#and then build a fuckin bridge if you still care enough

[chaotic-public-menace]

This was marked with truely disgusting tags for a truly disgusting reason but hey my fellow queers and trans people why don't we submit fake happenings to flood their systems and make it unreliable ❤️

I have not seen this website posted yet so gyns I am happy to present to you "The Grand Map of Non-Happenings"

All you have to do is zoom in and click on the red tent and it will tell you of a reported instance in that area of a crime committed by trans identified males (even though it totally never happens)

Best of all, it's crowdsourced, and you can submit articles not already listed right at the top of the map

Gyns I pray you make use of this website and to publicize and bring to attention of these crimes that "never happen". Share it, use it, whatever you need. And donate to The Red Tent Collective if you have the means to do so!

https://www.theredtentcollective.org/transgender-crime-map

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 1. tags: dubcon

-

You duck behind a stack of boxes when you hear Johnny come whistling into the warehouse.

He shouts your name out somewhere off on the other side of the warehouse, voice echoing through the building. You keep absolutely still, fingers clamped around the clipboard that’s pressed close to your chest. Even your breathing slows, open-mouthed so as to keep it almost soundless. It’s strategic. You’ve gotten good at making yourself invisible back here, practically melting into the stack of boxes. 

A minute or two goes by with repeated calls of your name, echoing from different parts of the warehouse like Johnny’s making the rounds. Searching for you. He’s probably been looking around the store for ages, with his track record. Someone must have let it slip that you were assigned to inventory today instead of being out on the floor. 

You only let out a sigh when it’s been long enough that any reasonable person might have given up on trying to find you in the loading dock.

“Hiding from someone?” a deep voice asks from behind you.

Your gut all but self-ejects. When you turn around, he’s standing there in the same bright blue shirt that you also wear. His is stretched tight across his chest though, like it’s a size too small. You wonder sometimes if it’s on purpose. It’s hard not to let your eyes wander, but by now you’ve trained yourself to keep your eyes level when speaking to Johnny. 

“Nope,” you squeak. “Just…you know…counting. Counting boxes and…stacks.”

He laughs, loud enough to make you startle. It’s far too enthusiastic, like you told a particularly funny joke instead of stumbling over your words and you still don’t actually know if he finds you funny or not. 

“Cool,” Johnny says, taking a step closer to you. The clipboard doesn’t feel sufficient enough to put any real distance between the two of you. “Thought I could maybe come hang out with ye back here. Dinnae want ye to feel lonely.”

“Nope, not lonely at all. Totally peachy. Actually glad I could catch a break from…everyone.” You take a step back.

He follows you, another step forward. “Aye, dinnae worry, I get what ye mean. Some of the others—” he whistles, “—right buggers. Glad to catch a break myself as well.”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be…out in the front? I, uh, don’t want you to get in trouble with Jeff—”

“Ah, Jeff’s fine, kitty, dinnae worry about me,” Johnny coos, sounding pleased as punch. He takes you at face value instead of reading into the set of your jaw and the way you keep inching away from him as he gets closer to you, convinced that you genuinely in your heart care about whether he gets written up or not. “They fuckin’ love me, ye ken? Think he wants ta take me out for lunch tomorrow, but told him I’d only go if he invited ye as well.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” you whisper instead of screaming. You’re doing that a lot these days. Talking through the scream bubbling behind your front teeth. 

“Would ye want ta then?” he asks, suddenly in your face, three quick steps bridging the gap between you in barely a second, hardly enough time for you to blink. You blink and it’s just Johnny, in startling definition. Thick eyebrows and scar across his chin, the bridge of his nose perfect like he’s never broken it before. “Grab some lunch with me?”

“I, uh…I brought my lunch from home.”

“It’s a’right, I’ll buy it for ye, hen. Dinnae need ta waste your money.” Sometimes when he talks to you, he gets like this, fervent and almost desperate. He seems only half aware of it. “Ye like that mediterranean place nearby, right? Seen ye go there once or twice; wanted ta tag along, but dinnae want ta alarm ye.”

“You saw me go there?” you repeat. 

“Aye, happened ta glance out the window when ye were on your lunch break. Back before management changed my break time. Cheers for that as well because it was really startin’ ta bother me, ye ken? Not being able ta eat with my favourite coworker.” 

You never know how to respond when Johnny lets on a bit too much about how he feels about you. Sometimes he slips up and it comes rushing out, a big spool of thread unwinding in front of you.  

“Yeah, well…I don’t know about today but maybe…” you say, trailing off. There’s a danger in just brushing him off, you feel. 

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, grin still splitting his face. “I’m no’ on the schedule, but I can drop by at your lunch break and go with ye. How’s that sound?”

“Well, you know…it sounds…” He’s close enough now that if you lean forward, you’ll faceplant in between his pecs. Despite everything, you have to slightly fight the urge. Sometimes you think it’d be easier if he weren’t so absurdly gorgeous. It doesn’t make any of his actions okay, it doesn’t excuse his behaviour just because he’s pretty, yet still he pulls you in somehow, magnetic. “It sounds—you know, actually, I think Jeff wanted to talk to me about something, so if you don’t mind—”

Johnny tries to say something, but you manage to duck around him and scurry off, disappearing into the stacks of boxes before pressing forward until you burst out the main doors out of the warehouse. It leads to a hall that goes towards the store, but you haul it to the women’s washroom instead. The one place he can’t follow you inside. 

In the washroom, you can finally breathe. Resting your hands on either side of the sink, you look into the mirror where haggard eyes with deep circles underneath stare back at you. 

You flinch when one of the toilets flush and the stall door opens, another coworker stepping out. 

“Did I hear Johnny outside?” she asks, taking the sink beside you to wash her hands. You nod, still tongue tied. “He really follows you everywhere, huh?”

For a second, your shoulders relax. “God, I know, he’s always just hovering—”

She cuts you off, sighing dreamily. “You’re so lucky. He’s so hot, it’s unreal. I can’t believe he works here, like that’s insane. I’d kill to have him as obsessed with me as he is with you.”

“He’s—he’s not into me, he’s just…you know, he just hovers.”

The water shuts off. Your coworker shoots you a dubious look, almost mocking. “Yeah, alright. Sure. Not into you. Not like he hangs off your every word. You don’t have to be humble—we’re already jealous. It’s like rubbing it in when you pretend like it’s totally normal.”

You slump, defeated, when she leaves without drying her hands. It’s moot to try and commiserate with anyone. They don’t see him the way you do, not for who he is. Your coworkers love Johnny; you’ve seen someone genuinely fistpump after being scheduled with him. 

They don’t see any of the weird shit though. They don’t see the way he insists on walking you to your car well into the evening after a closing shift together. They don’t notice the way Johnny laughs a little too hard and with too much vigour when someone calls him your shadow, his eyes just a little too bright and fervent. 

They’re never around to see him ask if you want to sit on his lap while he shows you how to use the forklift in the backroom. They’ve never seen him beg management to let him take his breaks with you and doesn't let you have a moment of peace, just sits with you in the breakroom or follows you to your car when you say that you're going out for lunch. 

Sometimes you look at him and think, this guy should not be in the Appliance section of a big box store. Johnny should be on the front cover of magazines, in commercials for toothpaste, acting in Hallmark movies, or maybe hand modelling for obscenely ornate watch companies that cost the equivalent of a mortgage—not handing out free samples of sliced cheese.

That was then.

It starts like this: an overeager sales associate who butts his way to the front of the line on your first day. 

You think at first that you’re golden. It seems like a sweet deal—an easy enough job, maybe not what you went to school for, but still something to pass the time and not too backbreaking. Plus, the guy shaking your hand and chatting up a storm in front of you is making you melt inside. He’s easy on the eyes—all bright smiles, effortless charm, either just brushing or exactly six feet, and built. Broad shouldered and lean. 

Johnny’s a model employee as well—knows the handbook inside and out, and shows you the ropes on your first day along with the assistant manager giving you a tour of the store, which is helpful because there’s at least three floors that you could easily get lost on. He walks elderly customers to their cars with their bags, shows up to work early for every shift, always with a smile and a positive attitude, and you find out early on that management loves him because of his frankly incredible sales record. 

(And you get it too; you can’t imagine anyone looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and turning him down.)

He's also a spokesperson for the company in all of their internal training videos because he was hired through some “Jobs for Vets” program that they just rolled out. The guy can also stack things on a shelf like no one's business, products lined up with military precision (hence the ex-military status). 

All in all, you can’t help feeling like for once in your life, you didn’t draw the short stick. 

Then one day, you’re alone with Johnny in the breakroom early in the morning before the store has opened yet and he turns to you with a wide, boyish grin and says apropos of nothing, “Named my fleshlight after you.”

You think your brain skips a couple tracks like a record player. You rewind and replay what was just said to you. There’s no two ways about it—you must have misheard him. Of course you did because surely your coworker of two months didn’t just look you in the eyes and say with a sweet sunshine smile that he named his sex toy after you. 

He doesn’t laugh, just stands there and smiles while stirring sugar into his coffee. He takes it black. You take note of that because the brain still has to work when the mind shuts down momentarily, so you use it instead to catalogue things around the breakroom. One of the motivational posters hanging near the door is hung a bit off-centre. The fluorescent lightbulb on the far side of the room is dimmer than the others. Johnny’s eyes have a little light spot in them like the tip of an ocean wave.

“Excuse me?” you ask, dumbfounded. Your voice sounds hollow even to you.

“I named her after ye,” he repeats, not a trace of shame in his voice. “Used ta not have a name at all, but figured since I say it so much when I’m enjoyin’ her, she might as well share it with ya.” 

He stares at you after saying that, letting it hang in the air. Your brain chooses that moment to come back online and all it can do is load that image of Johnny home alone with his fleshlight, toes curled in his sheets and the muscles of his legs straining as he moans your name. All you can do is give a little awkward laugh, growing more uncomfortable by the second the longer he stares at you without blinking. 

Then, something passes over his eyes and suddenly he's back to normal, laughing and clapping you on the arm before wandering off to the men's apparel section. 

It leaves you reeling for the rest of the day, sure you imagined it. It recontextualizes a few things for you though. He’s always been on the handsy side, verging on inappropriate, but skirting just enough around the edges of it that you usually brush off Johnny’s weird behaviour. Chalk it up to annoying little brotherly tendencies. You know he has a few older sisters anyway; you figured it was just how he related to women in his environment.

Not so. 

It escalates after that initial escalation. Not that things started off on an appropriate note, but at least before you could rationalize most of his quirks.

Now it’s this: his hand on your lower back during work hours when you’re busy helping a customer and he sidles up next to you, pinkie brushing so low on your back that you worry for a second that he might slip it down the back of your pants. Lifting you up by the hips whenever you have a hard time reaching something on a shelf instead of just reaching up and grabbing it for you. A complete misuse of his height. He digs his fingers into your sides and never lets you go right away when he puts you down. 

“Aw shit, bonnie,” he coos when you complain about it hurting you. “Dinnae mean ta hurt ye. Want me to give ye a little massage in the breakroom?” 

You learn quickly that there’s no point in complaining about his behaviour to anyone. You can't complain to any of your coworkers because the second you so much as criticize his work, they bark at you to be nice to him. He's just re-acclimating to civilian life, of course he's not perfect at his job yet, they say. They defend him almost viciously; the real jealous ones even tell on you in front of him, leaving you to stand there embarrassed and on the spot until Johnny just smiles and says that it's alright. That you'll just have to teach him better. 

There’s not much you can do besides grin and bear it. You can hope one day that you'll get transferred; you don't have much hope for him being transferred. Not with how endeared he is to management.

When you finally open the door, ready to leave the bathroom and get back to work, you nearly scream when Johnny lurches off the wall across from the bathroom door where he’s been leaning. Waiting for you.

“C’mon, hen,” he says, all teeth. “Lemme walk ye back ta work.”

[dirtydixonsgirl]

Try it again

A/N: sorry i’ve been slow with the posts):

WARNINGS: violence, mentions of blood and wounds, smutty as smut unprotected p in v, protective daryl (of course) slightly innocent reader (she isn’t dumb), thigh riding, begging, dirty talk etc 18+

Your eyes were still adjusting to the scene in front of you, standing stunned at the sight. There was absolutely nothing you could do to stop this from happening as you knew it was building up.

But all it took was single comment and here you were.

“Hey, you listening to me?” The unwanted deep male voice comes from behind you.

You were helping someone near by, holding a piece of wood steady so they could nail it. Everyone was working on the bridge, people from back at home and some of the saviors that your group had brought in. It was the least you could do since Daryl, your very close friend, didn’t want you to do anything you could injure yourself with. He says you’re just prone to accidents.

You roll your eyes, not making eye contact with the annoying man behind you. “Listening, just don’t care.”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Was gonna ask if you needed help with that, doesn’t seem like a little girl really needs to be out here fucking shit up.”

But apparently you weren’t the only one that heard it as the sound of clattering wood dropping against the bridge making you jump and your head shot towards the sound.

“The fuck you just say t’her?” Daryls voice filled the air, attracting to some attention from bystanders.

Your eyes widened and before you could react, there were already punches being thrown.

Which led you here, right where you were standing. A group of people surrounding you, Daryl and this man you had no idea the name of. The punches were thrown one by one, the man’s lip was bleeding along with Daryls nose but the punches didn’t stop.

Your eyes were wide with horror, your voice suddenly gone.

“Daryl!” You yell out, trying find a way to break up the fight, endlessly dodging the blows almost landing to you. “Please stop!”

This had been going on for a week, this man had been trying to bother you every chance he had gotten. You kept the information from Daryl knowing this was how it was going to end but little to your knowledge, Daryl had been watching the whole time, waiting for the moment to arise and today just happened to be the day that he didn’t fucking care anymore.

It was no doubt he was winning but the man was not letting up. Daryl eventually made on top of the man, his blood dripping from his nose onto his face, he grabbed his collar punching him as the other man was fighting against his grip, he was weakening.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya, stupid son of a bitch.” He spits through clenched teeth.

You winced, looking around, trying to find someone to end this. Rick suddenly pushing through the crowd of people, grabbing Daryl by the collar catching him off gaurd as he pulls him off, causing him to land on his knees next to the man.

“Enough!” Rick yells out as Daryl tries to go in for another punch. “I said enough!”

The scene was horrifying, the man’s face was bloody, bruised from the amount of punches Daryl had gotten in. While Daryls nose was still bleeding, he harshly wipes it, smearing it across his cheek. His eye was also blackening, along with the slight dash across his head.

“Try it again.” Daryl spits, backing up after regaining his posture. “Dare ya.”

With that he gives you a glance, and turns to walk away. Rick gives him a death stare, letting him know the possible trouble he had just gotten himself into.

Your feet, quickly run after Daryl, trying to catch up with his large strides. Your face is red from embarrassment knowing you were the reason the whole thing broke out. You finally catch up with him, inside the door of your shared home, you close the door softly, your chest heaving from having to walk far and from something else.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes scan his body as he pulls off his leather jacket, flinging it onto the couch. Something about this whole thing made a small tingle form right between your legs, it was becoming hard to breathe and not just from the walk.

“Did I scare ya?” Daryl asks, turning to face you, leaning against the back of the couch.

His face was saddened, his nose had stopped bleeding by now but the gash was still bright red and blood coated his hands. Your eyes trailed down to his big muscles that also had blood on them. Your breathing hitched slightly.

“Me? N-no.” You stuttered, trying to cover up the fact that you were obviously very turned on. “The fight did, not you. Guess I’m just a coward.”

He lips curl up into a subtle smirk. “You weren’t the one gettin’ the shit beat out of ya.”

“Neither were you.” You breathe.

“Why ya actin’ weird?” He asks, suddenly pushing himself off the couch. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? Wasn’t gonna let that prick talk to ya like that without beatin’ his face in.”

You felt the pulse of your heart quicken as he stepped towards you, you were beginning to worry he might be able to hear it. You weren’t really sure why you felt this way, but it just wouldn’t go away.

The sweat from his hair.

The blood on his hands and arms.

The way he was protecting you almost instantly.

It was all turning you on.

Now his hot breath was fanning your face as he leaned forward resting his forehead against yours. You couldn’t respond, you bit your lip. All you could think about was him touching you. His hands slipped down your waist onto your hips, your knees felt like they could give out on you, you shivered.

“Wha’s wrong baby?” His voice concerned.

Your finger tips ran down his arm slowly, ghosting touch almost. From his shoulder down to his hand, some of the blood was fresh, swiping along with your finger tips and then fading onto his skin quickly after. You could feel his hair raise, his breathing hitching slightly.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, your eyes making contact with his light blue ones. “You’re just- You’re just really hot like this.”

“Yeah?” His face was unreadable.

Oh no, is he offended? You tried to read his expression but you weren’t for sure. You contemplated on telling him it was just a joke but you weren’t sure he’d actually believe at. Daryls unreadable face falls into a small smile, his fingers practically digging into your hips

“Wha’s hot bout it?” He asks, yanking you closer to close the space, you almost whimper at the action, but now you were pressing directly against his erection digging into your hips.

You stare up at him dazed, unable to speak. You were sure by now your panties were pooling and you didn’t know how to react. Daryl getting hurt was never something you wanted, it never has been, but right now it was different.

Daryls hand grabbed yours suddenly, pulling you right to the couch. You stumbled over your feet, your eyes blinking rapidly as anticipation coursed through you. He sat down, pulling you down onto his thigh, the feeling of it against your aching core was enough to make you whimper. What is he doing?

His hands grabbed your hips protectively, making sure you didn’t fall off of him as he rubbed you against his thigh. Your eyes widened and you let out a moan at the unexpecting feeling, it provided you relief, the jeans rubbing deliciously on the one place you needed it most. You pushed down harder against his thigh.

“Needy little baby aren’t ya?” He grinned, your head fell back, mouth opened slightly. “Ask ya a question. Wha’s so hot bout it?”

You didn’t response, the feeling of pleasure taking over your body. Soon that pleasure was halted, his hands instantly stopped you from moving, you squirmed against his grip and whimpered at the loss.

“Y-you protecting me. It-uh Daryl please,” you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “It makes me feel funny.”

“Makes ya feel funny how?”

Your face flushed, squirming once more in his grip. Is he really making me answer this?

“Answer me baby and I’ll let ya go.”

“B-between my legs. It gets tingly, like, a wanting feeling. No-“ you shook your head, rewording your thoughts. “A needing feeling.”

Daryl let’s up on your hips, allowing them to continue the rocking motion back and forth, you sigh in relief, gripping onto his shoulders tightly as soft moans fall from your lips.

His nose rubs up against your neck softly up to your ear, it sends shivers down your body. “Want this cock, baby?” He whispers. “Want it deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours?”

You moan and nod. “Yes, Daryl, please.”

“How bad?”

You moan in response.

“Want me to take you off my knee?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes shooting to his in fear. “N-no, please. I want it so bad, Daryl.”

The feeling was intense but so strange to you. You felt wrong this being your best friend, you weren’t suppose to be this intimate with friends. Your thoughts came crashing down to an end when you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling, you looked down to see Daryl fiddling with his zipper.

“Can’t take it anymore, need to fuck ya.” He grumbles. “My pants are soakin’ wet, baby.”

You flush, quickly removing yourself from him so he can take them off. You quickly slip yours off and he pulls you back onto him, your knees sitting on either sides of his hips.

This was it, it was really happening.

Your hands grab his face, pulling him to your lips, he kisses you back with the same amount of passion. His tongue trying to invade your mouth. You’ve always had these feelings for Daryl but never knew how to act upon them, hating the fear of rejection.

