words, or possibly by the fact that he didn’t seem very bothered by her display. It hurt him to see her hurting, of course, but it certainly wasn’t enough to make him turn tail and run for the hills. He cared about her too much to drop her like a hot potato at the slightest sign of what some would call baggage. In his experience, every shinobi had baggage. Some of it was job related and some of it wasn’t, sometimes it was simple and sometimes it was crippling. It didn’t matter what it was. What mattered was that Sakura, in this moment, needed a little comfort.

“How can I help?” he asked. His partner drew her brows together, gnawing on her lip.

“I…I want a hug.”

“Is it okay for me to come over there and hug you?”

She nodded slowly and Kakashi gave her an encouraging smile as he stood and made his way to where she had huddled in to the corner. He kept it to a short hug, pulling away after only a few moments and settling down on the mattress with his back to the wall and a foot of space between them. He could see the internal struggle going on inside her, the want to be closer but the need for personal space right now.

“I’m sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Kakashi smiled at her again but she tucking her chin back against her knees, body language cutting herself off from the world around her.

“It’s just that…I…”

“Sakura.” He waited for her eyes to slowly meet his before continuing, “You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. You can talk to me if you want but you don’t have to. All I need to know is what I did that was bad so I can avoid doing it again in the future. I just don’t want to hurt you, love.”

The look she gave him was one he was familiar with, a feeling he had struggled with himself quite a few times. It was a look that said his kindness was almost painful to her because she neither felt she deserved it nor knew how to deal with it. His heart ached for her, such a sweet woman who deserved no unhappiness. He ached to take the pain for her and bear it in her stead.

Though her body did not uncurl, Kakashi was surprised to see some of her muscles loosen as she steadied herself with a tremulous sigh. Her eyes dropped away from his and concentrated on a blank spot of wall across the room from them.

“No, I think you deserve to know. I’d hoped that I would…be okay. I didn’t expect the memories to stop me from being happy with you – I feel safe with you! But it did happen and you deserve to know why.” She stopped to take another breath, bracing herself to keep going. “Sasuke didn’t leave the village again to ‘repent’ like everyone thinks. He…he left because Shishou told him if he ever set foot in the village again she would feed him his vertebrae one by one.”

“That sounds like her,” Kakashi murmured carefully, not looking where this was going.

“When we got married everything was fine. I’d been dreaming about it since we were children and I thought all of my dreams were coming true. Things were a bit different from how I had pictured them but I didn’t think too much of it. He was going through a hard time and – no. No those were my excuses for him. I wanted to think that he cared but he didn’t so I made excuses. So when he started acting strange I thought perhaps I had done something wrong and he encouraged me to believe that. And when he would only have sex if I let him hold me down I thought it was because having only one arm made him feel weak. So I let him.”

Sakura paused to draw a tremulous breath, her entire body shaking like a leaf.

“I don’t know why I didn’t stop him. Physically I’m stronger so I should have been able to when I wanted it to stop but I just…didn’t. I told him no but he held my arms like always and took what he said he needed. It took a few times before I realized that it wasn’t me he needed, it was – he wanted a child. Not because he wanted to be a parent but because he wanted me to be some kind of breeding animal and resurrect his clan through my womb alone.”

“Oh Sakura…”

“And I understood after that. I did. I knew why he stayed and why he had really married me. I knew that he had never loved me. But I still let him do those things to me. I let him hold me down like that and…do...that…even when I said no. I could have stopped him! Why did I never stop him?!”

Kakashi slowly reached out his hand, not touching but hovering his fingers halfway between them.

“I’m not the person to ask that question to Sakura,” he said. “I could tell you silly things like ‘it was because you loved him’ but they wouldn’t really be healthy things to tell hear. I can listen though, if you ever need to talk. You know that I’ll always be here.” Sakura gave him such an incredulous look that he felt another small piece of his heart break.

“You really still want to stay?” she asked. He’d never heard her voice so small.