“Y/N,” he breathes, breaking the kiss. “You sure?”

You nod quickly. “Yes.”

You have never wanted him as badly as you did now, you didn’t want to resist him. You needed to feel him, all of him. Pulling a whimper from between your lips as he presses his very hard erection into the place that you were aching the most. He wiggles his boxers down and you push your panties to the side.

His hands grap at your hips as you sink down onto him, he was definitely bigger than you thought, it took you a minute to adjust but once you did, it felt like you were in heaven. It was hot and heavy in your blood stream.

Daryl throws his head back, the small beads of sweat once again forming at his bangs. “Fuck, Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Y/N.”

There’s was nothing on this earth that made you feel better than Daryl Dixon deep inside you, being squeezed by your walls. The sight of him in full blown pleasure as he guided your hips up and down his length, you could feel him deep in your belly.

“Dar-oh god- ah!” You moan, feeling him hit the spot in you repeatedly.

His hands upped your pace, you were for sure not lasting long with him continuously hitting your sweet spot.

“Wanted this for so long.” He says through clenched teeth. “Ya feel so fucking good.”

His hand runs up your shirt to grasp your nipple, the feeling ripples over you as you moan loudly, you clench around him causing him to hiss as your orgasm rips through you. Your hands dig into his shoulders as he mercilessly pounds into from the bottom, you wince worn out and sensitive. He kisses your neck as he shoots his orgasm inside you without warning, whimpering into the skin of your neck.

He tries to lift you up off of him but you whimper.

“No,” you stop him, grabbing at his shoulders.

You weren’t ready to feel the emptiness. He was throbbing inside you, making you wet again. You could feel him growing inside you by the second.

“Sunshine,” he breathes. “Ya not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

As he says the words, you notice the soreness already radiation around your lower half, but the pleasure over takes it. You wanted to be full of him all night.

“I think I’ll take that.” You breathe as your legs start moving to bounce on him again.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 9,001 (yeah, she's a beast!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria S9, post-Negan war, before the bridge Warnings: language (duh, it’s me), violence (no sexual violence), injuries to main character, blood, some kind of dark Saviors shit (not like line-up level dark but kinda fucked), mild angst, Protective!Daryl, hurt/comfort Summary: The war is over, but it isn't all peaches and cream. The Sanctuary struggles to function and Daryl and Y/N struggle with ghosts of their pasts after Rick asks them to take things over there. Deciding they've had enough, they decide to depart for Hilltop but Y/N stays behind for a couple days to help Carol get started taking over. The past comes back to rear its ugly head... A/N: This is an epilogue to the Sacrifice series, but you don't necessarily have to have read all 29 previous parts to appreciate it (though you def should!) [Spoilers (or reminders) for context start here -> -> -> The war is over, Y/N was once one of Negan's wives in order to protect her brother, she went back to Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, Daryl ends up shooting Negan to protect Y/N when a plan of theirs goes awry and the war ends, Y/N was also shot in the process but survived]

_ _ _ _ _ _

You and Daryl stood off to the side, watching the group of people gather around Rick, flooding the open space on the Sanctuary’s factory floor. You gently touched him on the arm and his blue eyes landed on your face. “Are you going to talk to him tonight?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I gotta. I can’t—we can’t stay here any longer. I dun want you here either. Bein’ in here, in these walls again, it feels like it’s slowly poisonin’ us…” He glanced at the fresh graffiti someone had sprayed on the wall. We’re still Negan. Saviors Save Us

Your hand slipped down his forearm and you laced your fingers with his. “I know. It’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “Ain’t sure Rick’s gonna agree though…”

“Rick isn’t the one here dealing with all these people, reliving everything every day. It’s too much,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” Just then, Rick finished talking to the gathered group and there was a smattering of applause and murmuring. You gave Daryl’s hand a gentle squeeze as Rick wandered over. “Good luck,” you murmured.

Soon, various business that needed to be discussed was concluded and the already dim torch and lantern lights on the Sanctuary factory floor were all but put out. Daryl and Rick retreated up to the catwalk.

As they stood side-by-side, looking down at the shadowy, rundown building below them, Daryl sighed heavily and Rick could feel the tension between them. Rick broke the silence first. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

Daryl gulped and straightened up, looking his friend in the eye. “I don't wanna be the one leadin’ these people anymore.”

Rick’s expression was impassive. “Okay... Why?”

“Bein' here, behind these walls again... It just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been. And I’ve got Y/N to think about. After what happened to her in here—with him—”

Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Things happened to you in here too,” Rick said, perhaps realizing for the first time what he’d really asked of his friend, his brother…

“Yeah, well I care more about her than I care about myself. This is where her life was a livin’ fuckin’ nightmare. His wife…” he murmured under his breath. “She wasn’t his wife. She was his damn property. Her brother died here. He destroyed her group just like he destroyed ours. What d’ya think this place reminds both of us of?” He asked, turning sharp eyes to Rick. “Hmm? Did ya even think ‘bout that when ya asked me to come back here? Didya stop to think that ya might be askin’ us to relive some of the worst shit we’ve ever gone through?”

Rick hung his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. A wash of guilt and shame came over him. He hadn’t considered the full extent of it, no. But there was no one else to do the job and so he’d asked too much of Daryl, too much of you. “But you and Y/N have kept this place together. You’ve kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened,” he said.

Daryl shook his head and paced a small, agitated circle. “Man, s’gonna fail anyway. Nothin’ grows here. It's a damn factory, man. Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothin's changed,” Daryl argued.

“It's different now. We give what we give willingly,” Rick retorted.

“And how long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another.”

“Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work,” Rick said, leaning forward on the rail again.

“Man, there ain't no ‘us’ anymore. Everyone's everywhere,” he pointed out. “I feel lucky that Y/N and I are even in the same damn place.” He let out another weighty sigh. “That small group we had back in the beginning... plus a few more of the people we picked up along the way, we could do anythin’. That was right. That’s what I know.” Daryl leaned forward beside Rick, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way.

“Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?” Rick asked. “You and Y/N?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. We'll go back to Hilltop, check on Maggie and the baby.”

“Well, you go, someone's got to take your place here. Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home.”

Daryl only let out a small huff.

“We're not together because things have changed,” Rick said again.

Daryl stiffened. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed. His blue eyes turned to Rick again and they were intense. “The thing is, you changed ‘em, Rick.” The tension felt hot and pulsating in the air like liquid mercury. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “But I get it.” And then Daryl took his leave.

On the staircase, Carol backed away as quietly as she could, only to be startled by your voice softly behind her. “Well, that didn’t go great,” you whispered.

Carol turned to face you, her face drawn. “Daryl is right though. Rick shouldn’t have asked that of the two of you after—after everything you went through here. And he should have known Daryl would have a hard time saying no to him.”

You nodded and straightened up, stepping toward her. “Rick’s his brother,” you agreed. “And there really was no one else. But Daryl’s right. We can’t stay here anymore. It’s—it’s wearing him thin.”

“And you?” Carol asked, worried.

You gave her a tight smile and shrugged. But when you spoke again your voice broke. “I’d almost rather be anywhere else…”

Carol nodded knowingly and then grabbed you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. her mind drifted back to her own abuse at the hands of Ed and she felt a swell of affection for you and for Daryl, for both of you taking this on at all after everything… When she pulled back, she cleared her throat, pushing her emotion away. “I’ll—I’ll take over here a while. You and Daryl need to get out. I want to help.”

“Carol—”

“Don’t argue with me. My mind’s made up,” she said firmly.

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” you said. “I’m—I’m gonna go talk to Rick,” you said. “Make him understand.”

Carol nodded. “I’ll check on Daryl. Let him know what I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Good idea… Hey—Carol. This is—what you’re doing to help, it’s huge for us. So, thank you.”

She gave you a warm smile and you passed her on your way up the stairs to find Rick. He was still leaning heavily on the railing, clearly in deep thought over his discussion with Daryl. But he turned at the sound of your steps on the metal catwalk and straightened up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted him stopping beside him and also looking down over the factory floor. No one was milling around anymore. Most people had drifted away to bed. “You okay?” you asked, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.

Rick laughed a little wryly and nodded. “Yeah… Just—tryin’ to figure out if and where I went wrong,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Things I’d do differently now…”

You nodded. “You have a lot of weight on your shoulders. Daryl knows that.”

Rick met your eyes again, clearly realizing you’d overhead their conversation somehow.

You straightened up and tilted your head toward the hallway down the catwalk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Rick followed you as you stopped to grab a lantern and then led him down the hallway. This part of the building was mostly empty these days, except for a few people who had carved out some private spaces for themselves. The warm orange glow flickered past many doors and other halls before you turned right and came partially down the next corridor. The nauseous feeling and the heavy pit in your stomach grew as you walked, and before you knew it, your hand was trembling slightly holding the lantern. This place was full of ghosts.

Rick looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tremble in your hand translated to a shakiness in the shadows cast by the light on the walls and it was easy to see.

“We’re almost there,” you said softly.

You walked in further silence for only another half a minute before you stopped in front of a gaping dark space in the wall, barely bigger than a closet. Rick gave you a questioning look and you lifted the lantern to illuminate it. The floor was filthy with layers of smeared dirt and who-knows what else. “This is where they held us. Me, when my brother and I were captured, and Negan singled me out from my group. And Daryl after the line-up with Alexandria.”

Rick stared at the dirty, dingy space and he could almost see Daryl huddled there in his mind’s eye, wearing that filthy sweatshirt. His brow furrowed and his face contorted.

You pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your head felt a bit light and foggy. “I—I had the doors that used to be on the cells removed, because—I just couldn’t stand the sight of them closed up like that. I kept—kept imagining Daryl was still in there every time I had to walk past. Or that somehow, I was going to end up back in there.” You glanced over at Rick who was staring straight into the darkness. He watched as you raised your free hand to rub at your bad shoulder, the one Negan’s bullet had pierced. “They took all his clothes at first. Left him in there naked. Cold. Shot. Hungry. Wondering what happened to the rest of you. And the thirst… Then, Dwight humiliated him and they fed him dog food and blasted music to keep him awake. The same song, over and over. Then, they made him work outside in the heat and humidity in that filthy sweatsuit, chaining walkers to the fence for Negan or doing whatever awful chores they could invent. He had to clean up after Negan punished someone, mopping up shit or piss or worse… Dwight made him look at pictures of—of what happened to Glenn and Abraham.” Tears burned in your eyes and Rick’s shut and he dropped his head.

He lifted a hand to wave you off. “I—I understand,” he said in a low voice, his heart breaking. He’d been careless to ask Daryl to come here, too focused on his beautiful dream in the memory of Carl to realize what this would do to you and to Daryl.

“He didn’t want to say no to you when you asked him to come back here. You’re like a brother to him. He didn’t want to let you down even though—it’s literally the last place either of us wants to be.”

Rick sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I don’t have an excuse… I—I shouldn’t have asked it. Of either of you… I just—I was tryin’ to make this all work.”

You nodded. “I know. So does Daryl. But that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been… We’ve both been reliving our trauma having to be back here. And we’ve hit our limit. That’s all.”

Rick met your eyes again. You hadn’t even talked about yourself, about what you’d been through here in the cell and with Negan after, not really. You’d mainly focused on Daryl. But Rick could guess well enough what it would have been like for you being one of Negan’s wives and living in that constant fear for your brother and yourself, what you’d had to subject yourself to.

He glanced again at that dark space in the wall. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Carol said she’ll take over here for a while,” you said, turning away from the cell and starting back the way you came.

Rick looked surprised but nodded, walking along beside you.

“I’ll—I’ll stay a couple days to get her going here and up to speed. And then I’ll go meet Daryl in Hilltop.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded. “It’ll have to work for now. But I can’t help thinking it’s a patch on the issue and not a fix.”

You laughed wryly again. “Aren’t most things these days? Rick, Daryl wasn’t wrong about The Sanctuary. It’s a resource sink. It doesn’t produce anything. You’re still going to have to square with that one day. I get what you have been trying to do, making peace with the rest of The Saviors, and not all of them are guilty of the awful things that happened during the war. But things are still festering here under the surface.”

Rick looked over at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, about ready to part ways with him on the catwalk again. “You saw the graffiti. Negan might be dead but for some of them, it’s not over.” You gave him one last look. “Daryl and I know you have a lot on your plate, but it’s time for us to get the hell outta here. If we don’t… this place will consume us. We can’t move away from what happened while we’re here. It’s like—it’s like having it shoved down our throats every day.”

You took your leave from Rick then, leaving him again in deep thought. You knew where you could find Daryl, at a spot outside he liked to go where most people wouldn’t be able to disturb him. It happened to be someplace the two of you sometimes went to watch the stars. When you got there, stepping just one foot outside the building, you had to smile to yourself. Daryl and Carol were just sitting together, side-by-side, enjoying a moment after being apart for so long. You decided to leave them to it.

You made your way back to the room you and Daryl had claimed together in a different part of The Sanctuary. You hastily changed your clothes and got ready for bed, knowing he’d come find you there when he was ready. And it wasn’t long before he did, coming in to see you already cozied up in the bed you shared, reading a worn paperback.

You smiled as he came in. “Hi,” you said.

He stopped in the doorway and took you in, giving you a small smile back. “Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Daryl drawled, sinking down beside you on the mattress. “I was out sittin’ with Carol.”

“It’s alright. I know you were. I didn’t want to interrupt,” you said, reaching for a strand of his wavy hair and running your fingers down it gently. “You haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his boots. “Get this. Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” he said, giving you a conspiratorial look.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand. “Oh my God!” you burst out.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Well? What did she say?!”

“Ah… She ain’t ready yet,” Daryl explained.

“Wow.” You thought of Carol and Ezekiel together after the close call at the museum. They were good for each other. “Maybe someday?” you asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” His hand came to rest on the graceful curve of your neck. It was cool from the nighttime air. He leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling back just slightly to study the colors in your irises. “Listen—I told Rick—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted him gently. “I could hear the two of you. And Carol talked to me too. She’s gonna take over here for a while.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. So, we can go. We dun have to be here anymore. Figured we can head to Hilltop tomorrow. Check on Maggie and Hershel.”

You nodded and then ducked your eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna stay here with Carol for just a couple more days. Help her get started and settled. Then I can meet you. I’ll take one of the horses.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. You could see that he was getting ready to argue.

“It’s just a few more days,” you whispered, gently grabbing onto the front of his vest. “It’s the least I can do since she’s doing this for us, leaving her family and world in The Kingdom.”

Daryl’s stomach churned a little, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous. “She’ll have Eugene,” he pointed out.

“Barely. He and Rosita are heading to Oceanside next to get the fishery going.”

Daryl sighed heavily and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped. He was chewing on his bottom lip. You knelt behind him and draped yourself against his back, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the curtain of his wavy hair, breathing him in and leaving a kiss on his neck. “It’s just a couple days,” you said again.

He gulped. He didn’t know why, but there was a pit in his stomach. “I dunno…” he mused aloud. “I dun like ya bein’ here without me. Here of all damn places.” His mind went back to that graffiti sprayed on the wall.

“I know. I don’t either. But I want to help Carol as a thank you. And then I’ll come straight to Hilltop.” You moved around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “Hey—Look at me,” you urged him. “I can handle myself. Or did you forget?” you teased him, bumping into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know ya can handle yerself. It ain’t that… Somethin’ just—I dunno. Somethin’ dun feel righ’.”

You sighed and nodded knowingly. “It’s never felt right being here.”

“Yeah… maybe tha’s just it. I dunno,” he said finally, but you noted that he still looked slightly troubled. It had been a long day, and his talk with Rick was intense. He stood up and started getting ready to climb in bed with you. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, crisscrossed by his scars, as he pulled off his shirt. You crawled back beneath the sheets and waited until he slipped in beside you.

“C’mere,” he murmured softly to you as he settled into his pillow. You moved into him immediately and he pulled you against him. You tangled your legs with his and gazed into his bright blue eyes. He draped an arm over you and his hand moved to find the hem of your t-shirt before slipping underneath it and pressing against your bare skin, tracing absent patterns on your side, your hip, your back. Daryl leaned in and kissed you, one that was deep and full of wanting.

You felt a pooling of heat expanding in your chest as his lips moved to your neck. Daryl listened to your breathing hitch as he kissed your pulse point and grazed the shell of your ear. His hands wandered over the shape of you beneath the draping of your shirt. In no time, the two of you were completely lost in each other, melting into sensations and quiet gasps of pleasure, bounding hearts and heaving chests, skin on skin. Daryl’s fingers laced between yours, his other hand firm on your hip. Then, after you both reached your blissful highs, you fell asleep in his arms and neither of you woke until the sun was coming up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You walked with Daryl to his bike and stood beside him as he strapped down his gear, giving him a smile when he looked up at you again.

“Are ya sure ‘bout this? Ya dun have to stay. Carol will be fine,” he said in a low voice. That pit in his stomach had returned almost immediately when he awoke and thought about separating from you.

You gently rested your hands on his sides, stepping in close. “Everything is going to be fine. Go help Maggie. Check on her and Hershel. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

He looked worried, but nodded. “S’yer call. Two days,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Two days. I promise.”

“Alrigh’…” He leaned in and kissed you deeply, clasping your face and pressing his other hand into the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. You kissed him back heatedly and hungrily and sighed when you broke apart.

“Miss ya already,” he said, breaking contact with you and getting ready to climb onto his bike.

“Same,” you agreed, giving him a tight smile. “Love you,” you added, waiting until the last moment of separating to unlace your fingers from his.

He nodded and studied you, drinking in the view. “You too.”

Then, in a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust he was on his way. You didn’t see him glance back at you over his shoulder before he completely lost sight of The Sanctuary.

You found Carol already on the factory floor standing with Eugene, looking over whatever list of action items were on his clipboard that day. You were absently rubbing your bad shoulder as you came up. It had been aching since the day before. Had revisiting the cell stirred things up? Probably. Carol noticed immediately.

“You okay? Shoulder bothering you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Just a little. The old war wound acting up a bit,” you said with a wry laugh.

Eugene looked up from his clipboard. “I could potentially formulate a topical balm that may relieve some of your chronic pain symptoms, though most ingredients would not sufficiently penetrate the muscle in order to reach the origin of—”

You cut him off with a smile and a laugh. “It’s okay, Eugene. I’m fine. It’s not too bad. What do we need to tackle today?”

The three of you chatted briefly about what needed to be done urgently and then each picked your tasks to start with. Several hours later, you were nearly done trying to treat the small number of plants that were still surviving in the raised garden beds for some kind of insect pest when you were interrupted.

You turned at the sound of footsteps to see one of the Sanctuary residents approaching. You stood and dusted the soil from your gloves. “Hi. What’s up?”

“The guys getting that scrap metal from the upper floors found a water leak. Can you come take a look at it? We might be able to fix it, but we’d probably have to shut the water off completely for a while.”

You sighed heavily and pulled off your gloves. “Always something new, isn’t it?” you said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll come take a look now. Lead the way.”

You passed through the factory floor, noting that the graffiti discovered the day before had been freshly painted over as Daryl had demanded. Carol and Eugene were bent over a table in deep discussion over some new plan. Your stomach flipped as it always did as you passed the oven where Negan used to heat his iron or branding rods. You turned your eyes away.

Soon you were on the upper floors, walking through the dim hallways. It always felt eerily quiet up there. The resident you were following pointed ahead to the next doorway and then stopped to grab some work gloves from a pile of gear set in the hallway. You passed him and stopped in the doorway, expecting to see the group of other people working, but the room was empty. And there was no sign of a water leak. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “Hey, are you sure this is—”

And then everything went black.