“I’m not going anywhere Sakura. I don’t love you any less just because some bad things have happened to you in the past. Now that I understand what happened I can avoid doing that in the future and we can talk if you need to about anything else I should avoid doing. There isn’t a lot I can do to help but I’ll do what I can, okay?”

He very nearly shuddered just thinking about how badly he had unknowingly messed up. Of course it would bother her for him to hold her wrists like he had, going through what she did. He would make sure it never happened again. Just because he found the move arousing didn’t mean others did and refraining from doing that one little thing was a small sacrifice to make for the sake of her comfort.

There would be other things he could do for her, other ways he would be able to change their daily lives to help her be more comfortable. Kakashi thought of all the little things he had already noticed in her behavior. There were already things he tried to do to help make things easier for her but now that he understood why he could do better. The more she opened up to him the more he could help her – and when it came to the things she couldn’t open up to him about he could still make sure she understood that he loved her. That he would make this space as safe for her as possible.

Sakura was crying again when she slowly crawled in to his arms, allowing him to cautiously wrap her up in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Kakashi kissed the crown of her candy pink hair before shaking his head.

“I know that sometimes you get tired of hearing it but you are so strong, Sakura. Not just physically. We all know that you can bring down entire buildings with a single blow but that’s not what I mean.” Kakashi closed his eyes and laid his cheek against her hair. “You have a strong heart too. And I could not possibly be more proud of you.”

Instead of answering, Sakura curled tighter in to his chest as her tears flowed faster and returned to loud weeping. This time, though, her sobs had a cathartic sound to them. Perhaps for the first time since she had escaped from under the thumb of her terrible experiences, Sakura allowed herself to let it all out. Kakashi held her tightly and rocked them back and forth gently, saying nothing. For the moment there was nothing more to say.

Later there would be time for many more words. There would be time for Kakashi to wonder how he had missed the signs and feel terrible that he hadn’t been able to be there for her when this had all been happening. He knew himself well enough to admit there would even be time for plotting vicious payback against a certain someone should they ever cross paths again.

Most importantly, however, after all that, there would be time for healing.

[creatingpathstowander]

Lol "loss"?

I reblogged this ask game, and this is one of my prompts.

My friend, Anonymous Reader:

You didn’t specify a pairing for this prompt, just the word, so I took a few liberties with this prompt. It also ended up being a lot longer than a drabble, at close to 5,000 words. It’s a very rough draft, but the angst is so strong that I cried a few times while writing it. Please enjoy this painful, terrible fic.

As you’ve requested, here’s a Voltron: Legendary Defender story in which Lance is a hero, Keith is selfish, and both Paladins lose something before they even have the chance to appreciate it in the first place.

Loss Prompt: The Worth of a Life

“Hey, what’re you guys cahoots-ing about over there?” his voice is light; bright and beautiful and enchanting and gratingly obnoxious all at once, as always. It’s just a bit more… distant than usual. It’s less like Lance’s usual voice, and more like a memory of what Lance is supposed to sound like. He knows it’s not quite right, not quite conveying the cool and composed persona he wants, but he’s trying his best. It’s hard just to remember how to breathe given the circumstances, so trying is all he can do. Breathe. Speak. Breathe again. He pushes on, and Keith sucks in a breath of his own to keep from telling his boyfriend to shut up. Nobody else can hear what he’s thinking, can feel what he’s feeling, can know the thoughts lurking just below the surface of his mostly-conscious mind. Keith doesn’t want to confuse or alarm their already terrified charges any more than necessary. And besides… Lance doesn’t need to be silenced or belittled right now. He needs to be comforted and validated and understood and –

“No cahoots-ing on my deathbed!” he hits the punchline of his own sorry excuse for a joke so hard that it rattles the fragments of bone that’ve come loose inside his ribcage. He tilts his head back as far as he can manage and laughs like he’s said the funniest thing in the whole universe. He tries to make that sound normal, too, and as far as Keith is concerned he very nearly succeeds. His laugh is rapid, and breathy, and genuine, and largely uninterrupted. It’s musical and ethereal and amazing and, again, gratingly obnoxious. It just isn’t… present. It fades out around the edges, as the warmth of it is trying to sink back into his pale, sand-colored skin. As if it can reinvigorate the parts of him that Keith can’t look at, that make the Red Paladin’s stomach curl in on itself like a dying animal. As if it can halt the progression of death as it creeps across Lance’s weakened body.