Carol was walking somewhat aimlessly back and forth across the factory floor, weaving through the supplies and little bunched groups of people. She craned her neck trying to see if she could spot you anywhere. The two of you had planned to meet for the evening meal after everyone was done for the day but Carol was suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen you since that morning.

Her stomach began to churn. She bolted toward outside where evening was beginning to fall. The garden beds cast long, deep shadows between them, but she didn’t find you crouched among them. The final place she checked was the room you shared with Daryl, now mainly bare of your items since the two of you had begun packing your belongings to leave. Daryl had already taken his few things away on his bike.

There was no sign of you.

Her heart started to pound. She’d questioned everyone she could think of as to your whereabouts. Where could you possibly be? An anxious thought flitted into her mind. Her stomach tightened into a fist. It wasn’t like you not to arrive somewhere you said you would…

The last thing to do was to search the rarely used upper floors. She knew a crew had been working up there earlier in the day, collecting and hauling scrap metal to be reused to patch the roof and fences. Perhaps something had come up and you were still up there assisting with a problem.

Her boots made a lonely, echoing sound as she rushed around corner after corner. There was a weighty silence and the farther up she wandered, the sicker she felt. Something was seriously wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She called your name out but it strangely didn’t seem to pierce the thick vapor of silence in front of her. Every step increased her heart rate and poured adrenaline into her bloodstream. She felt almost shaky as she loosened her knife in its sheath. Just in case, she thought. In case of what?

Another minute or two passed as she searched. Each moment felt excruciatingly long. And then all of a sudden, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Carol bolted toward the crumpled form halfway down the hall in front of her. “Oh, God…” The front of your shirt was soaked with blood and you were lying on the cold floor unconscious. Your face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts and smears of blood on your skin. But what held her attention horrifically was that whoever had done this to you had taken a knife and began to carve a word into your chest, just below your collar bone. SA and part of a V. Carol didn’t need to guess what they’d intended to spell. They were making a gruesome point. Her hands shook as they hovered over you for a moment. She said your name again and then gently clasped your face and gripped your arm. She jostled you a little. “Wake up. It’s Carol! Please, wake up!”

You began to stir a little and a grimace contorted your features.

“Oh, thank God,” Carol sighed, hanging her head in relief for a very brief moment before the nausea seemed to rise into her throat again at your condition. “Y/N? Open your eyes, hun!”

You let out a small pained noise and then your eyes did open blearily. You were immediately trying to sit up, pushing yourself up on the palms of your hands but your head felt split in two and your muscles felt rubbery and weak. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“Whoa—okay. Easy! Take it easy!”

You reached up and touched the back of your head. It was swollen with a lump and tender and your fingers came away slightly sticky. You looked down at them and registered the deep color of drying blood. Your chest burned. You looked down to see that the whole front of your shirt was stained crimson. Your body ached and panged with sharp pains. You could feel your heartbeat in your face.

“Is anything broken? Can you stand up?” Carol asked, her brow heavy over her eyes, but the light inside frantic and quickly turning furious.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” you said softly. Your jaw ached. You gave it an exploratory wiggle left and right and immediately regretted it. Your bottom lip was split and swollen. You winced again. “What the fuck?” you murmured. “I mean what the ever-loving, royal fuck?” you growled. The hot rage welling up in you was pushing some of the pain back.

“Let’s just get you up and off the floor, okay? Slowly.” Carol helped you to your feet. Your head swam and you squeezed your eyes shut, not letting go of her hands for a long moment until you felt steadier. Her expression said enough about what you must look like… “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?” she asked.

You shook your head a little, absently pressing a hand to the burning sensation on your chest, but you stopped as the burn surged when your palm landed flush on your skin. You took in a sharp intake of breath through your teeth. “No. Well—I saw one of them… they lured me up here. Told me there was a water leak they found while doing the scrapping and—and then someone hit me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. But I don’t know why. I mean, why me?”

Carol’s expression was taught. Anger swirled in her eyes. She knew exactly why. You couldn’t see it yet, but the word was partially carved into your chest. That graffiti on the wall out on the factory floor was just the tip of the iceberg. Things were rotting here just under the surface, and since you’d once been Negan’s wife, she imagined you were a perfect target for those who wanted to make a point. “Let me see the back of your head,” she said. There was a small split in the skin where you’d been struck, your hair stained rusty red, but she didn’t think you’d need stitches there and she was extremely relieved that it wasn’t worse... not much anyone could do from something like a skull fracture in the apocalypse. She sighed heavily as another flame of rage wicked upwards in her chest. “Okay… Let’s get you back to your room. Hold onto my arm. Can you make it?”

You nodded, gripping her to steady yourself on your shaky legs, and allowed her to lead you away. You glanced back over your shoulder and were sickened to see the smears of your blood shockingly deep red on the tile behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol had you sitting on the edge of your bed and she set down a first aid kit beside you. You were looking up at her from behind a wall of swelling and bruising on your face. You tenderly wiggled your jaw again, testing opening and closing your mouth. It felt ready to lock up. She could tell from the way you’d moved on the walk back and how you were slumped slightly forward now that there was probably substantial bruising beneath your clothes that she couldn’t see. Your movements were tentative and cautious.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. You were afraid to. The pain was bad enough. The fogginess in your head was bad enough. You were worried if you saw the results of the beating, it would only make it worse, more real.

Carol began unpacking supplies. “Tell me everything you remember,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “Not much. Like I said, I was out working in the raised garden beds and somebody came up to me.”

“Who?” Carol pressed you. “If you don’t know their name, what did they look like?”

“Uhh… his name starts with a ‘G’ I think… Give me a second.” You filed through names in your head until you got the right one. “Graham. I think that’s it… He’s tall. Long black hair past his shoulders.”

“Okay,” Carol nodded, opening an alcohol swab. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I could come look at a leak they found while they were moving all the scrap metal. He said they thought they could fix it but they’d have to turn the water off. I went to see and I was barely in the doorway of the room he pointed out. There wasn’t a water leak. I was just standing there, about to say something and—something hit the back of my head. I don’t really remember anything after that. Some foggy pain maybe but… mostly nothing.”

“Do you think there were others waiting up there? Or could it have just been him?” Carol asked, dabbing at a wound on the side of your face. You shut your eyes from the fumes of the alcohol. She was starting to worry about just how many traitors could be in the walls.

“There was at least one other person. When I got hit, I was looking back at him ten feet away from me down the hall.”

Carol sighed heavily and nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes drifted down to the cruelly carved letters on your chest. Your chin tilted down as you tried to look but her hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Hold on,” she said. Her face contorted with emotion she was trying to hold back. “Better you see this now. I’m so sorry.”

You gave her a perplexed look. You knew you were beat up but what was she—

Carol grabbed the small mirror off the little sink in the corner and held it up so you could see yourself for the first time. Initially, all you saw was the swelling and bruising on your face but then your breath caught in your throat. S-A- and part of a V, cut into your skin. The cuts were deep and she had already had to apply some butterfly bandages to hold certain spots closed. No wonder your skin had burned and stung there since you came back to consciousness.

You felt like you were about to be sick and Carol must have seen you pale because she hastily put down the mirror and gripped your shoulders again as if she was afraid you were going to faint. “Whoa. Deep breaths.”

Your eyes shut and you did your best to swallow down the nausea. “What the fuck,” you muttered, reeling. You blinked away angry tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I think I have some of my special ointment in my bag. If you apply it at least once a day it’ll minimize any scarring…”

You let out a wry laugh. “Minimize,” you repeated. “But I’ll still have half of ‘Saviors’ carved into me for the rest of my life.” Tears burned in your eyes again. It wasn’t bad enough what you had gone through with Negan, with his men, with the war—now this? Would it ever be over?

Carol winced. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea things were this bad here.”

You sniffled and mopped gently at the tears that had broken out onto your cheeks. “I knew they were pretty bad but—can’t say I saw anything like this coming.”

“Well, who could? It’s—horrific.” She gave you a sympathetic look and then surprised you by pulling you gently into a hug for a long moment. Her eyes were teary now too when she pulled back, but she pulled herself together quickly. Back to business, she returned to the first aid kit and continued her ministrations. Your mind was endlessly turning.

“I wonder why they didn’t finish,” you suddenly said softly.

“Mmm,” Carol hummed, nodding, tossing down another soiled gauze pad and reaching for a new one. “They must have gotten interrupted. Maybe heard someone in that part of the building.”

Your eyes lifted and met hers. She paused at the expression on your face. “Do you think they were going to kill me? Leave me there with—with this cut into me to make a statement?”

Carol’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone flat. Your question had been asked matter-of-factly and Carol was suddenly reminded of all you had gone through in the war and even before any of them had met you, when you’d just been a stranger with a mysterious backstory. “But obviously they knew they couldn’t take you in a fair fight. Fucking cowards,” she growled. “Had to ambush you to even have a chance.”

You sighed, shaking your head again, your eyes dropping to your hands. “They sure beat the shit out of me though,” you mused aloud. “It’s probably good Daryl isn’t here. He’d lose it,” you said, fiddling with another gauze pad which Carol took out of your hands and taped down over the now cleaned cuts below your collarbone.

She cleared her throat. “About that…”

You met her blue eyes again. “You radioed him? He’s probably way out of range by now. He’s probably already in Hilltop,” you said.

“Rosita rode out on the quad immediately to get within range. Eugene is doing a headcount as we speak to see who, if anyone, is missing…”

Another wry laugh left you and you nodded. “That’s why you took so long. And I just thought you couldn’t find the damn kit,” you said, shooting her a look, tears burning in your eyes. “Daryl is gonna go on a rampage,” you said softly.

Carol nodded. “Probably. But he should be here with you. And if I didn’t radio him, I’d be on the receiving end of that rampage. And I think we should focus it on the assholes that did this to you instead.”

You nodded and a sob tried to burst out of you. You suppressed it as best you could and it came out as a hitched breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little strained.

Carol quickly grabbed you into a hug again. “Everything is going to be okay. Daryl will be here soon and we will figure this out.”

You hugged her back and nodded into her shoulder, grateful again for your found family.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was there in an hour, stomping through The Sanctuary with Eugene at his heels, mostly ignoring the stream of words out of the mullet-headed Texan’s mouth. Rosita finally grabbed Eugene’s arm and stopped him, clearly realizing Daryl wasn’t hearing a word of it, didn’t give a shit about anything but going to see you. He was at the door of the little room the two of you had shared before anyone could come to tell you he’d arrived.

Daryl froze and made himself knock lightly, rather than barely in. The last thing he wanted was to startle you. His stomach turned as he waited to hear your voice on the other side, inviting him in. “S’me,” he drawled, the jittery feeling that permeated his body translating to an ever-so-slight tremble in his voice.

You sat up in bed. “Come in,” you said hurriedly, already feeling the tears burning in your eyes again. You were in clean clothes now and thoroughly patched up thanks to Carol, but that wasn’t going to change how rough you looked and how hard it was going to be for Daryl to see it.

The door opened slowly, measuredly, and he took shape in the doorway. He froze for only a split second as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the swelling and already deep purple bruises. Then he rushed to you and hugged you in against him gently. That was all it took for you to go to pieces against him, clinging to his leather jacket. “Jesus, what the hell did they do to ya? ‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I wasn’t here. I shouldn’ta left ya. ‘M so sorry, babe. I shoulda been here,” he said into your hair, kissing you on the top of the head, holding you gently so he wouldn’t hurt you but firmly so you knew you were safe.

You sniffled and mopped the tears from your cheeks as he clasped your face and brushed your hair back. “Don’t—don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” you said, looking up into his blue eyes. They were stormy and turbulent. “You couldn’t know…”

“Lemme see ya,” he said, looking you over. His heart ached as you showed him the bruising on your stomach and ribs. “Sit back. Rest,” he said, climbing into bed beside you where you were propped up against the headboard and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You tucked in against him. He left a kiss in your hair again.

“Did—did Rosita tell you what they—that—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell me anything specific except that some assholes had hurt ya bad, beat ya up, and that I needed to get back here,” he said. “Tell me what?” His stomach churned around a hard knot. His mind began inventing all kinds of horrific scenarios immediately. What did you mean?

You could see him whirling and quickly tried to explain. “I was unconscious but—” Your hand landed on the gauze pad taped over the wounds below your collarbone. His eyes flitted down to it. “They used a knife and—” You couldn’t get any more words out so you simply lifted the bandage to show him, gingerly peeling back the medical tape and bandaging. Daryl froze completely. Every part of him stilled. He stared at the brutality someone had inflicted on you and hot rage boiled inside him. More tears leaked out onto your cheeks as you saw what it was doing to him to see that on you. You hastily covered it back up.

He softened again, coming back to himself, letting his anger flow away, and wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Hey—it don’t matter to me what they—how they marked ya like that. Ya know that, right? Ya got every right to feel however ya feel ‘bout it. Ya do. But to me—” He shook his head. “It don’t matter, okay? I just see you. It’s all gonna be alrigh’.”

You collapsed into him again, finally letting yourself completely break down, wondering how the fuck you’d gotten so lucky as to find this man. He held you against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. He could feel the bump on the back of your head where they’d hit you. He could feel the swelling on your face and under your clothes, and he internally yelled at himself for leaving you behind, even if it was only supposed to be for a couple days, even though no one would have guessed that anything like this would happen, even though he knew how strong and capable you were. “‘M so sorry,” he murmured again. “I shouldn’t have left ya here… here of all places, with them.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’m gonna track down every one of these assholes and put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground,” he growled.

You couldn’t stand him blaming himself and you pulled yourself together. “It’s not your fault, Daryl. And—maybe… maybe I should have known something like this could happen…”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean?” He took a beat, his heart seemingly suspended somewhere in a gaping space that had opened in his chest. “Did somethin’ happen before this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your eyes still glassy. “No. No, not exactly. Nothing happened. I mean, people have—said things to me before. Made comments. I just—”

Daryl frowned, his brow heavy over his eyes, casting them in a deep shadow. “Like what? What kinda comments?”

You sighed and turned to face him more fully. You rested your hands on his sides. “Just—little shitty things. Because of what I’d been here,” you explained. “As Negan’s wife…”

Daryl was boiling again inside with anger. “Ya weren’t ever his wife,” he said. “That word means somethin’ else.” Your fingers went to touch the wedding band on your ring finger, the one Daryl had made with his own hands and given to you.

“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly. “I just wrote them off and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be a big deal and I knew how upset you’d get. It just felt like shitty people being shitty at the time. Mostly…”

“Mostly,” he growled.

“I never thought anything like this would happen. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

Daryl sighed and ducked his head, running his hands gently up and down the soft bare skin on your arms, marred with bruises and abrasions. “Don’t apologize. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I get why ya didn’t tell me… and yer righ’. I woulda beat the shit out of anybody sayin’ or doin’ anythin’ like that to ya. But tha’s my job. I wanna protect you.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve just had so much on our plate here. I didn’t want to add something else. And I never thought—I didn’t think—” You grimaced as a wave of pain and dizziness hit you.

“I know. I know. Hey—it’s okay. We’ve talked ‘bout this enough. Ya need to rest. ‘M here now. S’okay.”

“I am really tired,” you agreed, shutting your eyes and waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

He clasped your face again, his eyes flickering from this injury to that, and then he kissed your swollen lips as gently as he could. You managed to give him an overwhelmed, somewhat sad smile which he returned. “C’mon. Let’s lay down.”

Daryl helped you settle down on the mattress and fitted himself beside you. You tucked yourself against his body, breathed in his smell and safety, and shut your eyes. His fingers brushed through your hair, reassuring and grounding.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl was awake early while you slept on. He carefully, ever so slowly slipped out of bed and pulled a change of clothes on. He snuck out and headed to find Carol, Eugene, and Rosita.

He spotted Eugene first and nudged his head up in a nod as a greeting. “Well, what d’ya got to tell me?” Daryl asked hurriedly.

“We were short five of the former Saviors at the headcount last night, and five again this mornin’. Carol and Rosita have been questionin’ people all night. We don’t think anyone here knew anything about it. They weren’t exactly gentle with their lines of inquiry.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’. As I thought then... Cowards took off right afterwards.”

“Indeed. I suspect they knew Justice’s hammer would fall hard and swift on them once their atrocious deed was discovered,” Eugene agreed. “No way to know now where they’re headed.”

Daryl sighed. “Hopefully righ’ into a fuckin’ herd of walkers,” he drawled. “Alrigh’. Well, we need to send out runners to get word out to The Kingdom and Alexandria so ev’rybody can watch out for those pieces of shit... Y/N and I will take news to Hilltop today, and keep our eyes open for any sign of ‘em on the way. If I get sight of ‘em, I’mma strangle ‘em with my bare fuckin’ hands…” He sighed again, even more heavily this time. “Thanks. For everythin’ ya’ll did last night.”

“Of course,” Eugene said sincerely. “How is her condition today?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “She’s still asleep. She was exhausted. ‘M gonna get back up there. I dun want her wakin’ up here alone and ‘m still afraid there could be somebody in here—” he hesitated to speak his fear lest it become real. “She’ll be alrigh’. She’s tough. But she was shaken up pretty good and I can’t believe how bad they beat her up... and what they did,” he said vaguely, referring to the letterds on your skin. “But she’ll be okay.” He patted Eugene on the shoulder gratefully and headed straight back to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

With hasty goodbyes and thank you’s to your close, chosen family, still at The Sanctuary you departed for Hilltop on the back of Daryl’s bike. You held extra tightly to him the whole way, and often his right hand left the handlebars to smooth over yours for a moment. The Sanctuary shrank smaller and smaller behind you and then disappeared into a cloud of dust. Neither of you knew it at the time, but you’d never come to that place again while it was a semi-functional community. It would be only ruins when you sheltered there during the storm eight years after the war.

On arriving at Hilltop, Maggie threw her arms around you and tears of shock filled her eyes when she saw your bruised and swollen face. Enid insisted on checking you over again, but gave you the all clear after much expressed anger and concern. Maggie quickly carved out a space for you and Daryl to stay, close to the room she shared with baby Hershel in the big house up on the hill.

Your body had stiffened overnight and on the bike ride. Every movement caused aches and pains to shoot through you and Daryl was attentive and worried as you settled into your new home. When you settled into bed at first, Daryl kissed every part of you where he could see a bruise or injury. His fingers were light and gentle on your skin, and you were amazed as you always were that he could be so soft when he was so strong. Finally, the sun sank below the horizon and you were again laying side by side, your head tucked up under his chin, listening to the whoosh of air in his lungs and his steady heartbeat.

“I had an idea,” you said softly, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Maybe when I’m all healed up, if—if it scars bad, I can get someone to do a tattoo over it to cover it up.”

Daryl smiled. You were already thinking ahead to the future, thinking of solutions. That was a good sign. He hugged you more tightly against him. “What would ya get?”

“I don’t know. Something pretty… to cover up something so ugly,” you mused aloud. “Like, there are these flowers that only bloom once in their lifetime and it can take decades to happen.”

“Nah, tha’s no good,” Daryl said quickly.

“What? Why?” you asked, looking up at him with surprise from beneath your lashes.

“It don’t fit ya. Yer bloomin’ all the time. Every day. Ya always have been, even when ya couldn’t see it,” he drawled. He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead.

You smiled at him sleepily.

“Was that too cheesy?” he asked with a gruff laugh.

“No. It was just the right amount,” you said. “Okay… maybe I’ll just get ‘Property of Daryl Dixon’,” you joked.

“No good. Ya ain’t nobody’s property. Ya belong only to yerself. ‘M just lucky that you share with me,” he said, his fingertips tracing vague shapes on the bare skin of your hip, exposed from the way your shirt had draped.

You sighed and nuzzled in against his neck. “I was only kidding,” you said, closing your eyes.

“I know. But it’s true.”

You yawned. “Maybe. But I do also belong to you, by my choice. I have since that night you fell through that rotten floor,” you said with a laugh. Daryl’s chest moved as he joined you with a low chuckle. In another minute, you were asleep. Daryl whispered ‘I love you’ into your hair, and shut his eyes too.

He meant what he’d said—he’d find whoever had hurt you and end them if he could, but after that, he wouldn’t allow the shadow of the past to dim another day. He’d walk with you forward, facing the sun in the same way you’d been doing together since the end of the war. And he hoped this time all of it, all the Saviors, The Sanctuary, the fear and pain, was really behind both of you.

[gayspock]

OK shutting up

idont care i just don't want tk have to make it through today or through tomorrow or through any day. It's just so fucking pointless and I just fucking don't fuckin care. i just want it all to stop and that's all I fucking want and I don't fucking want anything else other than that and I thijnk I'm nothing but that and I dint fucking know what else there is and don't fucking care and I don't really fucking don't. I think there's always that sort of resentment that just keeps building like I fucking can't fucking stand anyone and everyone else any more cbut man 2hats the point. What's the point of any of it. It's the same cuz no matter what I think or feel it's just. Like that's it right it's just me in my fucking vacuum that I'm taking off the edge of the cliff. and I don't know what I'm doing even fucking spiralling cuz it never matters it never means anything in the end it's just so fucking worthless it hurts so fucking bad all the fucking time it means nothing and it just rolls over and you try it and means nothing and you do nothing and it means nothing I feel so fucking crazy I just don't fucking care ajd that doesn't matter either fucking insanity I feel fucking insaneand. I don't know how other people do it I don't know. How everyone else just. Can live some life where there's any part of it that matters and is tangible like. I mean i

tanginle too THSI stupid fuckkng haze that just fucking consumes yoy when you go so so so so fucking long without anything without anyone to talk to without anyrhing ever at all but jsut fucking g9db fucking who cares 8 don't know I don't fucking know I can't live through it 8 can't fucking do it 8 just. Its embarrassing I jsut can't get a grip that out of all the fucking shit it was to go through it all at the end I'm going to be nothing but just some fucking loser that people are going to judge for never doing enough who dug their hole and and I just want to curl up and die and I just don't want to think about it I just. I knew it was this it was always this die alone and even that you can't have that fuckingthing without it always just being a mockery like i jsut. 8 don't know I don't know I feel fucking crazy sometimesits about the fuckinglocked doors the way it leads nowhere I wish it mattered when I say I wish it mattered i mean it just anything did anything ever matter ever not even once I jsut. How how how how I just 8 don't fucking care I just. Why is it always like that why is 8t you don't ever do enough when I can't do any more and even then it's like so fucking utterly pointless why can't I just. Count for something without trying so hard and never getting anywhere why does everyone else just fit into something

somewhere and 8 don't know I don't fucking care it's. I can't fucking ever click with it I can't man and at the end of the day what what what you didn't do it try enough if you were this we would have liked you you do that you do that I can't keep doing that I don't know I JSUT. Horrible fucking envy for people who have some fucking thing to go to because everyone always says it were all lonely and they might spend a few days alone but they have friends and loved ones at the end of the day and people who will notice if they jump off the bridge and pets who they can love and touch and have had some partner or have a partner and friends who just include them without feeling like every fucking time it's like trying to fucking wrench yourself into a space that was never there for you when nobody else there has to fucking beg and try so hard please stop forgetting I exist you walk away and you disappear from everything when everyone else was just automatically assumed to count and it's just. I don't fucking know oh you disappear you disappear of course it's your fault youll never bmhave friend alike that when it's like you spend years trying too hard and it hurts worse tenfold when you're still just fucking pathetic and begging constantly for scraps of attention for people you're never even second best to and people who wouldn't give a shit even if you did talk to them in genuine you know it you've been dismissed by them ten billion times oh why don't you you know damn well wht but it doesn't matter at the end of the day because all of that was just nothing and it continues to be nothing as I felt it deep as it was and I'm right but unfortunately that's all I fucking have and I can't even have that to share I die alone fine OK what matters what counts

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Changretta's Mate-9

Luca pays someone a visit before he goes home.

____________________________________________________________

Luca’s pov

I had called Detroit as soon as we drove into New York and I saw familiar bridges and roads. I was itching to get home and put my arms around my girl, but I was still at work technically. I also had to pay someone a visit before I made it back to our apartment.

Lorenzo and his gang had been successful in obliterating the Purple Gang. It didn’t hurt that we had supplied better weapons but that was neither here nor there to me.

I had my own Rat to squeeze out. Luckily for me my cousin Frederico had gotten an address to a bed and breakfast in the area close to where Caroline and I were.

No doubt to keep a close eye on us, I was happy to return the sentiment.

Armeda Russo owned the B&B. I knew her because her late husband had done some work with my father when they were young men. When he passed and her kids were grown she’d turned her home downtown into a thriving business. I always liked women. Her home was always warm, inviting and smelled like food.

I met her in the hall and discussed why I was there. She’d met Caroline at the hospital once. She slipped and fell. My mate had been her on-call nurse for several days before she’d been released home. Caroline had called her to check up on her once or twice. Armeda liked her so once I mentioned that her border, Joseph Turner may have ill intentions towards my wife well, she became more than accommodating to my request for a spare key to his room.

I didn’t bother walking in with several of my men. I figured that if Joseph didn’t care until recently that he’d put his whole family in danger, my mate in danger and didn’t bother checking up on her till almost a year later, that we both knew his intentions were not good towards her.

That was a threat I took personally.

He stood up immediately and went for a gun. Armature.

“I wouldn’t.” I smirked at him and rolled up my cuffs so he could see the black hand tattoos on me and I sat down gesturing to him to do the same. My men all had their guns out or were reaching for them. Even if he shot me, he wasn’t making it out alive.

He had a little table and two chairs by the window overlooking the street. That street I crossed everyday on my way to a business.

“How’d you get in here?” He asked timidly and looked down at his shoes submissively. I chuckled darkly. Caroline was right, he wasn’t the brains so the original idea to play the gangs had to have come from her step mother. I filled that information away for later.

“You come into my town, my territory deep in the heart of New York City and you are surprised I have access to local business?” I asked and leaned forward. I was truly amused now. “Let me make this very clear and simple for you Mr. Turner, I have access to every building, every business and every single fuckin person in this city. You won’t even find one enemy of mine that's stupid enough to take you in this great state.” I leaned back and crossed my leg, removing my hat. I was staying for a while.

He fidgeted for quite awhile.

I knew to let the silence build between us. He was a weak man, silence made him uncomfortable, it was a useful tactic for a man like me. I could be patient. I had the power here.

I looked out the window and around the room taking in every corner and every shadow hidden in case I needed to come back and pay him a painfully personal lethal visit. If he was smart, he’d move on and leave the city. I hadn’t made up my mind if he was leaving the room yet.

I started drumming my hands on the table and gave him a tight smile to move things along.

“I never wanted Caroline involved in this. I just wanted a better life, that's why we are Americans right, Mr. Changretta? We want the dream, the American dream of money and good fortune.” I continued to look bored and slowly reached into my pocket to pull out my cigarette case. Her father jumped and smacked his knee on the table. I knew without a shadow of a doubt he meant us harm now, maybe not him but he was a player in it.

“Relax Mr Turner. We're family. I aint gonna shoot you.” I smiled wickedly and laughed, my men laughing with me. I wasn't going to shoot him, they would do it for me but her father didn’t seem to know that. He nervously chuckled but I could see his pulse in his throat. He was terrified.

“ Caroline said you were her mate.” I put my cigarette out on the table right in front of him to make sure he saw the burn mark it was leaving behind. It hissed and crackled on the cold wood.

“Now, you need to understand something Turner, You daughter and I talk all the time. I’m also very close to my staff. I know for a fact that when you arrived she slammed the door in your face. You didn’t talk to her. She’s not a stupid woman, you and I both know that.” I stood and moved the heavy lace curtains. I am getting pissed now. I hated liars.

“You have a nice view of our apartment complex here.” He squirmed in his seat and looked away from me. I continued. “ I find it interesting that you found the daughter you barely spoke to. You didn’t go to the hospital or call round there, no you came directly to my home Joseph, which tells me you knew exactly where she was and who I was. “ I leaned forward on the table, closing the distance between us. If he blinked out, eyelashes would intersect.

“Let me make something clear to you or whoever is telling you to reach out to us. I have no intention of you ever seeing my mate again. Whoever is pulling your strings clearly thinks they can get to us, to me. It aint gonna happen. “

He stuttered and started begging me to understand, he never told me what I needed to understand though because he turned into a blubbering mess.

“We just want to see Caroline.” WE. Who was we, I wondered.

“Course you do, get her alone in my place, I don’t think you'd hurt her Mr. Turner, but whoever you brought with you would. Maybe they’d draw it out over a few months to let her have the babies but we both know you ain't up for a long game. I don't play games.” I stood up and closed the door behind me. Two of my men had stayed behind.

A soft pop echoed through the upstairs as we descended. I didn’t need to keep Joseph around to keep my mate safe.

The man behind it all would come to me soon enough. Especially since now he knew emotionally manipulating us wouldn’t work.

“Hey, Matteo, I wanna stop at that bakery and pick up Cari’s macarons, eh. Can’t show up empty handed after I left my pregnant Mate alone for a while.” My men smiled and Matteo nodded. He’d spent some time with my mate to protect her. He knew she was enjoying being a spoiled housewife now. Had to keep living up to my reputation as her amazing mate.

________End of Chapter________________________

[ghostoffuturespast]

WIP Wednesday

Feeling pink today... Got tagged by @morganlefaye79 & @therealnightcity (even though it's from last week it still counts right?)

I'm honestly feeling pretty meh about this chapter at the moment, might just be because I'm anxious to get it off my plate and have had very little time to write this past month, and I'm only maybe halfway done with it... 😮‍💨 But I'll take adequate at this point lol. Hoping I get some time to write tomorrow and Friday.

V hauled herself to seated, avoiding the puddle of puke.  "What the fuck happened to doing me no wrong, huh?  You fucking tricked me.  You were just supposed to talk to Rogue."

"Did talk to Rogue."

"And the stripper?  The Empathy brawl?  This fucking tattoo?"  She pointed at her right forearm.

"All required.  Had to give Rogue something real, didn’t I?"  Johnny gave a nonchalant shrug.

"‘Ebunike?’  That’s supposed to be real?  A lead on Grayson is supposed to be a lead on Smasher.  We know exactly who he’s working for, so why–"

"Real enough for Rogue.  Quit mumble-whinin’ and lets delta."

"Why’d you stop me from telling Rogue that Smasher’s working for Arasaka?"

"Don’t worry about it, V."

That pissed her off more.  "Like fuckin’ Hell.  What are you playin’ at, Johnny?"

"Wouldn’t be playin’ if I told you."  His dodge plagued with doubt.

V’s rebuttal was interrupted by another wave of fresh stomach bile.  Spitting the acid out of her mouth, she stared at the expanding puddle of ooze in between her boots.  “You oughta be the one puking right now.”

"Yeah, well life ain’t fair."

"Sure picked the right moment to bolt outta my body."

"Oughta be happy I left at all."

"Enjoyed your freedom, I see."

Johnny looked away before blipping across the room in agitation.  "For a while."

Easing herself off the bed, V shambled to the window and opened the blinds, squinting against the harsh morning light.  "Where the hell are we?"

"The B&B not up to your standards? Place where you can puke all over the carpet, no problem."  The phantom rockerboy paced next to her.  "So?  Feelin’ better?"

"No."  Pinching the bridge of her nose, V took another look outside, trying to figure out where they were.  Judging by the squat structures and the mega buildings in the background.  Rancho.  Wait…  "How did we get here?"

"Rogue dropped us off."

And Rogue just left.

V thought long and hard about her next question.  She would've said she had a gut feeling, but most of it was splattered on the floor.  "Where the fuck is my car?"

The pacing in the back of her skull stuttered to a stop.  "About that…"

"Johnny?"

"Might not be in a fit state to drive anymore."

V whirled around.  "You motherfucking son of a bitch!"  And snatched an empty beer bottle from the table and lobbed it in the direction of his head.  "I’d murder you if you weren’t already dead!"  She missed entirely, the bottle rolling intact and harmless on the floor.

Johnny raised an eyebrow over his aviators.  "Better now?"

"Fuck you."  The motion made V groan and double over, another wave of nausea jostling her stomach.  She braced herself against the wall and phoned a friend.

Johnny wrinkled his nose.  "Pretty sure you two are more'n just friends."

Tagging (but no pressure and feel free to cash it in whenever, also doesn't even have to be writing or even cyberpunk related, anything you're working on that you care to share!) @fly-amanitaa @vox-monstera @merge-conflict @shimmer-like-agirl @luvwich @tarmac-rat

[bthump]

Let’s say, hypothetically (and i hope nones asked this already), that griffith reacted to guts leaving in a self destructive way that didnt necessarily throw him in a fuckin dungeon for a year (say, self repressed even more) so when guts comes back a year later griffith is still griffith but so much more fucked up emotionally, how do you think that would have worked out? And for guts, i cant tell what exactly made him come back? Did he find a dream (i dont think it was implied anywhere?) or did he think it enough to just be with griffith and the hawks again even if it means not being dear to griffith?

Second question first: Guts actually came back because he heard that the Hawks were exiled from Midland and hiding in the woods and being lead by Casca, and went to investigate. He intended to stay to help rescue Griffith and then leave again to continue pursuing his own dream, inviting Casca with him as long as she doesn't get in the way of his goal. Then, when they discovered that Griffith was permanently disabled and needed a caretaker, and Guts internalized that fact, he did decide it was enough to just be with Griffith and the Hawks again. This is suggested in his "Why do I only see these things after they're done and gone?" internal monologue in chapter 71, where he finally acknowledges that he shouldn't have left at all. Plus he directly tells both Judeau and Casca that he wants to stay to take care of Griffith now, while they both tell him to leave.

And now for the first question:

Honestly if it was just a year later, Guts was coming back to visit or whatever, then I think it would be... painfully polite and awkward lol. Guts hasn’t fulfilled his dream and is therefore not Griffith’s equal yet, so he’s not expecting to be bffs with him. And Griffith’s fucked up emotions take the form of extra aloofness imo, so he would treat Guts pretty much exactly how Guts might expect to be treated, but wouldn’t actually want, ie politely and distantly. In this scenario I see Guts leaving again to keep working on the dream.

I think what could be an interesting premise for like, a slowburn fic on the other hand, is if Guts comes back when he thinks he has successfully fulfilled his dream and become Griffith’s equal - say it’s five years later. He’s become the best swordsman anyone knows of, he’s killed a few apostles probably, he’s feeling pretty good about his skills, his dedication, and his achievements. So he goes back to Midland to visit Griffith, who’s now king maybe, and Griffith smiles coldly and politely when he sees him, is perfectly courteous, offers him a room to stay in, and excuses himself to deal with king stuff.

So still painfully polite and awkward, but now Guts is thinking to himself, what gives, he did what he was supposed to do. So he tries to get closer to Griffith, and maybe eventually directly confronts him and they have it out.

(Hm, an actual plot could be that Midland is facing Ganishka’s empire-building army and Guts returns both to be Griffith’s cool warrior bff and to help him out, and this would force them to work together and interact.)

Anyway so you get some days/weeks/months of strained awkwardness, Guts’ attempts to bridge the gap and demonstrate his worthiness, Griffith’s incredibly mixed feelings because he still loves Guts but he’s afraid of that vulnerability, throw in some moments where Griffith’s true feelings shine through and give Guts super mixed signals, like eg Griffith saving his life again or defending him to an asshole nobleman or something, it eventually leads to Guts thinking he’s still not good enough and planning to leave again after the war or something, or possibly just giving up on the idea that he could ever be Griffith’s equal, before a climactic event happens which proves Griffith’s feelings and forces a confession or something and they finally talk and make out.

[dienamights]

A Reverberate Lullaby | K.Bakugou

✎ The echoing howls stalk you, a ghost hunched on your shoulders, wailing like a child calling for rescue, who cries with no tears. Chanting for a hero that is willing to pick up the pieces of its soul and being, yet it is only left to wither. For the ghost has lost faith that such others exist and can only be cured by finding them, for you are the ghost of your world and love is the only true exorcist.

✎ Protagonists: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 4.1K

✎ Category: hurt/comfort, Implied Mature Content MDNI, Prohero!au, Established relationship!au

✎ Caution(!): Implied Mature Content MDNI, mention of depressive state, toxic family, toxic coping mechanism, mention of reader’s weight gain and thoughts about self worth. Please keep in mind while every person’s reaction to depression is different, don’t belittle anyone’s battle when you don’t understand it.

✎ Author’s notes: Hello! Hope everyone’s taking care! Still on hiatus BUT I’m here to post my contribution to the Mental Health Awareness collab by @doinmybesthere​ ! This has been in the works for a while because I kept scarping ideas for triggering me lmao. This piece is very personal to me and I’m glad I am able to share my experience with you all, I hope that it might help anyone out there in reaching out and asking for help because I know how difficult and scary it might be! Please check out everyone’s contribution that they worked so hard for! kisses kisses take care!

OOH ALSO! Thank you so much for 900 followers aaaaaah! You’re all so amazing and if anyone has suggestions for an event to hold in June lemme know! I’ll also think of some ideas

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The morning sun barely rises and peaks through your blinds, sunshine starting to kiss at your cheeks as you squint at the light, the room welcoming the warmth that is being brought into it after the evening’s chill that made you curl tighter in on yourself, clasping whatever heat you could muster than to turn around and find it in the heating pad of a body that lays next to you. 

An alarm only just rings before quickly being shut off, followed by the creaking of the bed when the person behind you shifts, shifts again, another time, before getting up and stalking to the bathroom, after letting an elongated sigh when they sit at the edge of the bed, not acknowledging your presence accompanying theirs. The door clicking closed before the trickling of water fills the quiet room.

Your clock reads 5 am when you squint at it, and you blink at the time before you go on with your routine, setting up breakfast while your boyfriend gets ready to go to work. 

Oddly enough, you don’t really quite remember when you started working on the food, all that you could see in front of you is nothing but a scene that looks like it’s out of a broken TV - there’s just so much static. The voices are distorted, as if they’re coming from a defective radio.

“Listen, this ain’t about me, this is about you and how you-”

“What about me? Huh? That you see me as nothing but a burden? No, you can say it-”

“You wanna hear me fuckin’ say it then fine! This is about you sitting on yer ass all day obsessing over her while she wouldn’ give you the time of day y/n. When will you fuckin’ realize that?”

The scene blurs and sways, and you feel your mind run at a speed you didn’t know it could muster, and you’re unable to keep up with it. The knife in your hand shakes vigorously and barely misses your fingers when you bring it down to cut the vegetables.

The sound of the bedroom door shutting closed alerts you, straightening your back when you hear the drop of your boyfriend’s gauntlet by his chair at the dining table. Katsuki approaches you with careful steps, his still ungloved hand circles your waist before pressing his lips to your temple, a gruff greeting of a whisper laced in between.