Lance himself lets the last laugh fade away, the distant look in his eyes and the slight shaking of his body the only warning either Keith or their anxious audience receives before he’s doubled over with a cough that seems as if it wants to tear him apart from the inside. His mind goes blank for a long moment, unable to process the sight of fresh blood in the crook of his elbow. There’s just the shock of bright red, the muddled scents of copper and acid and the last space goo they’d had back at the castle. His eyes go dull, and words leave him – even in his own head.

Keith shudders, decides it would take too much time to stand up, and instead crawls across the dusty concrete to reach Lance. He leans his own body against the same giant, mechanical lion’s paw that’s been keeping his boyfriend in a semi-upright position all this time. With a long, stuttering sigh, he lifts Lance into his lap and holds him close against his chest. Lance wraps an arm around Keith’s neck, what’s left of the other one reaching toward him only slightly before giving up and falling back. Lance closes his eyes, face buried in Keith’s chest. He shakes again, trembling with a cold only he and Keith can feel. The Red Paladin shivers in response, and then stills.

Wait. He can’t hear Lance’s breathing. He can’t feel it, either. The other teen is pressed so close against him that he can feel their hearts beating together, but he can’t feel his breath. He isn’t breathing. He’s been focusing on the rhythm of breathing for nearly half an hour, and now he isn’t focusing on anything at all.

“Lance?” the teen giggles at the sound of his own name, and Keith has the sudden desire to know if the galra have a god – because if so, he wants to thank them for keeping Lance alive… at least until help arrives. He places a kiss on his lover’s forehead, whispering instructions on how to breathe in case Lance forgets again. The Blue Paladin nods, and the inner mantra of reminders to breathe in and out starts back up in his head again.

He speaks anyway, deciding it’s worth both the mental distraction and physical exertion, “No cahoots-ing, Keith.”

“I’m not cahoots-ing. I’m… talking. That’s all.”

“Hm? Who’re you talking to?”

“The kid…”

“Idiot,” Keith almost bristles at the insult, but he manages to catch himself before Lance can hear his thoughts and get distracted any further, “you can’t just say you’re talking to the kid. There’s, like, fifty of ‘em in here. They’re the whole reason we’re here. There’s no the kid. Dumb Keith. Silly Keith. Pretty Keith. Soft Keith.” He mumbles on, his original point lost in thoughts of his boyfriend. Keith is just one person. Better yet, he’s Lance’s favorite person. He’s easy to focus on. Sort of. As much as it’s easy to focus on anything.

He makes up a song about Keith in his head, knowing that if he sang it out loud he’d end up coughing again. He hums the song weakly against Keith’s chest instead, grip loosening on Keith’s neck and body slumping into sleep. In the back of his mind, he’s considering giving in to it.

He’s cold. Colder than he’s ever been, even on ice planets and tundras and in that one blizzard where he and Keith holed up in a cave and told stories and made out until Shiro rescued them. He liked that cave. It was warm, and filled with luminescent creatures. It was romantic, and safe. This is kind of romantic, too, right? His soul-bonded lover cradling him in his arms, heartbeat steady against his cheek as they breathe in tandem. That’s a nice, romantic way to go, right?

“Mm. Keith, can you promise me something?”

“Anything, Lance. You know that.”

“Good. You’re a good guy, y’know that?”

“What’s the promise, Lance? What do you need?”

“Oh, yeah. Right. When the others get here, I want you to tell them I died doing something really badass and important. Like, Zarkon came back to life and we had a showdown and we both shot at the same time and I hit him in his gross, zombie face and saved everyone in the whole universe. Promise you’ll do that?”

“Yeah, no.”

“Hm? Why not? I’d do it for you, y’know…”

“I know. I’m saying you don’t need me to tell them anything but what actually happened. Actually, no, screw that –”

“Keith, there are children…!”

“You don’t need me to tell the team anything, cause once you’re out of the castle cryopods you’ll tell them the whole story yourself. You jumped in front of a weird, alien weapon to protect a bunch of children you insisted we rescue from a galran labor camp. You saved, like, fifty kids from dying in those camps and a handful of them from dying when a maniacal warden threw giant, mechanical, alien ninja stars at them. You were totally badass and important all on your own, okay? You don’t have to kill zombie Zarkon to do something important, alright? You’re amazing, and what you did was the most amazing, selfless thing I’ve ever had the honor to witness. And you can tell everyone I said that when we get back to the castle, I promise.”

There’s a softness in Lance’s thoughts, then; a smile that can’t quite make it to his face. He nuzzles feebly against Keith’s armor, slumping further down into his lover’s lap. He focuses on feelings of gratitude, and overwhelming love, and reminders to keep breathing. This time, Keith can’t feel the words coming back. He’s been able to hear Lance’s thoughts since that galran marriage ceremony the Blade of Marmora insisted on having for them, and both of them have had times when words aren’t the best way to convey what they mean. They’ve even had times when they can’t think of words at all. But this… Keith takes off one of his gloves and runs a hand through Lance’s hair. It’s sticky with cold sweat and drying blood, and Keith can barely handle the sensation of bitter cold that seeps into his fingers when he makes contact with his boyfriend’s skin.

The child beside him shuffles in place, watching the two with an expression Keith can’t actually place. He’s never been good at deciphering expressions to begin with, especially with non-humans, but this particular kid has a poker face that he bets would stump even the greatest diplomats he’s ever known – Princess Allura included.

She nods, walking over and hovering her hand just above Lance’s intact leg. Her ears fold back, eyes searching Keith’s for some kind of agreement, or perhaps just understanding.

He takes in a breath, and watches the way Lance’s hair ruffles when he lets it out.

“You said you’ll die,” he wants to cringe at his own voice, the flatness of it pressing down on his chest. This is someone’s life – a child’s life, and he’s talking about its sacrifice like it’s nothing more than a… a fact in a textbook. He’s thinking about this death the same as he would any death he learned about in his history class back at the Garrison. He wants to go back, say it again, say no this time and mean it.

“I told you already, it’s okay. My papa said that when someone saves you, or someone you care about, you owe them a life debt. And my mama said that Voltron is the most important thing in the whole entire universe, and that if you lost a Paladin of Voltron you’d lose all the millions of people that the Paladin would’ve saved if they hadn’t of been lost,” she speaks with a confidence and acceptance and even grace that Keith can hardly comprehend. She mispronounces a few words, and stumbles over even more, but even her stuttering and floundering comes across like it’s just a planned part of her speech. She smiles, showing off gaps in her teeth, and Keith swears she can’t be more than five or six years old – or at least, whatever the galra equivalent of that would be.

“You’ll die,” he says it as a fact again, but he likes to think there’s a bit more reluctance behind it this time. A bit more sympathy. A bit more god damned humanity, please. “You’ll die, and that’s not fair to you.”

“Is it more fair for him to die? His life is worth more than mine, right?”

“That’s not…” he bites his lip, hand pressing against Lance’s head as if he can stop all this by himself and not have to have this conversation, “That’s not true.” He’s lying. He’s lying, and he knows it. He knows that when choosing between Lance and an innocent kid… he’ll choose Lance. Every time. She’s a child, with her whole damn life ahead of her, and he’s a Paladin of Voltron. He’s supposed to be protecting innocents like her. He’s supposed to be keeping them alive, not… not sacrificing them so he won’t have to live without his lover.