“G’morning.”

The familiar scent of caramel mixed in with his aftershave welcomes you, wraps around you and cradles you, promising everlasting safety and happiness. Yet, your heart wrenching sobs and muffled crash of your laptop against your floor that rings in your ears tell a different story, shrieking at you, roaring about your failures, mocking your entire existence.

“Made gohan, should be ready in a minute.” you mumble back, posture stiff at the close proximity of Katsuki and you feel the curl of his lips in displeasure pressing into your temple from both not reciprocating his greeting and your choice of meal for the morning. “You don’ eat gohan,” 

“s’why I’m making it.” The quick retreat from your figure is like a slap to your face, and you barely stop yourself from reaching out and forcing his arms back around you. Because it's the bite in his voice that halts your movement. 

“You’re still going?” you finally turn to take a look at him, the garnets in his eyes shifting, bleeding from hurt, betrayal, confusion, you really weren’t sure. And by God you had no energy left to try and figure out. “Yes I’m still going Katsuki, they’re my-”

“Yer really listenin’ to the bullshit spillin’ outta ya? This isn’t about em being your family y/n, we’ve been through with it already.” the space between you two feels like endless miles, pieces of the broken bridge you both worked so hard to build the only evidence of it ever being there, the rest crumbling into the valley in between your bodies.

“No, you’ve been through with it, I just wanna make things right, m-maybe I can fix it”

“It ain’t yours to fix y/n, when will you realize that?”

“No!” there you go again, sobbing pathetically. “W-why can’t I have a family, huh? Why- why can’t I, fuck, have a family that just loves and supports me a-and just doesn’t- ” your voice croaks, not failing to notice how Katsuki stepped away from the wreck in front of him. Probably having had enough of you, had enough of how troubling and bothersome you are, probably wondering how he got roped with all your shit and got dragged into your mess of a life.

His hands feel like scolding fire when they’re placed on your shoulders, halting their shaking as you cry into the palm of your hand to muffle the sobs, a habit Katsuki has been working so hard on to help you overcome, saddened to see you try and hide your vulnerability from him.

“Because they never made an effort, so why should you?” The tugging at your heart burns, the swallowed sobs feel like needles prickling at your lungs, making breathing feel like an impossible chore. You can’t help but feel restrained whenever you’re presented with the truth, especially unfiltered and unsugarcoated like right now, you know he’s right, you’ve known he was right a long time ago, but admitting it out loud just felt borderline impossible. 

So you do what you do best, push him away, all the strength you can muster barely budges his figure, the meal forgotten on the counter as you run and lock the bedroom door on yourself.

Your footsteps feel heavy, dreading the topics and scenes you’re bound to relive. The grip on the strap of your shoulder bag tightening as you push the glass door open. A sigh escapes past your lips again as you enter the restaurant, half-heartedly smiling at the hostess before making your way inside to look for them.

It’s always the same scenery, the kind that always makes you want to run away to the other direction instead of being dragged down into whatever hell this is. And you pause to question yourself, again, why you actually agreed to put yourself out there.

There they are, seated in the four person table, with two empty seats, one for yourself and the other for the sibling your mother always hoped to have instead of you.

Your mother’s pursed lip could be seen from where you stand at the entrance, the clicking of her tapping foot sounding as bad as grinding metals in your ear, you hate it, despise it

It’s the same clicking you learned to memorize, to anticipate, to fear, when she passed by your room, the clicking that made you smother your face in your pillows and swallow your sobs, because the sound of you crying brought her more distress and annoyance than concern for her daughter.

With another tug at the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, you approach the table, hugging your father when he stands up and nodding to your mom when she eyes your figure.

“Good morning mother. It’s good to see you.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

Here we go, you breathe out before tugging at a strand of hair, spitting out your words “nothing’s wrong with it.”

“Then why does it look awful like that?”

There are times like these where you are left to question your reasoning for accepting whatever invitation you received from your parents to have brunch with them after all those months, a moment of weakness deceiving you into believing it was better than to spend it in your empty apartment, with the silence that ate away at your sanity every second. The only evidence of life in it other than yours was the recently cleaned dishes and the note thanking you for the meal, the promise of cuddles and movies tonight making you gain just a little more patience, barely.

You refrain from answering, your response is to lower your head, drag the dining chair before plopping on it, a dreary sigh escaping your lips as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Your mother never changes, it’s been a while since you were able to move out of her home, and while your father tries to tell you that these brunches are a way to reconnect with them, you yourself know that it’s merely a chance for your mother to nitpick at everything you ever did or are doing since you left.

“How have you been y/n.” your father smiles at you, both of you ignoring the sound of your mother kissing her teeth when her attempted jab at you is ignored. “Uh, I uh I’ve been good, I just wrapped up with my exams and so far things have been-” 

“How is your hero boyfriend?” 

For a second, you contemplate whether to ignore her question and keep conversing with your dad, dreading the questions that are to be pushed your way regarding Katsuki, of which will be used as bragging material for when she meets whatever group of friends she associates herself with, but you know better than to ignore her with the way she gets when she isn’t fed with attention. 

“He’s uh, good.”

“Why isn’t he here today? What, too good to meet us?” your mother nags, and for the love of God, would that fucking clicking ever stop?

“No, he’s doing his job of, you know, being a hero.”

“Is he now? Well, what about you, hm?” She cocks her head as her nails tap the table. ”Did you think your father and I wouldn’t figure out you got fired?”

“How-” the gritting of your teeth is deafening at this point, your jaw clenching so tightly as you and your mother stare each other down. “Your dad pulled some strings, it isn’t that hard. So tell me, you like leeching off of him after you were done with us?”

“This isn’t, I just- I was- I, I had a lot of university work piling up a-and I couldn’t make time for my shifts and I just, it was just so hard for me to get out of bed these days and I.” why are you doing this? Why are you explaining yourself to people that don’t deserve it? Why are you feeding off of their acceptance, knowing damn well you never got it, and that thing was never gonna change. 

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear about you not getting out of bed, you’re here now aren’t you? This is all in your head y/n. You need to stop talking nonsense, what’re people gonna say about you, about me, when they hear you?” 

It feels just like yesterday, your figure standing and facing your full length mirror, your reflection eyeing you with identical vacant eyes. Fingers running through your bed head, a wince escaping you at the movement. Bringing your hand up and catching a glimpse of a slight swollen purple bruise along your wrist and the dried blood on your knuckles, the skin stretching upon rotating your wrist and causing notable pain.

Alas, that pain paled in comparison to when your mom barged into your room, blaming you for the way you were acting and belittling your reasoning. Beckoning your father over to replace your broken vanity and for your house maid to disinfect the space, the place sparkling clean and void of any evidence of what had transpired the day prior. 

The shattered glass was picked up and thrown out, the splatters of blood were wiped clean, and whenever you brought up, what your mom refers to as ‘the temper tantrum’, you’re ignored by both your parents as they continued about their day, fearing the shame it would bring upon their name if the event was to catch others’ attention. 

“Good morning! I’ll be your server for the day. What can I get you?” the foreign voice sounds more comforting than your own mother’s, and you almost laugh at the irony of it, but you only return her smile and take a look at the menu. Lighting up a smidge at the name of one of the dishes, while your parents place their order.

“Can I please get the soufflé pancake?” you look up to catch the horrified look on your mother’s face, followed by her clicking her tongue and shaking her head as if your choice of food was shameful. 

“Certainly-”

“Uh, no she won’t be having that. Get her the Honzen Ryori,” your mother eyed your figure -whatever was visible to her from across the table- before turning to face the server again “maybe cut down on the rice, God knows she doesn’t need the extra calories.” and waves her off, disregarding your protests and tapping her nail against the table top, her annoying method in demanding your silence, which you subconsciously react to, snapping your mouth shut when the sound reaches your ears.

“What was that for? You know I like having sweet breakfasts,” was fuming even close to what you are feeling? Probably not. “Yes I can clearly see that, you’ve let yourself go as well. Do you think that boyfriend of yours will stick around when you start putting on even more weight?”

At a loss for words, you turn to your father, who has been quiet this whole time, for any sense of support when it comes to his wife. But the way he presses his lips together tells you all you need to know, how just because he isn’t bad as her, doesn’t make him that great of a parent. That standing by while you have been bullied your entire childhood and well into your adulthood is just as bad as being the cause of it. 

“God forbid he realizes how much of a train wreck you really are and throws you on the side of the street, because you know damn well we won’t be here to pick you up.”

It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful -well, as beautiful as it can be with the kind of day you’re having- and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. People quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. The postcard-perfect sky started changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade merged in with the flaming orange and mesmerizing purple as the sun sunk deep into the horizon, before beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of cloud start to form, blocking out the old-gold color of the sun.

The first splatter of rain hits you when you’re halfway across the street, dismissing the need to take shelter under the roof of the buildings like some passersby are doing, hoping to see out the shower. Droplets of moisture begin to drip onto your head, sprinkling onto you like a gardener’s hose. It was well after your meal with your parents, and you had spent the last few hours walking aimlessly through the streets, making sure to avoid those covered by your boyfriend during his patrol. Hoping, praying, that something will clear your head, will help your poor jumbled mess of a mind forget about this entire nightmare of a day.

Should’ve listened to him 

The rainfall intensifies, the drops drumming against the hood of the cars that you pass by, there is so much rain that the sound blurs into one long, whirring noise, reminding you of the blades of the fan that you stuck your finger in, that one time when you were left alone in your house when you were only five years of age. Eventually, they fade into a musical chime as you push your drenched hair away from your face and feel the vibration from your phone as it rings the ninth, maybe tenth time. 

He told me so. 

Tall apartment complex building; you couldn’t see its end from where you stand. You shiver as you approach it, the doorman - bless his heart - running and placing his umbrella to futilely shield you from the rain, and you just laugh and tell him that you’re already drenched and just waiting to go back home.

God forbid he realizes how much of train wreck I am

Not wanting to dampen the people at the elevator and make them uncomfortable, you take the stairs up to your shared apartment, you usually don't mind the exercise but with how heavy you feel after the rain and day spent up on your sore feet, all you think about is locking yourself in your room and discover what kind of new façade could you try and fool Katsuki with when he reaches home.

Just how I trick him into thinking I’m not with him to leech off of him

Eventually and with a struggle, you make it to the door, dreading the sight you might come to face, almost hoping for a black hole to emerge and swallow you whole.

What would people say about me? Do people think I’m crazy?

With a forced exhale out of your lungs, you fetch the key from your bag to unlock the door, but it’s wrenched open before you have a chance to insert your key.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Your eyes meet the beautiful rubies of Katsuki, and despite his anger that always overcompensates his worry, you smile and throw yourself on him. The shivering ceasing when he wraps his warm arms around you and that loving caramel scent engulfs you, in spite of how your hair is drenching his shirt and how you sniff against his neck.

“You need a shower, you’re shivering.”

“Take one with me?” you look up at him through your lashes, and he blinks at your uncharacterized boldness but agrees nonetheless, helping you out of your clothes and turning on the hot water before stepping in with you.

It is a struggle to help you clean up when all you do is grab at him, whether they’re your hands on his shoulders to lower him to kiss you, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your breasts against him, or palming his hardening cock as the poor man tries to shampoo your hair.

“Would ya knock it off? I’m tryna help you here shitty woman” you frown and squint your eyes when the shampoo gets close to them. “I wanna have sex.” 

“Yea I can fuckin tell, just lemme-” you bring his arms down and press his palms to your boobs, letting go of his wrist when he starts squeezing at them. “Do you not want to?” he gulps, his dick twitching at the feeling of your soft mounds in his hands, your nipples covered up by the suds from the shampoo, as your finger traces the underside of his cock. “Yeah, I uh, fuck, I do, just- you need to wash up so you don’t get sick, alright?”

“Do you not think I’m pretty anymore?” you pout childishly, tears threatening to escape your eyes, and they burn as you close them when he washes the product out of your hair, a deep frown on his lips when you open your eyes back again. “The fuck you on about? That rain really fucked with ya?”

“Are you gonna get rid of me when you realize how much of a mess I am?” you whisper, your voice muffled under the sound of the shower above you, and you keep quiet as he helps you scrub your body, but your boyfriend is observant, he isn’t fucking dense.

“What do you want, right now?” he lowers himself to your level when he’s done, his hands stroking your cheeks as he eyes the way the water droplets cling to your lashes, but still not missing the red rimming around your eyes.

“I just wanna for- I uh, I wanna have sex.” you mumble, a plea hidden underneath your words, a plea to help you forget, to help you bury this day behind you and pretend it never happened.

What you don’t expect is the way that Katsuki pulls your naked wet body out of the bathroom and drops you on the bed, feeling your bodies dampening the bed as he hovers over you, no words are spoken between you as he kisses and nips at your skin. Marking it up and down as he all but worships your body, strands of his hair tangle between your fingers when you run your hands through it, arching your back at the feeling of his tongue tasting your slick.

He doesn’t let up until you cry out, and not in pleasure, your sobs far beyond those he loves to hear when he’s denying you an orgasm. No, they’re sobs that wreck your whole body, kicking away at his shoulders as you curl in on yourself and wail into the sheets. Sitting on his haunches on the floor, Katsuki’s eye soften at your figure, the way your shoulders are shaking and how -yet again- you’re trying to muffle your cries with the sheets this time, pressing your face against the mattress in an attempt to lower your noise, as your mother would call it.

“Hey, look at me” you feel his lips grazing your ear as he kisses it, pressing his lips against your temple, fingers unwrapping your fist against the sheet and digging into your hands and pressing kisses against the nail marks in the palm of your hands. “There she is, there’s my girl.” you hear when you lift your head from the bed, sight blurry from your shed tears but still easy to distinguish Katsuki even between billions of people.

You sniff when he kisses at your lids, groan when he chuckles and calls you ‘snot the naught’ when you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, beaming when he hears you let out one weak chuckle at the way he teases you. Still pressing his lips against any surface of skin he can reach.

“You don’t have to talk about it you know, to me at least” he mumbles to you when you’re both dressed in your sleepwear and are cuddling on the dry side of the bed, opting to change the sheet the next day. “Maybe, maybe we can get someone who can help you, you know.” you press your face deeper between his neck and shoulder, shuddering when his warm palms rub your back from under your shirt. 

“I can make some calls, get in contact with someone.” you lift your head. “But I can’t afford-” he tuts and frowns at you “None of that.” 

“Remember what I said when we agreed to move in?” you do, you just love the sound of his voice when he says it, feels like he’s making all these promises all over again. “Tell me.”

“Told ya I’d be whoever you want me to be, whoever you need me to be. I’ll be yer mom, even better than that bitch, I’ll support and love you unconditionally.” you sniff and tighten your hold against him as he presses his lips against your cheek. 

“I’d be better than yer pussy dad, you can rely on me any time and I’ll live up to all your expectations. And callin me daddy is always a plus” he tangles his legs with your own when you wiggle away from him, laughing and giving you no chance of escape, not that you are even thinking of it. 

“I’d even be yer genius fuckin nanny that taught you to tell yer mom to go fuck herself when you were four,” your suppressed giggles lights him up and he can’t help but chuckle as well. “I’ll be anything and everything you’ll ever need, baby. I’ll be your goddamn hero.”

The sun comes out again, casting slanted beams of light across the buildings. Steam rises slowly from the greenery. It rises up eerily and drifts mist-like towards the molten-gold sun, right before it escapes into the abyss. The image is so vivid that it stays with you for as long as you remember. Because on this exact day, the shrieking that follows you everywhere you go, haunting you and mocking you, suddenly is nowhere to be found. And all you can hear is the comforting sound of Katsuki as he hums you a lullaby to sleep.

aaaah I hope you like it!

[arrowflier]

Prompt: Mickey apologizes to one of their neighbours for something that clearly wasn't his fault just to make Ian(who's in his people pleaser mode) happy. Later, Ian realises how Mickey was right all along and feels bad about the whole thing and they talk. Basically them having a mature convo at the end

Ian heard the shouting as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. Mickey had come down earlier to take a quick dip, and Ian was hoping to join him and relax together for a while.

But based on the way his husband and one of their neighbors were yelling right then, that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Ian sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. Was it really too much to ask that Mickey get along with the people in their building? He didn't even have to make friends, he just had to not be an asshole to everyone he met.

A particularly loud shout--something about children, and language, and have some common decency--forced Ian out of his reflections and toward the apparent catastrophe that was Mickey in public.

“Dammit, Mickey,” he muttered under his breath as he rounded the last corner and brought the pool into view.

Sure enough, Mickey was there.  He stood at the edge of the shallow end of the pool, like he had just hoisted himself out, water droplets still lingering on his sculpted arms and chest.  His arms were raised and held out to the side in challenge as he blustered on about public space, and freedom of speech, and I’ll do you one worse lady, just you watch just inches away from a middle-aged woman that looked like she had stepped out of a lululemon ad.

Ian was pretty sure it was the same woman who had stopped him at the elevators last week to ask him to “keep it down up there”.  They really didn’t need to cause more trouble with her; Mickey had them on thin ice already when his response to Ian relaying that request was to play loud, bass-thumping music while riding Ian into the floor for effect.

She hadn't met his eyes since.

"What's going on here?" Ian interrupted, coming up behind Mickey and settling a hand on the back of his husband's neck.

"This lady was tryin to--" Mickey cut off when Ian squeezed and released that hand in warning. Mickey glowered at him, but shut his mouth.

"Your husband," the woman said with a glare at Mickey, "was setting a bad example for my nephew."

Looking around for the aforementioned child, Ian sighed when he saw a little boy staring at them all from a pool lounger with wide eyes.

"We're sorry, Mrs...," he trailed off, but she didn't bother to fill in the blank for him, instead just raising her eyebrows and tapping her sandaled foot expectantly.

"Uh, anyway, it won't happen again," Ian finished awkwardly. "Right, Mick?"

"Are you kidding me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, incredulous.

"I expect a direct apology from your husband," the woman demanded at the same time.

Ian raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gave Mickey a little shake when the other man didn't speak up.

"Come on, Mick, just do it," Ian muttered.

After a tense moment, Mickey did.

"Fucking fine," he hissed at Ian, ignoring their neighbor's sharp intake of breath at the curse. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?," he directed at her, before pulling out of Ian's hold to face him.

"You happy now?" he asked, before turning and stomping off to go inside.

The effect was dampened by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, leaving behind wet marks on the concrete. Ian and the woman watched him go with drastically different expressions: one with disgust, and one with concern.

"I do hope you'll keep your man in line better in the future," the woman groused at Ian, but he wasn't really listening.

"Yeah, sure," he answered absently. "Excuse me, I just gotta..."

And then he was scooping up the towel and shoes Mickey had left behind, and hurrying after his husband.

---

"Mickey?" Ian called out hesitantly as he entered their apartment. Other than a couple of damp patches on the floor, there was no sign of Mickey anywhere.

Then Ian heard the shower start, and set Mickey's things down next the door to follow the sound.

Mickey's wet trunks were pooled on the cold tile floor, the shower curtain pulled tight from wall to wall. The splash of water bouncing from flesh to the acrylic tub echoed through the room.

"Mickey?" Ian asked softly, taking a step past the open door. "Mick, you in here?"

He heard a snort over the sound of the water, the curtain moving as Mickey's arm jostled it from inside.

"No, it's your other husband, Sherlock," Mickey answered, an odd tone in his voice. "You know, the one you listen to before you take some random bitch's side."