“It is true. Your soul-mate saved me, and my little sister, and all my friends. I owe him my life, like my papa said. That means his life is worth more than mine, cause mine belongs to him, now,” she smiles, hand moving closer to making contact with Lance.

“That… doesn’t even make sense,” Keith struggles to believe himself, though the steady weakening of Lance’s heartbeat makes it difficult to prioritize logic over emotion. He’s always trusted his feelings more than anything, and right now… right now all he can feel is the fear of having Lance slip through his fingers.

“If you talk me out of it, he’ll die,” her expression breaks at last, an angry pout overtaking her fluffy, purple face.

“If I talk you out of it, you’ll live,” he tries to push his words over hers, to convince himself that they can all survive this. He hates his own doubt, and for a moment indulges himself in the mental image of being able to punch his personified doubt in the face. His teeth clench, and he counts out the slowing rhythm of Lance’s pulse. If his heart can stay beating for just a little longer, if Lance can stay breathing for just a little bit longer, they’ll all survive.

“You want him to live, though,” it’s a fact. She says it the same way Keith told her she would die. Lance will live, and the little half-galra girl will die. Keith’s breath stutters, and it’s only in the silence that he realizes Lance’s breathing has stopped again. His breath is gone, and Keith can’t tell whether his heartbeat is just too soft to feel or if it’s absent altogether. For a long moment, the cold that he’s been feeling from Lance becomes his own. His body freezes, and everything – words, sights, sounds, feelings – everything suddenly… falls apart.

He pieces himself back together as quickly as he can manage, looking to the girl as if he’ll somehow find answers in those inscrutable eyes. What can he do? What should he do? Where are the others? Why aren’t they here yet? Are they even coming? Did Blue even reach the castle to deliver their distress signal? Why aren’t the Lions doing anything? Why can’t he do anything? He just wants Lance to live through this. He just wants – he needs Lance to survive this. That’s all he needs. That’s all he asks. Is that more than the universe can handle? After all he’s done for it – after all Lance has done for it – is this too much for the universe to give back in return? Is Lance’s life not worth saving? Is he meant to die here? Is Keith meant to outlive him? He never thought – he never wanted – he thought maybe Lance would go back to Earth and not take Keith with him, but this – is he meant to just sit back against his Lion’s paw and let this happen?

He can’t do that. He can’t accept that. He’s never had someone who loves him and believes in him and is there for him the way Lance is. He’s had his father, and Shiro, and that’s it. He’s never had love like Lance’s. He’s never had someone he’d die for. He’s just getting used to it. He’s just starting to get used to knowing that there’s someone he can actually love and trust on this level. He’s just starting to get used to the feeling of Lance’s arms around him at night, and the sound of Lance’s voice singing songs to him in the morning, and the looks in his eyes that make him feel like there’s nobody in the universe but him and Lance. How can he let that go? How can he let it just… disappear?

He barely registers the whimper that slinks out his throat like a wounded animal fleeing from a fight. He barely feels the added weight in his lap, and the soft, small hands that wipe the wetness from his cheeks.

“Lance…”

“Thanks for finally agreeing to let me do this, Mr. Paladin. He’s gonna live, now. I promise,” the voice pulls him back, pulls his eyes to the sight of a small half-galran girl curled up between him and Lance. She’s pushed the Blue Paladin away from Keith’s chest, and strains her arms to reach around his torso, “My druid mama taught me how to do this, and she said I’m perfect at it. He’s gonna live.”

She closes her eyes, hugging Lance tight, “You saved my sister. Now I get to save you. You’re gonna live.” She squeezes his body, and something happens. Keith isn’t entirely sure what it is. There’s a humming, almost a rumbling, that feels something like the Balmera did back when it spoke to its people during that first mission so long ago. There’s a light, and a heat, and a coldness, and Keith imagines that if he’d ever stepped out of his Lion or the castle during a wormhole jump, it would feel a lot like this. His very bones resonate with the energy that suddenly surrounds him, until the world is blurred at the edges.

The energy ripples, and again Keith gets an image associated with its motion. He imagines it as a child, fidgeting in place as they try to figure out where to go or what to do next. It moves in waves, settling itself, and then draws in past him, past the girl, towards Lance.

The humming stops, the world goes still.

Lance’s eyes snap open, glowing the same violet as the girl’s fur for just an instant. He gasps, lungs finally working on their own. He looks around like he’s just woken up from a nap, groggy and disoriented and half-terrified.

“Lance… oh my god, Lance! Lance, you’re back! You’re here! You’re –” his words fall over themselves, tripping on the tears Keith can’t seem to hold back. Lance isn’t dead. Lance is alive. Lance is here. Lance is with him. Lance is still here.

“Where’d I go?” Lance speaks slowly, voice cracked and weak. It’s gone from light to downright pale, a shimmering afterimage of itself, but it’s still his and it’s still here, and Keith has never heard anything more beautiful, “What happened?”

“I did a good thing,” the girl sighs, like a dog settling in for a nap. Lance startles and looks down at her, somehow curled up in both his lap and Keith’s at the same time. The Paladins watch as she draws herself into the fetal position. She shivers, lets out one more sigh, and stills. As if a light was switched off, she’s suddenly pale and dull and horribly still. She’s gone. Lance is here, and the girl is gone. And Keith told her she could do it. Not with his words, exactly, but… she’s the second person he’s killed today, after the warden.

“Keith,” there’s a panic in Lance’s voice now as his mind begins to wake up, “what does she mean? What happened? Keith, is she…?” he grabs his boyfriend’s wrist, searching for answers in his eyes just as Keith had looked for guidance from the girl just moments before.

“You’re alive, Lance. Focus on that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She… did a good thing. You’re here now, with me. You’re alive.”

“Because of…?”

“Yeah. Because of what she did.”

“Oh.”

There’s nothing else to say. There’s a million other things to say; to ask, to shout, to demand, to plead. Keith hears them all, and responds without words. He imagines them all surviving. Lance, being healed in the cryopod. The girl, being brought to the castle along with her sister and her friends. The kids they rescued, all being taken to a sanctuary the Blade of Marmora had told them about just a few months ago. The kids all either finding their parents (though not many were still alive) or finding good foster families – except for the girl and her sister, whose parents Keith imagined had died trying to save her because why else would she have been in a place like this with a Blade of Marmora member for a father and a druid for a mother? He imagines himself and Lance visiting to check on her, only to see her all alone and bring her back to the castle with them. He imagines teaching her to use the blade, to follow in her father’s footsteps. He imagines Lance teaching her his terrible jokes. He imagines Pidge playing video games with her. He imagines Hunk teaching her to bake. He imagines her hugging Shiro when he’s quiet, like he himself used to do when they were kids. He imagines Coran letting her pretend he’s the Altean equivalent of a horse and she’s a brave knight protecting her kingdom. He imagines Allura showing them a place in the castle where she and her sister can go to be absolutely safe during missions. He imagines both Allura and the mice playing dress up with her to help her find her own style. He imagines a whole life with her – a life where her willingness to save Lance would be rewarded.

He looks down at her again, and brushes a hand across her cheek. Lance lets his forehead fall against Keith’s, the only gesture of comfort he has the energy or dexterity to perform. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to think. He thinks about losing his own siblings, and his heart threatens to stop beating again. He shuts his eyes tight and kisses Keith’s forehead to tell him it’s okay. It’s not okay. There’s a dead girl in their laps, and he’s alive because of it. How could any part of that be okay?

“The part where you’re alive?” Keith isn’t sure if it’s a question or an affirmation, but Lance doesn’t respond either way. He just slides his head down to Keith’s chest and leaves it there. If he cries, Keith doesn’t mention it. He’d join him, in truth, if he had any of his own tears left.