Ian winced. Okay, Mickey was mad, then.

Moving further into the room, Ian closed the lid of the toilet and turned to sit on it, elbows on knees.

"Sorry," he offered briefly. "But she had a point Mick, there are kids here--"

The water stopped abruptly, and the curtain pulled back to reveal Mickey’s face.  His hair flopped wetly over his forehead, water still sluicing down the middle of his face, and he scowled as he brushed it away with the back of a dripping hand.

“Kid, huh?” he questioned  “So I need to go get my fucking tattoos removed because some random kid might see ‘em?”

Ian blinked.

“Wait,” he said slowly, mind trying to figure out what he was missing.  “What?” then scoffed when Ian just watched him.

Mickey just scoffed.  

“You don’t even know what she was yellin’ about, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I didn’t say a damn word to her or that sniveling brat she brought with her,” he revealed.  “They took one fucking look at me, saw the words on my knuckles, and off she went on her little fucking tirade.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started, but Mickey wasn’t done.

“Don’t you act like it matters,” he growled.  “You care more about playing nice than payin’ attention, and don’t pretend that after all these years you don’t still assume I’m always the fuckin’ problem.”

Fuck.  Ian had really screwed this one up.

“Mickey,” he repeated, more firmly, standing and stepping closer to the shower.  Ian took the shower curtain in one hand and tugged it further to the side.  Mickey shivered in the influx of cool air, looking more like a disgruntled cat mid-bath than an angry man.

“Mickey,” Ian said again, softer, and stepped over the lip of the tub so that nothing was between them.  He took Mickey into his arms, his husband putting up a token resistance before settling against him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered into his wet hair, ignoring the patches of water soaking through his clothes.  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mickey hummed into his chest, not looking up.  “You kind of did, though,” he mutters.  “Every time somebody’s got a problem with me, you act like it’s my fault.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Yeah,” Ian finally agreed, stroking a hand down Mickey’s bare back.  “Yeah, I need to work on that.”

He pulled back, made Mickey meet his eyes.  Mickey was no longer glaring, and his eyes were dry, but there was still something off about the way he met Ian’s gaze.

“You know I don’t really think that, though, right?” Ian asked, disheartened when Mickey didn’t offer a response.

“I don’t, Mickey,” he said earnestly.  “I love you, and you’ve been trying so hard--”

“Shouldn’t fuckin’ have to try,” Mickey murmured, and oh.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Ian rephrased.  “And I’m sorry I’m always making you feel like you do, too.”

Mickey moved back farther, and Ian’s arms dropped loosely back to his sides.  His fingers itched to reach out again, but he got the feeling Mickey needed some space.

“Okay,” Mickey said.  “Get outa here so I can finish.”

Ina obeyed, stepping out of the tub and moving toward the door, but he turned back before he left the room.

“When you’re done, come into the bedroom, alright?” he asked quietly.  “I’ve got an idea to get back at that asshole woman.”

“Apology or not,” Mickey said wryly, “I don’t think I’m on the mood to fuck you right now, Ian.”

Ian just smirked. 

“Not what I had in mind,” he said.  “Now hurry it up, I think you’re gonna like my plan.”

---

About twenty minutes later, after the shower had started and stopped again and Mickey had had a moment to gather himself and get dressed, Mickey walked into the bedroom and stopped still.

Ian was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, but that wasn’t what had Mickey startled.  No, it was the fact that right in front of him was a huge stereo with old school speakers, the ones that used to be downstairs in the communal lounge area, with Ian’s phone sitting right on top.

“What’s all this?” Mickey asked, and Ian grinned.

“So she doesn’t like profanity, huh?” he said.  “Well I found a favorite new song.”

Mickey started to grin himself as he caught on to the plan.  Ian stood and pushed one of the speakers a little closer to the vents in their floor, angling it so the sound would bounce right down into the apartment below.  Then he tapped a few things on his phone, cranked the volume, and let harsh base and more expletives than Mickey had ever heard in a piece of music fill the room.

Mickey laughed.  Ian held out a hand, like he was asking for a dance, and turned the music up even louder.

Shaking his head at his husband’s antics, Mickey took the proffered hand, and let Ian spin him to the sound of their bitchy neighbor losing her mind below them.

[calpalirwin]

Permanent Vacation

Summary: Calum falls for a musician.

A/N: I just really wanted an excuse to use Arrows in Action newest releases in a fic. (They’re bangers. You should go give ‘em a listen.)

Word Count: 2.8k

And away, and away we go!

__

The sun was hot as it beat down on my neck, the line for the beerstand long, and the noises of people chatting excitedly were loud in my ears. But I didn’t care in the slightest. After the isolating shitshow that was quarantine, I was more than happy to be out at a festival with, wait for it, live fuckin’ music. The only way I could be happier was if my band was in the lineup, but this was still a pretty close second. To be surrounded by musicians and people who loved music was a breath of fresh air after so long. A breath of very hot fresh air. But still.

Behind me I heard the girlish giggling and whispers of my name, which drew the attention of the group in front of me: three guys, and a girl around my own age, two of the guys a good shoulder and head taller than the other man and girl. The shortest of the guys whispered, “Could you imagine if we got noticed like that?”

The tall brunette’s eyes went wide as he pulled a face and shook his head. “No, thanks. I think I’d cry.”

The other tall one with purple hair laughed loudly, “Aw, c’mon, that would be rad! His band’s not even in the lineup and he still gets recognized. Could you imagine?”

“He has a name, and can hear you, J,” the girl hissed with a playful eye roll. Then, she flashed me a smile before calling out in a loud voice, “Hey, man! Good to see ya! How ya been?” to me, before taking a step forward and stretching up to wrap her arm around my shoulders like we were old friends. “Just go with it,” she added under her breath. “Nobody’ll bug you for pictures and autographs if you’re with a bigger group.”

“Thanks,” I laughed at her rescue attempt. “But it’s fine if they do. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but they can at least let you buy a fuckin’ beer first.”

“Well, thanks again,” I said, not sure of what else to say, or do so I let her pull me up with her friends who were all staring at her with I’m sure the same look of soft shock I had on my own face.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” She let go of me as she started introducing her friends to me. “And this is Jesse.”

“Hello,” the tall one with purple hair smiled warmly.

“That’s Matt,” she nudged the other tall one.

“Hey.”

“And this is Vic,” she finished, looking at the shortest man who waved.

“Nice to meet you guys. I’m Calum,” I said, then realized how stupid that was. “But, you already knew that, huh?”

Y/N grinned, holding her thumb and index finger close together. “Just a smidge. But it’s cool. So, any bands you’re particularly excited to see?”

“The Maine and All Time Low mostly. I’m a huge fan of The Maine, and All Time Low are friends of mine.”

“Both are great bands. And the All Time Low guys are good friends to have, for sure.”

“Oh, you know them?”

“Yeah, we worked with them a few times.”

“Worked with? Fellow musicians, huh?”

She laughed. “We’re up and comers, yeah.”

“Your cool aunt’s favorite band,” Jesse grinned at me.

Y/N laughed more at the confused look that crossed my face. “That’s one of his favorite ways to refer to us. Like we’re the band you find out from word of mouth from the cool relative that’s always discovering new music.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding in understanding. “Been there. Are you guys in the lineup?”

“Yup!” she chirped happily as we got to the front of the line. “5 beers, please,” she told the person working the counter.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I tried to decline, reaching quickly for my wallet.

“Relax, it’s just a beer,” she told me, passing me one of the cups being placed on the counter. 

“Well, thanks,” I said, raising the cup and taking a sip. “I’ll getcha guys next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she grinned around the rim of her own cup. “Enjoy your beer, Cal. See ya around.”

~~~

I took the last swallow from my beer, cursing myself for not having stopped her to get the name of her band, or at the very least her last name. But before I had a chance to get the words out, I’d been bombarded with requests from fans for pictures, engaging in small conversations with them, and by the time I was done, Y/N was long gone.

So I resigned myself to walking around the festival grounds, my head reeling. It wasn’t often a woman pretended to be my friend to rescue me from the onslaught of fans. In fact, I couldn’t recall one time that's ever happened. I also wasn’t used to being bought drinks, even if I was still fully intending to return the favor. Although that would require me to find her first. But something told me that wouldn’t be too difficult.

I was grateful I’d come on my own, and not with Ashton who would have no doubt teased me about how hooked I was on the girl. The cynic with a crush? Whatever were the odds? And was it even technically a crush when I’d only interacted with her for maybe five minutes? Okay, maybe Ashton being around wouldn’t be the worst thing if he could help me make sense of the jumble of thoughts in my head. The way that man could bounce from crush to crush almost seamlessly was enough to give me a case of whiplash. 

I sighed as I tossed my cup in the trash. Whether or not it was a crush was still to be determined. All I knew was that I liked her energy, and wanted to see her again. And… that was a crush, wasn’t it? God. Fuckin’. Damn it.

A guitar chord rang out loudly, and there was a mad dash of people running towards the stage. Slowly I pushed my way through the crowd of people towards the front, grinning when I noticed it was her on stage, and grinning even more when I noticed the instrument in her hand. A bassist? Fuck, I was definitely in trouble now.

The shortest of the men, Vic, I recalled, started singing, with the other three providing backup harmony on the chorus. Until they got to the bridge that was all Y/N, her voice ringing out “Tomorrow’s a nightmare, I’m dreaming today. And my head is haunted, the past just can’t stay. The devil you know, yeah he comes and he goes. I’m selfish, and vapid, I hide in my prose!” before they launched into the final chorus.

“What up, Anaheim?!” Vic yelled into his mic to a scream of cheers and applause. “We’re Arrows in Action, and that was our newest single, Only Be Mine. I’m Vic. We got Matt over here on guitar. Jesse’s on the drums. And Y/N’s over there on bass. We got a few more songs for you all. And if you’re an awesome crowd, we might have a special treat for ya at the end of our set. Sound good?”

We answered him in whoops of cheers and loud applause, causing them all to grin as they launched into their next song.

They played seamlessly through about three more songs, enjoying the feeling of playing live in front of people again, before Y/N whooped into her own mic. “Whoo! It’s hot! Anyone else hot? Y’all staying hydrated out there?” she asked us, before flickering her gaze across the stage at Matt who was wiping his forehead. “You good, Matt?”

“Dude, it’s like a million degrees up here,” he commented, before taking a huge swig from a water bottle.

Y/N laughed. “Right. Y’all gotta understand. Matt’s from the cold states. Then there’s Vic and I who are California natives, technically, right Vic?”

“Yeah, I was born here. But I didn’t live here as long as you did.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So Vic and I are used to the heat. Matt, not so much. And Jesse? How you doing back there, J?”

“Me?” the drummer pointed at himself in confusion “Oh, I’m great!”

“Great enough to give this crowd a real surprise?” she asked, her voice laced with playful trouble, as she looked at all her bandmates. “C’mon, boys what do ya say? Wanna give this crowd something special before we go?”

Again, we all cheered and applauded as encouragement for whatever surprise they had in mind. “Alright!” Vic laughed. “Alright, you wanna go ahead and introduce it then?”

She smiled wide as she turned towards us. “Alright, everybody! We’re Arrows in Action. We’ve had a great time with y’all! So, as a thank you, we’re gonna play a new song that we haven’t released yet. Is that cool with you?” She laughed as she awaited the response of screaming, whistles, and applause. “Alright. This is called Permanent Vacation, which will be available on all listening platforms this Friday. Let’s go!”

Matt started playing a series of chords that sounded incredibly familiar, while the other three clapped to the beat. But right before the lyrics were supposed to come in, Vic started talking into his mic. “Wait, wait, wait!” he laughed. “I don’t know the lyrics to this!”

“So it’s just like every other song,” Y/N teased him with her own laugh.

“Nah, I think it’s cuz that one’s not ours.”

“Be rad if it was though,” she said, and I swear she shot me a wink. “Alright, alright. So, that one’s not ours. But this one definitely is. And it’s definitely called Permanent Vacation. And it’s out Friday.”

A new guitar and drum beat started up and Vic immediately started singing, again with the rest of the band providing back up vocals until the bridge where it was all Y/N. A soft build before a wild yell that would have torn my own vocal chords to shreds.

“I’m locked and loaded, fire away! Permanent vacation from my brain. Extend my stay another day. Far from home, not alone,” they all finished with a flurry of chords. “Thank you!” Vic croaked into the mic. “Thank you guys so much! We’re Arrows in Action, enjoy the rest of your night!”

With tired but happy smiles, they all bowed before exiting the stage. I moved to follow, but thought better of it, going to hit the drink stand first where I bought 5 beers and 4 waters. A small challenge, made slightly easier by the person working the stand putting the water bottles in a grocery bag for me. With that hanging off my arm, I held 2 beers in each hand, and my own in my teeth.

“Cal!” she laughed, her face flushed when I found them lounging in the grass. “You didn’t have to do that,” she told me as she rose to her feet to help me distribute the beers.

“I said I’d get the next round,” I offered up simply, setting down the bag and taking a seat with them all. “I brought you guys water, too.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she laughed, tossing the bottles out anyway, and sitting back down, this time next to me. 

“Shut up, Y/N, let the man do what he wants,” Jesse said, downing a water bottle in 2 gulps before turning his attention to his beer. “You’re rad. Thank you.”

“For real, man. This was really cool of you,” Vic said.

“Yeah, huge thanks,” Matt nodded.

“What they said, I guess,” Y/N laughed again, following Jesse’s lead of downing her water bottle before going for her beer. “Fuck,” she sighed. “That’s good. Thank you, really.”

“Happy to do it,” I answered. “That set was amazing, by the way. And that joke at the end was pretty clever. How long were you planning that?”

She giggled. “Uh, well Jesse and I are much more the 5sos fans than Matt and Vic are. But we’re all familiar with your music. And when we were writing the song, and settled on the title, I suggested that it would be funny to start playing your version if we ever got the chance to play it live. Which meant bugging Matt to learn the guitar parts.”

“So you’re the troublemaker of the band?” I guessed.

She shrugged, and hid behind the rim of her cup. “I mean… Depends on the day.”

We continued to lay in the grass, making small talk as we all finished our beers, before Jesse cleared his throat. “Uh… Matt, Vic. You guys wanna come with me to get a good spot for the rest of the acts?” he asked, the suggestion in his tone heavy.

Matt and Vic shared a look, before nodding. “Yeah, yeah of course,” they said, all three of them getting up.

“You assholes are just gonna leave me?” Y/N asked, looking up at them.

“Just come find us when you’re ready,” they winked. “Thanks again for the beers, Cal.”

“Assholes,” she muttered again as they all made themselves scarce. “Sorry about them.”

I laughed, waving it off. “Nah, it’s cool. And kinda nice, maybe?”

“Oh?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Uh…” her face flushed. “I mean…” she started to stammer. “Yeah. Yeah.”

I gave a half chuckle, scratching at the back of my neck. “Look, it’s fine if you’re not… I mean, I figure you probably are if they did that for you, cuz they have no reason to do it for my sake. I mean, they’re your friends and bandmates, not mine. But I know a wing man set up when I see it. But if it’s more of a meddling wing man set up, like that’s fine,” I spilled out, before realizing I was rambling.

“No!” she rushed. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” She covered her face in her hands, groaning “Oh, this is so embarrassing…” Her hands moved to push through her hair as she took a long breath to steady herself. “Of course I like you, Cal. Like before I even met you. One of those embarrassing fangirl crush type of deals. And I mean, I’m a bassist in a punk band, so you’re also someone I idolize and take inspiration from.” Slowly her gaze lifted from her lap to lock onto mine. “And then I met you today. And  you’re everything I thought you’d be. Thoughtful. Generous. A bit shy, and quiet at times. Nice. And it makes the crush that much stronger, and harder to deal with. Cuz now it’s real. And I feel like I know you. And it’s just… Ugh, it spirals from there, ya know?”

“A good spiral, or a bad spiral?”

“Bit of both? Like the insecurities in me say that you’re an A-list celebrity, while I’m more of like… not an A-lister. My band’s not on the same level yours is. I mean, we play bars and small day festivals. You sell out stadiums and have world tours. There’s a clear discrepancy. But then, another part of me doesn’t give a shit about that. It sees how we’re like-minded. It sees all the ways we click, and all the ways we could work. And that’s where the cocky part comes in, where it sees the like-mindedness and the reasons we could work, and calls you an idiot if you can’t see it too. That, uh, screwed up defense mechanism of it being your loss, ya know?”

“Mhm.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I said a lot. Point is, I do like you. And, that’s that.”

“So the ball’s in my court?”

“Only if you want it to be. And if you don’t, then no. There’s no ball. No court. Just two people who have a few things in common.”

“You wanna hear what I think?”

“Go for it.”

“I think your friends left us for 2 reasons. 1 being that they’re loyal to you, and know how you feel about me. 2 being that they’re also guys. Which gives them a pretty good insight for how I’m feeling too.”

“Uh-huh…” she nodded slowly. “And how you’re feeling is…?”

I could have said the words. But I settled for leaning in, brushing my lips softly against hers for the sweetest of moments, listening to the way her next breath got stuck in her throat. I pulled away, smiling softly at her and shrugging my shoulders.

She traced her lips with her thumb, bewilderment written on her face. “Okay, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“Relax,” I chuckled, stealing her words from earlier. “It’s just a kiss.”

“Well, thanks. I’ll, uh, getcha next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

__

Tag List

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[drabbles-mc]

Language

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

@redpoodlern requested more Dad!Creeper and honestly I was more than happy to deliver on that haha. And thank you to @garbinge for always helping me pull together all of my ideas!

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, Creeper being a big ol’ softie with his kiddos

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This definitely takes place in the same universe as Like Father, Like Son because I’m a big fan of the family dynamic that I was sort of starting to build there. If no one has any objections that’s probably going to be my default HC for my future Dad!Creeper fics unless stated otherwise haha. I just love the idea of him with a pack of kids.

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The kids had one week off from school. One week. Seven days. Technically only five if you weren’t counting the weekend. You didn’t want to take the entire week off of work when you would be out on maternity leave in a couple more months, and as much as Creeper wanted you to be taking it easy, he said that if you really wanted save your time off for your leave, he would gladly keep the kids with him for the week.

“You and the guys can’t be doing,” you glanced around to make sure the kids weren’t in the room, “You and the guys can’t be doing serious club shit while they’re there, okay?” you knew that Creeper was always careful, but you also knew that some of the other men in the MC with him weren’t quite as cautious.

“Never, mama,” he leaned in and kissed your cheek, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold it down. It’s been a while since they got some time with their uncles, anyway.”

“Alright,” you nodded, taking a deep breath, “Go round up the gremlins, then,” you laughed, “They should each have their backpack with stuff in it.”

“Givin’ ‘em homework on their week off?” he chuckled.

You shook your head, “No, no. Just stuff to do if they get bored at the clubhouse. Coloring books, matchbox cars, whatever else they can fit in there.”

“Pfft,” he shook his head, “like we’ll ever let them get bored,” he let out a whistle, “Let’s go, homies! Time to roll out.”

Their footsteps thundered through the house as all three if them came booking it down the hall, each with their backpacks either on their shoulders or dangling from their hands. Both you and Creeper laughed at how excited they were to spend some time with their dad and their entire squad of uncles at the clubhouse.

“Which car you taking, baby?” you asked him.

“Just figured I’d take the van. It’s got all their stuff in it already.”

You smiled, nodding as you grabbed the keys off the counter and tossed them to him, “Alright, no doing donuts with it.”

He chuckled, “If they ask I won’t be able to tell them no,” he was about to say something else when his phone started going off in the pocket of his kutte. He reached and took it out, brows furrowing slightly as he answered, “Yea? Yea I’m about to head out. We’ll talk about it when I get there,” he shook his head slightly, “Alright yea,” with a huff he hung up the phone.

“All good?” you arched one eyebrow.

He nodded, “Yea. They act like I’m not gonna see them in twenty minutes. What the fuck is that important that it can’t wait?”

You shot him a glare, “Neron! Language, please.”

“Shit, sorry.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He smiled sheepishly, stepping in close to give you a kiss, “I’m sorry, I love you, and I’ll call you later, mama.”

“Mhm,” you laughed as you playfully shoved him towards the door, “Tell the kids they gotta keep your boys in line.”

“They don’t even need me to tell ‘em.”

Very few things rivaled the excitement that the guys felt when they saw the minivan rolling into the scrapyard. Seconds after Creeper threw the van in park, all of the kids came sprinting out. His son leapt out of the passenger seat as his little sisters came tumbling out the back. It was quite the scene watching them walk up with their father, looking like quite the entourage all together.

“Wifey let you take the real whip today, huh?” Angel said with a laugh as he pulled Creeper into a hug.

He chuckled, “Anything for the wolfpack,” Creeper watched as his kids made their rounds to say hi and hug each of the men that were outside the clubhouse waiting for them to arrive.

Angel looked over at the minivan, “Still can’t believe she let you put those fuckin’ stickers on there, bro,” he laughed.

“Yo,” he smacked Angel in the chest, “No swearin’ in front of the kids,” he paused, “What do you got against the stickers? I think they’re cool.”

“Guess I just never thought that your soccer mom van needed fake bullet holes.”

“That’s what keeps it from being a soccer mom van,” he tapped the side of his head with a knowing look, like he had cracked some sort of code.

“Right,” Angel laughed and shook his head before turning his attention to the kids, “Brandon! Get over here! Let’s see if you’re taller than me yet, dude.”

Creeper turned and saw that the twins were already trying to take Hank down to the ground—a goal that they’d had ever since they were little toddlers. Every time they saw him, they got closer and closer to being successful but they weren’t quite there yet. He had one hanging off of each arm as he tried to walk across the yard without falling over onto them. Creeper laughed as he watched the shenanigans unfold, and they’d only been there for about two minutes.

“Alex! Ava!” he shook his head slightly with a smile, “Give Uncle Hank a break, alright? The man has work to do.”

“They’ll be taking him to the ground soon enough, man,” EZ laughed as he let Hank struggle with the two little girls.

“Make sure you’re filming it,” Creeper responded with a laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How’s Y/N?” EZ asked.

“Pregnant,” he looked over at EZ and laughed, “Nah she’s good. Working this week, so we got some extra help around here.”

“She’s still working?”

He nodded, “Oh yea. She’ll work till the baby pops outta her,” he shook his head, “I don’t know how she fu—” he caught himself, “I got no clue how she does it, man.”

“Pregnancy one of those things you get better at the more you do it?”

He laughed, “Why don’t you ask her next time you see her?”

“Hard pass,” he shook his head, laughing.

Creeper was glad that he had an entire team of guys to help him try to tire them all out, because it wasn’t an easy task in the slightest. At one point he was fairly certain that he lost them in the depths of the scrapyard and when he did finally find them, they were running around and playing hide and seek where all the scrapped cars were kept. The only thing that kept him from having a heart attack at the sight of it was knowing that none of the cars had any glass left in them that the kids could cut themselves on. But the three of them had easily turned the scrapyard into their kingdom.

“C’mon, lunch time,” he called out to them and they all hesitated, not quite ready to give up the game. Creeper sighed, “Chucky made lunch for you guys.”

That was all it took. Their eyes lit up and the girls almost pushed their brother to the ground in an attempt to beat him back to the clubhouse. Creeper shook his head as he followed them, egging them all on.

“C’mon, B-Dawg, use those legs!” he called after his son with a laugh.

“Knees to chest, Brandon!” Angel joined in as he watched the three of them race up the steps of the clubhouse.

Soon enough, the three of them were all sat at one of the tables inside the clubhouse. Chucky beamed at them, “The Vargas Trio,” he brought their plates over, “I hear you’re keeping us company for the week.”

“Dad said we get to come every day,” Ava said as she shoveled a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Eat first, then talk, lil mama,” Creeper chastised her with a small smile as he shook his head.

Creeper sat at the table with them, casually drinking his beer as he watched the three of them tuck into the lunch that Chucky had made for them. He knew that Chucky loved when the kids were around—he became the ultimate chef and babysitter once those kids set foot on the property. There wasn’t a single thing that he wouldn’t do for those kids and Creeper could tell just by the way that Chucky seemed so at peace as he watched them sitting around the table together.

“What d’you guys say?” he asked them as he nodded towards Chucky.

“Thank you, Uncle Chucky,” they all said in unison.

The warmest of smiles spread across Chucky’s face as he nodded, “The pleasure is all mine.”

By late in the afternoon, the kids were finally starting to run out of steam. The girls were sprawled out on the floor of the clubhouse, art supplies strewn everywhere as they worked through entire sketchbooks’ worth of paper with Chucky. Brandon had been lurking at a safe distance as he watched some of the guys work in the scrapyard. The idea of breaking things apart was intriguing for many reasons to an eight-year-old boy, but he always listened if one of the men said to back up or not touch something. Every now and then, though, Creeper would let him take a crack at something with the hammer and the excitement on his son’s face was contagious.

The two of them walked back into the clubhouse to get a couple water bottles for themselves and the rest of the guys outside. Creeper was behind the bar, handing them over to his son while also trying to get a good look at what Alex and Ava were up to with Chucky. He smiled at the way the three of them seemed to exist so peacefully together. He hoped that the twins would always get along as well as they seemed to so far.

There was the quiet snapping sound of a pencil point breaking, followed by Alex tossing it to the side and huffing, “Fuck that.”

The entire clubhouse fell silent. Creeper’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped slightly and Chucky looked over to him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say or do. Creeper set one last water bottle down on the surface of the bar before addressing the issue.

“Alex? You good, babygirl?”

“It’s like the bazillionth time my pencil has broken.”

He wanted to be amused but he knew that you’d kill him for not talking about the whole language issue, “Alright. I hear you. But…but you can’t be talkin’ like that. Where’d you even hear that, anyway?”

“You,” all three of his kids replied in unison.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as he pressed his lips together into a thin line, trying to figure out what the right way to go about this was, “Look,” he waved for his son to follow him as he walked over to his daughters, “You can’t be talkin’ like that, okay? Those are grownup words. Whatever you do,” he rested his hand on her shoulder gently, “Don’t say that in front of Mommy,” he looked amongst the three of them, “And if it slips, you tell her that Uncle Angel taught you that, alright?” they all nodded and he let out a tiny sigh of relief, “Good. Okay.”

That was the last thing he said about it as he nudged Brandon’s shoulder and they went back to collect up the water bottles and bring them outside. The girls went back to their drawings and Chucky decided that there was nothing left to do but follow suit.

“Uncle Chucky?” Alex asked without looking up from her paper.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why don’t you talk like they do?” she continued to fill in the cartoon coloring page, “Daddy says they’re grownup words but I never hear you saying them.”

“Speaking like a grownup doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” he smiled at her before returning to his own paper.

It was a week filled with antics. The clubhouse was covered in coloring pages of every cartoon and Disney character you could possibly think of. All of the guys had gotten their nails painted by the twins at least once. Brandon got his own Romero Brothers work-shirt and now he never wanted to take it off. Every single member of the MC was tired in a way they never remembered being tired before. Nap time was something that everyone partook in, even the adults, because they all needed the rest.

You took a half day on Friday so you could spend some time with all of them at the clubhouse. You liked seeing the kids running around having a good time with the guys, and truthfully you missed the nights you’d stay late with Creeper there. Late-night partying hadn’t been something the two of you had done in a long time, but none of that compared to the sense of joy you felt as you heard your daughters very intensely explaining the entire plot of both Frozen movies to EZ, who sat and nodded along, a very serious look on his face.

You smiled, making your rounds to say hello to the guys before you made your way over to Creeper who was sitting at the bar. He smiled, standing up to place a kiss to your lips and then to your belly before offering you his seat. You took it without hesitation, always happy to be off your feet for a few minutes.

“How’s the week been?” you asked as you glanced around the clubhouse.

He nodded, “Good. The guys will be sleeping for a week straight once the kids go back to school,” he laughed.

You smiled, nodding, “I bet.”

“It’s been nice having them here. Keeps things from getting to serious.”

“Yea,” you chuckled, “I’d imagine that it’s a bit harder to have a serious argument when all of your tables are covered in drawings of Olaf and Moana, and everyone’s nails are painted hot pink.”

“I kinda like it,” he held his hand out for you to inspect, “But I think purple is more my color.”

You laugh, nodding, “Oh, for sure, baby.”

The two of you were chatting when all of a sudden you heard a series of thuds, followed by Ava softly, but very clearly, saying, “Fuck,” as she rubbed her skinned knee.

You looked over at your husband, staring daggers, “Neron, I swear to god if—”

“It wasn’t me, mama, I swear,” he held his hands up in surrender.

With a sigh you rose up from the stool and made your way over to your daughter. You looked at her knee—it was scraped but it wasn’t bleeding. She also wasn’t crying which was a good sign. You asked if she was alright and when she said yes, you asked your follow-up question, “Where’d you hear that word, sweetie? Because those aren’t words that you should be using.”

Creeper held his breath as he waited for her to respond. Ava looked at you, and with no hesitation she responded, “Uncle Angel.”

You whipped your head to look at the biker in question. His eyes were as wide as you’d ever seen them. He tried to sputter out a denial, some kind of defense, but he couldn’t string the words together. He couldn’t believe that he’d just been thrown under the bus like that, especially by the girl who not even an hour beforehand said that he was her favorite uncle.

Calmly, you rose to your feet and smoothed out your dress. Creeper recognized the look in your eye and he knew that Angel was in for it. He felt bad, but not bad enough to step in and tell you the truth of the matter. It was a little deal in the grand scheme of things, really.

“Baby,” Creeper called after you, “Baby I can handle—”

“It’s fine, Neron,” your tone was dangerously even, “I just wanna talk to Uncle Angel for a minute.”

He knew that that meant you did not want to talk, “Mama, really—”

“Bring the kids outside, please. We gotta start heading home anyway.”

At that point he knew that he wasn’t going to convince you. He scooped Alex in one arm and Ava in the other, “Alright, let’s go, babygirls,” he nudged Brandon gently towards the door, “C’mon, lil homie, let’s pack the car up.”

Once the clubhouse door shut behind them, you turned your full attention to Angel. You picked up a stray coloring book and rolled it the same way you would a newspaper, and smacked him with it, “Angel Reyes!”

“Ah,” he held his arms to block your swings, “Y/N, hear me out!”

“You will not,” you smacked him again, “be teaching my six-year-olds how to cuss,” you hit him with the book once more for good measure, “Got it? Pregnant or not I will beat your ass.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Sorry, querida. Didn’t realize that they picked things up so quick.”

You pointed the rolled up coloring book at him accusingly, “Better start realizing it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

You looked at him for a few seconds before giving a nod of approval and dropping the book back onto the table, “Good. Alright then,” you stood on your tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, “Glad we’re on the same page. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he shook his head slightly as he followed you out of the clubhouse.

He said goodbye to the three kids as they piled into the minivan before pulling Creeper to the side, “Why’d Ava snitch on me like that, bro?”

Creeper chuckled nervously, running his hand over his head, “About that. I…I might’ve told them to blame you if they slipped up in front of their mom.”

“What the fuck, Creep?”

“What? You tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same shit?”

He paused for a moment before laughing, “Yea, probably. But still,” he gave him a light shove, “Messed up turning my own nieces and nephew against me like that.”

“Technically just turning their mom against you a little bit,” he chuckled.

“I feel like that’s worse.”

“It’s definitely worse,” Creeper clapped him on the shoulder, “Well. Better get ready. Next vacation is gonna be for the whole summer.”

Angel laughed as he hugged Creeper, “Can’t wait.”

[writerofshit]

(I mentioned briefly a story of how the Stream Team met. This is that story.)

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the late night hours of a Tuesday, a convenience store is robbed. So is one several blocks southeast. And one roughly in the middle of them both. After all, what's more convenient than 24 hour chili dogs on every other street corner?

Cash. Cash is more convenient. So are guns. Hollering, waving one to get the other. Most important, back alleys that twist and turn, snaking away from increasingly distant sirens. Three individuals find themselves running through these alleys, a couple grand each weighing their pockets down.

It's through serendipity and convenience that their paths cross.

The man from the farthest store arrives first. He's done this a few more times than he'd like to admit, so he'd had a plan. Of sorts. Cut through the park, take a few sidewalks like an upstanding citizen, under the bridge and find a fire escape to utilize from there. There aren't any that reach the ground, of course, because he's smart but not quite enough.

And so this is why Trevor is standing in an dark alley, contemplating whether or not the dumpster will give him enough height to reach the ladder, when the man from the middle store appears. He's around Trevor's height, but would probably win in a fight between them, if he were so inclined. He doesn't seem to be, though. He seems shaken, like he's not quite sure how he ended up in this alley. He's holding a gun almost gingerly, as if it might bite him.