Another hour goes by, children gathering gradually closer to one another for warmth. They give Lance and Keith and the dead girl as wide a berth as they can without straying so far that they start to feel vulnerable again. Lance starts to fall asleep a few times, his blood loss still sufficient that even a druidic cure isn’t enough to keep him alive for long. Keith wakes him each time, and each time he prays to whatever unknown galra god(s) there may be that the girl’s efforts weren’t in vain.

He isn’t sure they’ll make it until he hears static in the helmet by his hip. He fumbles with it, hands slow with disuse, but manages to get it over his head after a few tries. Shiro’s voice. God, he’s been relieved to hear Shiro’s voice before but never like this, “ – there? Keith? Lance? Pidge, are you sure these are the right coordinates?”

“Yes, these are the coordinates Blue gave me! And – wait, look! I see Red! Red’s down there! And so are… a bunch of mini-galras?” Pidge is there, too. Blue must have gone to her because she has the easiest time understanding computers. Good Lion.

“I think those are kids, Pidge. I mean, I’ve never seen a galra kid, but I’m pretty sure none of those are adults. I think,” and Hunk. Blue brought Hunk with them, too.

“Paladins, get in your Lions. Coran and I are going to land the castle as well, but if there are any threats to be dealt with –” Princess Allura. Coran. The castle. Lance could be put in a cryopod. He would live. Not just for a few more hours, but for… well, as long as he would have lived if this whole nightmare of a mission had never happened.

“There aren’t. Any threats, I mean. There’s just me, and Lance, and a bunch of really scared galra hybrids. Their parents are different species, and the galra put them in this labor camp to keep them out of the public eye and make them,” a growl slips into his voice, and Lance does his best to echo it despite the pain in his broken ribs, “‘useful to the empire,’ as the wardens put it. The wardens are… gone. Lance and I took care of them. Now we just need to get the kids to a Marmoran sanctuary, and get Lance into a healing pod… quickly, please.”

The team does move quickly, and before he knows it Keith is sitting alone on the vast concrete work floor. Lance’s been taken to the castle to be healed, the kids have been given temporary rooms in the labyrinthine halls where castle servants used to live in the old days, and the lions have gone to their hangar. All that’s left is Keith, and the girl still curled up in his lap.

“Um… Keith? You guys were here for a couple days before Blue came and got us, so Coran says you should go in a healing pod, too,” Hunk speaks softly, sitting down with his legs crossed and searching Keith’s face for signs of recognition, “I know you didn’t wanna talk about it – or, I assume you didn’t wanna talk about, cause you didn’t say anything when we asked – but, um, you’re gonna have to let go of… of her, sooner or later. We can… uh… give her a funeral? If you want?” He claps a hand on Keith’s shoulder, though even without the telepathic bond he shares with Lance, he can tell the Yellow Paladin is afraid to put any part of himself too close to the dead girl’s body.

Keith nods, scooping the girl into his arms. He never even got to learn her name. Lance gave her a few, while they were living through their imagined life together, but none of them stuck. None of them were hers. Maybe Keith will find her real parents one day, and ask them who she was. He rises to his feet at last, surprised when he stumbles and has to lean on Hunk for support. He’d only been sitting there for the second half of the four hour wait between when Lance got hurt and the team arrived to help them. Were his legs really that weak after just a few hours of sitting? Well… he had been holding Lance in his lap the whole time. And… the girl, too. He walks over to Red, the only Lion who hasn’t yet retreated to the hangar, and lays the girl gently between her paws. He steps back, and Red puts up her particle barrier. She understands. She’ll protect her body, until they can figure out what to do – where to bury her, most likely.

They stand together for a moment, shoulder-to-shoulder, looking up at Red’s face as she determinedly stands guard over the small body.

“Lance is missing an arm and a leg, those kids will barely talk, the wardens are in pieces, and this girl…” Hunk looks at him again, confusion and concern so clear on his face, “what happened to you guys?”

“Lance saved her, so she saved him back. She…” Keith pats Hunk’s shoulder and turns to walk back to the castle, already mapping out the path to the healing pods in his head, “she did a good thing.”