Trevor pulls his own gun.

'dont you fuckin' try anything!'

This does not go over well with Matt. He takes a step back, and then seems to remember that he also has a gun so maybe this is even footing. He holds it aloft, finger nowhere near the trigger.

'same, asshole!'

At this moment the robber from the first store arrives, also, of course, with a gun. And a mask. And an entire purple and orange neon fucking suit, actually, topped with a white cowboy hat. It gives them a few extra inches of height they are distinctly lacking, comparatively. Somewhere in the back of his head, Trevor acknowledges that this newcomer could probably kick his and the other gunman's asses. It is not a pleasant thought.

'oh, what the fuck!?'

Jeremy sounds more annoyed and less scared than one would think, considering they've run into an alley only to find two men with guns. Two men who quickly turn those guns on them.

'who the fuck are you?'

The question surprises them all, including Matt, even though he's the one who asked. As it turns out, people have a tendency to say the first thing that comes to mind when in a stressful situation. Such as, having robbed a convenience store for the very first time and immediately finding himself face to face with other apparent robbers. It would get to anyone, probably.

'i don't want any trouble, but i've already robbed someone tonight and i don't give a shit about felony murder!'

Two lies and a truth, is what Trevor has chosen to play, for some reason. In reality, one does not rob a convenience store at gun point if one is intent on staying out of trouble. And he does, in fact, care very deeply about felony murder. Felony murder is the precise reason he'd shot a bag of Doritos and not a clerk. In his defense, the clerk had initially rolled her eyes at him, asked what exactly he thought he'd get out of this. He'd found this question rude.

The truth, of course, is that he did rob a convenience store. That did happen. No take backs.

'so did i!'

Matt and Jeremy speak so in unison it's almost scary. If they didn't know any better, they'd think the two of them had always known each other.

Trevor's gun wavers between them, unsure which is the bigger threat. The guy who clearly has zero experience with guns, or the weirdo who seems to have far too much? It's a toss up, really. So his aim pinballs back and forth, but his finger does not curl around the trigger. He's serious about that felony murder thing.

The air seems to shift, suddenly, and the sound of sirens is now growing closer. This evidently also annoys Jeremy, and they throw a glance over their shoulder to the direction they'd come from. Red and blue lights flicker past.

'shit. ok. we're all robbers, i guess, and we're all fucked if we keep standing here. who's got a plan?'

Jeremy's eyes are staring impatiently at Trevor. Eyes being the only part of their face Trevor can see. And their hands, a plastic bag in one and a gun in the other.

Trigger finger is an apt name.

He glances at Matt, still wild eyed and glancing back and forth. No, Matt probably does not have a plan. He sort of gives the impression that he's never had a plan ever, actually. That perhaps he'd simply woken up here and decided to wing it. So Trevor makes an offer.

'fire escape?'

There's another moment of tense silence. Well, minus the sirens. And oh, helicopters. Even better. Jeremy shrugs.

'good a plan as any.'

And then they're off, brushing past Trevor and hoisting themself up onto the dumpster. He knew it could work. Trevor blinks and Jeremy has caught the ladder, is quickly working their way up. Shit, how does five foot something manage to get that high on a good day, much less in this situation and with a bag and gun in hand?

Matt's gun clatters to the ground, and honestly, that's probably for the best. He's climbing onto the dumpster now, and he mutters something about not signing up for this shit. Trevor reminds him that he apparently robbed someone, so yeah, he kind of did.

Before Trevor climbs up, he shoves his gun into his jacket pocket. Smart? Probably not. Convenient? More so than climbing with a gun in his hand. He follows Matt up the ladder, wondering what happened to his plan. Yeah, the ladder had been involved. Two other people, however, were not.

Above them, glass shatters.

'warning, maybe!?'

'oops. careful, there's glass.'

Jeremy's voice is no longer directly above them. Instead, it comes from one story up and a little to the left. So they've broken into an apartment. Sure, add breaking and entering to the list of charges, that sounds great. But Matt and Trevor follow, because there's not really another option.

Inside the apartment, Jeremy's mask is gone. The suit is quickly disappearing as well, revealing a rather boring outfit of a white tank top and...sweatpants? The true mystery lies in where the cowboy hat has gone to, because that's a hard item to miss.

'do we really have time for this? don't you think someone might, oh, i don't know, wake up and call the cops?'

Trevor doesn't mean to hiss, it's just that he's sure there's more pressing matters to attend to than an outfit change. Continuing to flee, perhaps.

'nobody's gonna wake up.'

They don't even have the wherewithal to lower their voice. It registers to Trevor that Jeremy's bag and gun are missing as well. Had they dropped them on the way up? It was certainly possible. Trevor thinks he would have noticed a gun flying past his head, but there's a lot going on.

'can we maybe not kill anyone? he brought up a good point with that felony murder thing.'

It's the most words Matt has strung together since he'd shown up. It's damn near a whisper, but at least it's progress.

'i'm not- god, can you two shut up? i gotta make a phone call.'

Jeremy yanks the door open, hand carefully wrapped in the fabric of their shirt. For a moment, Trevor thinks they're leaving and steps forward to follow Jeremy. Instead, Jeremy turns and heads toward the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and digging inside it briefly. They come back with a cell phone.

Something dawns on Trevor.

'is this- do you live here? did you break your own window?'

Jeremy doesn't answer. They put the phone to their ear.

'you're gonna wanna hide whatever you've got. and try not to look like you just climbed in through a window.'

And then-

'hello? yes, hi, i'd like to report a break in, i think? i was hearing a bunch of sirens and then i don't know what happened but some guy just broke my window? he ran through and i just- my friends and i are really scared and we didn't know what to do- yes, we're ok, he's gone, but we- you'll send someone? ok, thank you. the address? oh, uh, it's the del perro heights building, apartment 7. should i shut the door? no, don't touch anything. ok- guys, don't touch anything, she said someone's on their way to check on us! thank you so much- no, i think we'll be fine. thank you.'

It's a marvelous performance. Jeremy genuinely sounds like some poor flustered victim of a crime. Trevor would applaud if he thought Jeremy would appreciate it. Almost immediately, their voice is back to normal.

'check things out my ass. they're gonna show up, ask which way he went and never call me again. feel real fuckin safe.'

Jeremy settles themself onto the couch, choosing the spot closest to the door. Matt, who has apparently gotten over his initial terror, wanders into the kitchen. Searching for something to distract himself, if Trevor had to guess. Trevor is still standing in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. How did a simple robbery become hanging out with other robbers, waiting for cops to show up?

'i'm jeremy, by the way. they won't ask, but y'know. just in case.'

They're flipping channels on the tv, seeming to arbitrarily skip almost a dozen programs. Finally, they settle on one and stand. Trevor recognizes it as an old Disney movie, and desperately wants to ask why the fuck Jeremy has put this on.

'uh, hi. i'm trevor. why are we watching Mulan?'

'matt. oh hell yeah, i love this movie!'

He sounds remarkably cheerful, considering the circumstances. How Trevor had seemingly switched places with Anxious McGee is beyond him. He needs to get it together. He pulls his gun from his pocket and takes it to the kitchen, sticking it in the drawer Jeremy had taken the phone from. There are several other phones of varying price point. He steps back to the living room just in time.

'that's why.'

They don't elaborate. Apparently Trevor is meant to just figure this out on his own, which ordinarily he might be able to do. After the course of events of this particular evening? Not a chance.

But he can't ask, because now there's a cop in the doorway and he's staring at Trevor and that will never be a good thing. Trevor stares back. He has no clue what he's meant to say. Hello? Welcome? He went that way?

'oh thank god! we've been so terrified, we didn't know if he'd come back or what he'd do.'

Naturally, Jeremy has taken lead on this. They're a phenomenal actor, Trevor has to admit.

'did you see which direction he went?'

'toward the stairs, i think. we've all been rooted to the spot, you know, it's so scary-'

Matt freezes in the doorway of the kitchen. He's just out of the view from the front door.

'right, well. you boys did the right thing by calling. can you give me a description of the man?'

The corner of Jeremy's mouth quirks.

'gosh, it all just happened so fast. taller than me, probably, but shorter than you, wouldn't you say, trey?'

Trevor nods, because he's not quite sure what else to do.

'alright, thank you. someone will be in touch with you for an official statement. in the meantime, if you remember anything else don't hesitate to call.'

He's holding a card out to Trevor, of all people. He takes it carefully, like if he does it wrong somehow the guy will know and arrest them all. The card is simply the number for a tip line.

As suddenly as he'd arrived, the cop is gone and they're all breathing sighs of relief. Jeremy closes the door.

'you guys can stay for Mulan, if you want.'

So they do.

Trevor asks about why Mulan again, and Jeremy explains that they assume most people have seen it, could answer any questions about it if they came up. Perhaps, if LSPD officers were less incompetent, they would have. Although if that were the case, they wouldn't be LSPD officers at all.

Matt asks about the window, and Jeremy says yes, they did break their own window. Of course they'd had an actual plan when they'd entered the alley. They were always going to end up exactly here, give or take the extras. Asking for a plan was simply a test, determining the merit in bring them along. They'd passed.

Jeremy asks if they want to stay for Mulan II, which is apparently up next. They do.

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the early morning hours of a Wednesday, three convenience stores are recovering from three separate robberies. Right in the middle of them all, their respective robbers are sitting on a couch together, watching a straight to video children's film.

It is the beginning of something far greater than any of them can imagine.

[seaswalllow]

sbi? awesamdad? my current brainrot is eret actually fuckin adopting fundy and giving niki a space to heal and providing a neutral, chill space for ranboo to heal and chill too

man, i would even say let them adopt jack too. please. they would be such a feral family, between fundy and eret’s pranks, and niki and eret’s eye for builds and aesthetic, and jack’s ferality

hmm

i have a lot to write but honestly i might write this soon because it is not gonna get here soon enough in halcyon

this. this got long. again.

in the meantime i’m just. thinking. i’m thinking about fundy coming back from his travels. and for the most part- nobody seeks him out, so he seeks out familiar faces in turn. an empty house lined with flowers wilted with neglect, a grave long overgrown, and finally, an empty castle and a crown slung across a dusty throne. the cape is folded up too neatly, worn from disuse and not from battle, not from struggle. 

so that’s that, then. everybody’s moved about their life; and to be fair, so has he. but it’s the difference between knowing that it’s going to hurt when you have a tooth pulled, and running your tongue over the aching gap constantly. 

but that’s that. 

despite it all, he doesn’t leave. 

he opens chests whose hinges squeal with rust and rot, and tucks the few valuables that haven’t been plundered into his jacket, and he walks until the callouses on the pads of his feet crack; but on the edge of the server’s known boundaries, he drives a stake into loamy earth proclaiming the unexplored lands, and another into the gravel bordering the nearby stone with his name carved into it, and hacks a house into the side of the mountain. 

because despite it all, he was born on these grounds and he can’t bring himself to cut out his roots just yet. (is it a family curse? unable to cut himself free until he chokes?)

utilitarian, it serves as little more than storage; it’s hardly a house, let alone a home. that’s fine, because he wanders more than he lingers. there’s vines pulsing in the server grounds that need to be cut back (and oh, does it ever feel good? gunpowder has long been this server’s curse, but a blade can cut two ways and it’s with a vicious sort of satisfaction that he beats back the oozing crimson with the same thing that’s destroyed so much of their lives), and there’s life to breathe back into little clay figures. 

there’s life to be had outside of those walls. (he refuses to live out the same tale, bitter and paranoid and isolated. this will not be a family curse.)

so when he stops outside his house, and stares at the freshly tilled dirt and the saplings poking up out of the rich earth, he takes a minute to identify the feeling knotting itself up in his chest. 

it leaves a bitter tang on the back of his tongue; he doesn’t think that that’ll ever change. nor will the coppery fear ever dissipate; not when they all live and die by the sword too often in this server. 

it’s lighter around the edges, though. and so it propels him to nudge open the door left ajar, and stare at the figure humming as they pot another rose and leave it on what could barely pass for a windowsill. 

“eret,” he tries, the name rolling off his tongue, syllables heavy with disuse. “eret? what’re you doing here?”

they turn, rolling their shoulders back and straightening; the surprise melts away moments later to make way for something warmer. 

“fundy! i wasn’t sure when you’d be back- i wasn’t actually aware that you were here until i stumbled across perchance. so i figured i’d leave a little welcoming gift, and... say hello.” 

a beat of silence passes, and then two. fundy’s aware that he’s letting it stretch. fundy’s aware that he’s saying exactly nothing that wants to bubble up, and out of his chest, and eret falters in the face of it. 

not for long, though; they never seem to falter for long, always moving forward, forward, forward. such grace. some things never change, he thinks, even though there’s something more careful about their movements. 

he thinks that maybe they’ve learned the price of breaking something too many times. it’s in their hands and their hair, the way they spend their days patching things together tirelessly.

“it’s been a while. you look...” they trail off, and he waits for them to find the word. “more at peace,” they decide. 

“a year and a half does wonders for settling your ghosts.” he tries for a wry smile, and it seems to land as eret smiles in turn. 

“time and space does do that.” 

and the distance between them is awkward, and a single hand outstretched is never going to bridge that chasm on its own. 

but goddamn if it isn’t more of a start than fundy’s ever had from anybody here. he’s tired of curling his lip against the bitter tang on his tongue and knotted in his chest; tired of the worthlessness and ideals that have been projected onto him. 

so when eret asks “come walk with me? there’s a cottage near here that i’ve been fixing up,” and when eret says without asking if you’ll let me, still, i’ll be here for you and when eret leaves the doors open, silently, for him- he steps through the threshold. 

that little cave will barely ever be a house, let alone a home; but as eret opens a window for the sun, and fundy cackles as the vines drooping from the roof tangle in their unruly hair; there’s a space for this to grow otherwise.

[wiltingdecay]

it's wip wednesday!

today's wip: "my child is fine!" "ma'am your child is the personification of the tower", aka síofra being a source of rowan's Teen Angst and regretting it very quickly.

"So what if you don't want me? Who fucking cares?" Ruadhán practically spits, her words tasting like acid in her mouth. Her brain feels like it's starting to simmer inside her skull. "In case you haven't noticed, nobody fucking wants you here, either. So why don't you just piss off already? For good this time."

Síofra sighs, irritably, pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb. "Oh, for gods' sakes. You're impossible to talk to when you're acting like this. I don't know why I bothered even trying."

The heat in Ruadhán's head reaches boiling point. Her shaking hands clench into fists. Trying? She calls this trying?! "I dunno why you're still standing there. Get the fuck out already, ye bitch."

"Ruadhán!" Síofra snaps, gritting her teeth. She ducks her head, strawberry-blonde strands falling down to hide her face. "Don't call me a bitch. I'm still your mother."

"You are in my hole," Ruadhán fires back. "How many times do I have to fuckin' say it to ye? Get out! Get out of my house!"

"It is not your house," Síofra retorts, voice low and dangerous. Though Ruadhán can't see her face, her hands are clenched into fists as well; it looks as though she's fighting not to lash out and slap Ruadhán across the face. Ruadhán almost wishes she would. Then she'd finally have an excuse to unleash this terrible, suffocating heat, this inferno that she can feel building up and up inside of her. "This shop belongs to Gráinne. Unless you'd like to try and whinge at her until she throws me out herself, I'm not going anywhere for the time being."

Inside Ruadhán's mind, she almost feels something snap. Her vision tinges red at the edges. Even her eyes feel hot. Her fingernails cut into her palms, her teeth clench almost hard enough to break them. Her whole body trembles with the effort to contain her rage, keep the destructive power she knows bubbles and boils under her skin at bay, lest she reduce her own home to a charred husk.

No, not like this. I'm not going to break because of her. I can't.

Ruadhán takes quick, deep breaths through her mouth in a last-ditch effort to rein herself in. Every exhale releases another mouthful of thick, acrid smoke through her clenched teeth, burning her, choking her. It's not just from her mouth; she can feel it pouring out of her nose, her ears, perhaps even her eyes as well, that could certainly explain why her vision is suddenly so warped and blurred.

Síofra's taken a step back from Ruadhán, hands raised just slightly. Under the heat of her daughter's rage, her irritation has melted away; her eyes are now wide in fear, or something close to it. The sight should make Ruadhán feel sick. It should make her feel guilty. It should make her stop.

All it does is give her an almost thrilling sense of satisfaction.

"Fine," she growls. "I'll leave, then."

She stalks purposefully past Síofra towards the stairs, roughly and deliberately checking her shoulder with her own as she passes. Under the crackling of raw power and the roaring of her own blood in her ears, she just about hears Síofra's gasp of pain. Ruadhán's not surprised. If she's started to smoke, her skin must feel like an oven by now.

Gods above, what's wrong with her that the thought almost makes her want to laugh?

[dadsbongos]

Reges Sumus

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa (which game/anime? who tf knows) Dynamic: Izuru Kamukura/Reader (heavily mentioned Hajime Hinata/Reader) Warnings: despair arc tings, i tried to put more into izuru’s character so i’m sorry if he comes out ooc :( Summary: Izuru knows he’s miserable, but he can never find himself pulling away. ~~~

“The world has fallen into despair. A despair so deep the entirety of humanity has cascaded into bloodlust. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Those outside our walls feel it all. Those outside our walls are jealous of us. Of our hope. Of our unity. Of our home. We cannot let them take us. We cannot let them take anything that is rightfully ours. Protect this place with your lives, for if you fall - so does our hope. So do I. So go out and fight, fight with all you have, fight with all you are. For your spouses, for your parents, for your children - for me. As long as you do so, we can save this world. We will save this world using my Ultimate as a weapon.”

“Praise be, oh Dominus.”

“Praise be, Reges Sumus.”

(Y/n) outstretched her arms to the crowd, “Now go, my children, my loves, save this world!”

In near perfect synchronist, the people pulled down their masks and turned to the large front door of the ransacked mansion, picking up their guns, bats, and knives as they left. Just in case, of course, it wasn’t their fault if someone wasn’t willing to give their rations to the leader. Same as it wasn’t their fault if their bat slipped over someone’s head, hard enough to crack open the skull like a nut, or if their fingers slipped over the trigger long enough to kill a small family over a can of beans. It wasn’t their fault. It was despair’s. It was Junko Enoshima’s.

“Dominus, aye?”

Looking to the source of the voice, (Y/n) gave the boy a close-eyed smile, she turned completely and waved off the guards that escorted the pair, “Fuyuhiko, Peko, my dears!” she let her hands fall on the blond’s cheeks, pressing a holy kiss to his forehead, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake before moving onto Peko and doing the same, “It’s lovely to have you visit.”

They both knew better than to wipe off the lipstick stains on their skin, anything even close to slander aimed at (Y/n) could be met with merciless death at her follower’s vengeful hands.

Fuyuhiko looked about the lavish room, decorated with stolen jewels and furniture, before nodding, “Not fuckin’ shabby.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n) clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chest in delight, “As much as I adore having you here, I must ask why drop by so suddenly?”

Peko piped up, “We got chased out of a hideout. Kazuichi thought it’d be funny to send us some Monokumas.”

“Oh, my! That’s not good at all,” the girl shook her head before turning and beginning to walk up a set of stairs, “Come.”

Following close after, Fuyuhiko watched as his fellow Despair trailed her fingertips gently over the paintings of herself hung in the hall. (L/n), (Y/n), Ultimate Charisma, had truly built herself a cult of lies. The belief that somehow her followers could rebuild the world and rid it of despair, somehow she could save the world with the power of her ultimate status.

She had no intention of doing so, but it gave the people something to believe in and fight for - and that was good enough.

“Here we are,” (Y/n) opened a bedroom door, a queen-sized mattress laying on the floor with no bed frame, “It’s the best I can do at the moment, my dearest apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fuyuhiko brushed off - he knew better than to complain.

Peko nodded, “This is enough.”

“I’m glad,” she gestured the pair inside, taking each of their hands and pressing a kiss to their knuckles, “Anything for my comrades.”

As she left, she shut the door. What despair would become of the poor soul whose room that was, a shiver went down (Y/n)’s spine at the mere thought.

Minor, of course, but only in the moment. It was one of many things that would slowly build up into a cacophony - and she was reveling in it.

Entering her own room, (Y/n) jumped slightly at the dark silhouette standing by her king-sized mattress, completed with the fanciest bed frame she could steal, before recognizing the long, flowing hair. She smiled at the boy, hands already reaching out for him, “Oh, Izuru, my darling,” she took his cheeks, lovingly brushing her thumbs over the bones and bringing his forehead to her lips in a staining kiss, “Did you get in with Fuyuhiko and Peko?”

He made no gesture of nodding but the agreement was there, or perhaps he simply ignored her question and she was projecting upon a blank canvas, “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to start a cult, but won’t they tear you apart when they realize what you’ve done?”

The lies she’s told. The things she’s stolen. The people she’s killed. The sins living in her veins thrived on every weeping babe and execution splattering across these walls of hers.

“Isn’t that the point? The despair. Having everything I’ve worked for crumble when the worms revolt,” she answered, sitting upon her bed and patting the space beside her for Izuru, “Sit, my dear, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he corrected.

“No, but I missed your face,” she leaned over, not particularly caring of any personal boundaries he may have, and brushed back his hair, slicking it away from his face and tying it back, “Well, it’s not truly your face, is it?”

Izuru didn’t respond, simply watching as the woman took a finger down the bridge of his nose.

“It’s Hajime Hinata’s,” her smile faded for the first time in a long time, a soft frown taking its place, “We were close, you know?”

“So I’ve heard,” Izuru grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist as her fingertip brushed his cupid’s bow, “I have no memory of that, you know.”

“I do.”

“So don’t force me to.”

“I’m not,” denying his claim, (Y/n) knew he didn’t believe her - though to be fair, she didn’t believe herself either, “I just like the despair of being so close, yet so far, from my beloved Hajime.”

Silence festered within the room once again.

A smile slowly teased back onto (Y/n)’s face, “You must be tired, but there’s something I simply have to show you.”

He knew where she was going with this, an attempt at recruitment as usual, but something deep, deep, deep down told him to go along with it. Perhaps it was a rare pity.

Perhaps it was the part of him enamored with the one called Dominus.

Perhaps it was the part of him that mourned the Ultimate Gamer.

Perhaps it was both.

Perhaps it was him. 

Any which way, he stood and followed after the woman, the red of the sky drenching the walls through cracked, dusty windows as they traversed down the hallway.

Passing Fuyuhiko and Peko’s room, passing the guard’s posts, passing the main room - (Y/n) led Izuru to a room at the very end of the grand corridor. Cardboard had been hastily tacked onto the wood with messy, uneven letters spelling out ‘nursery’ in bold. She pushed the door open easily enough, despite the clear indication it should’ve been locked, and gestured the long-haired man through. 

It was dark save for the faint light emanating from a baby monitor hooked onto a stained crib in the corner with ‘K.S’ etched into the corner. From what Izuru could see, there were about four cribs in the room and all of them filled with a sleeping baby.

“I feel no sympathy for babies in despair.”

“I never wanted kids,” (Y/n) brushed past the man and his words, her voice quiet to avoid waking the children, “I always thought they were snotty, whiny, loud, annoying little money-suckers who took and took and took until they were of age to take care of themselves and then they leave you forever…” she ran a finger over the sticky wood, “and I still do. But Hajime,” she hesitantly took a glance at Izuru, knowing she’d never find what she wanted in his gaze, “Hajime liked kids. He wasn’t sure he wanted any but I think he might’ve.”

Izuru watched the woman slowly revert back to his side to watch the babies as they slept, “So?”

“Do you want kids, Izuru?”

“I’m a war criminal.”

“War criminals can want kids, can’t they?” she huffed at his difficulty, previously cheery attitude slipping into her real feelings, “Someone being unfit to be a parent doesn’t stop them. I don’t know of any restrictions preventing someone from having a child, do you?” when he didn’t respond, she continued, “Hajime’s parents were unfit and still, they had him. I’m glad he was born but I wish it was to better people.”

“He didn’t seem to resent them. From what little I can feel of him.”

“He doesn’t seem to resent a lot of people he should. But it’s his life, who am I to interject?” she sarcastically mumbled, patience for Izuru Kamukura growing thinner, “I told him the procedure was an awful idea and look who’s standing next to me…”

“You seem to hate me and yet you strangely desire me at your side.”

“I told you already, it’s the despair.”

“I’m not stupid, (Y/n), I can see through you.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Your request is impossible and you know that.”

She just wants her boyfriend back, is that really so much to ask for?

“My request is…” she paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows, “My request is…”

“I’ll be taking a room for the night,” he coldly informed.

“Stay with me,” (Y/n) took Izuru by his sleeve, fingers grasping at the clothes she’d never seen on her lover before - and she still hasn’t, technically. Because it wasn’t him, no matter how much she wished for him to magically wake up and be Hajime again - deep down, she knew better.

Izuru looked at the woman, her eyes slowly wetting and bottom lip quivering. She didn’t want him. She may have thought he was attractive, but that was only because he had stolen a man’s face.

She’d never want him.

It… stung. To know a woman so enamored with a lesser version of yourself, or who you had taken over, wasn’t similarly enamored with you. And she never could be. He didn’t like feeling so hurt over her rejection. He didn’t like knowing why it hurt.

Because he always wanted her.

He shook off her hand before wordlessly leaving the room and beginning his trek towards their shared abode for the night.

He wasn’t Hajime Hinata, he was Izuru Kamukura and he knew that no matter how much he wanted the sting to die, he would still be Izuru Kamukura when he woke up in (Y/n)’s arms the next morning.

It was Junko’s curse.

It was despair.