#could try something chaos-related maybe? idk

[trident-dragion]

Whenever I get back to making new Over the Nexus Decks, I think I wanna try my hand at a Blue-Eyes White Dragon Deck that isn't a high-speed combo Deck like my Three-Pronged Dragon Deck. Something closer in pace to Disaster Dragons that can still summon BEWD consistently, maybe running Burst Stream of Destruction?

[espressheauxs]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 || 𝐈 || 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

summary : the “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

pairing : jack abbot x f!reader

words : 2.2k~

themes/warnings : MINORS DNI/DNR. Loads, and I’m talking LOADS of hurt before the comfort that follows, Age gap relationship (reader starts off in her 20s & jack in his 30s, progresses to late 20s/early 30s & jack in his 40s), implications of power imbalance, inappropriate workplace feelings, heavily implied emotional infidelity, actual infidelity (not from Jack or reader), mentions of grief/death/being widowed, religious/mythology references & allegory, mentions of mental/emotional health issues, jealousy, misunderstanding because two idiots are in love with each other, miscommunication because said idiots do not communicate with each other, mentions of therapy and medication, conflicting feelings about having/wanting children and being married, jack is so down *bad* for you like he just wants to give you the world, eventual smut maybe idk yet, Shen is a bestie ™ , reader has some specific / non North American characteristics / cultural references, but anyone is welcome to read!

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

note : wow a mostly fully outlined fic is in the works. So far I’ve messily outline 5 parts. Thank you sosososososo much to @slyyywriting @celestianstars for proof reading. Also, @abbotjack you made a post asking to be emotionally endangered with anything jack related…okhereyougobyeeeeee

Jack never really had to think about the phrase “right person, wrong time”.

He thought he had “right person, right time” figured out, until life decided it wasn’t really going to be fair and vanish the floor out from under his feet.

The grief still keeps up with its daily appointments, reminding him it still exists with each prescription and psych appointment he has.

That he, after losing more than just part of his leg, now has to learn how to exist as only himself with his heart missing as well. It still is, or was, some days. He was still trying to figure that part out.

Medicine was his only purpose now. Has been for a long time. Only the chaos is different now – more controlled, predictable.

The “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

His life decides he needs it now– the chaos night you start shifts with him; you transferred starting in your last year of residency, some 400 something miles east of Pittsburgh, chasing a purpose, a challenge, an ideal.

Dana loves you instantly, and much to Jack’s chagrin, you find a camaraderie in Dr. Shen in between iced coffee runs and bad jokes while charting.

Jack often sees you arrive a little while before he does, chatting it up with the nurses in the break room over the latest episode of British Bake Off, or huddling over a shared plate of pansit on the nights no one ever dares to call it the Q-word. Other nights, it’s steamy plates of your carbonara on the nights no one ever wants to label the S-word.

You’ve always offered when he walks by, but he simply shakes his head and mumbles a gentle thank you.

It fascinates him, the way you’re close with everyone. He’s close with Dana and Robby, but you are something else entirely different to him – professional, and enthusiastic to learn from anything Jack had to say keeps a safe enough distance from either of you reaching for anything more than an easy going working relationship.

The distance also exists as the ring that he wears, and so do you, in a necklace tucked under your scrubs – as the love he’s afraid will die a second death if he doesn’t hold on to the last memory he has, and the one that had just been borne to you.

He’s easily got at least a decade and change on you. It’s not appropriate, he knows. He’s pushing forty something, your attending, and you’re his newly minted resident in her twenties. Barely having started living life.

Jack thinks you’re too sweet sometimes. A lot of the time, really. It’s the way your face warms up when he looks directly at your eyes when he asks you why you make a decision or a give a dosage, or the way your nose sweats a little when he compliments you on a job well done.

Yet he admires it all the same, especially when he sees how you are with the oldest and the smallest patients.

Especially with the smallest ones that came in crying and left happy after dealing with a hair tourniquet on a nine month old’s little thumb. The parent thanks you with a watery laugh and a smile, and the baby squawks happily when you magic a small toy from the hospital’s gift shop from your scrubs pocket and pretend to make it sing.

He does not, can not, let himself dream about something far more dangerous than being shot at. It felt like a betrayal to the memory of a life and a love he barely got to live.

—

He doesn’t remember exactly when it happens or what you said, but you had opened up his chest in a pseudo emotional thoracotomy and burrowed yourself into his heart just by being you, if only to mend whatever he had left of it from the inside.

Night by night, case by case, guidance on your research in exchange for the good protein bars from Shen’s secret snack stash only you knew about.

Jack feels it ardently when you’re performing an actual thoracotomy under his guidance. Lithe fingers slicing and examining a bloodied heart.

His throat just aboutdries up when you look at him - not because it disgusts him (he’s seen far, far worse) , but seeing how you maneuvered someone’s thoracic cavity and their heart was like feeling it in his own, slowly being fixed by you, being examined for further damage that could be fixed.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he says after the patching up is done and he looks at you with blood smeared all over his gloved hands.

“Yeah, you think so, Doc?” You ask in a hushed tone, eyes glistening with enthusiasm and adrenaline.

His heart knows he shouldn't like it, the way it looks when you’re coming down from the high of saving a life while blood is smeared all over you.

Jack huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and looking at you with admiration and disbelief at your own fearlessness when breaking someone’s chest open, “Take the win. Besides, it was far too risky to do it by myself.”

You don’t immediate catch the way the timbre of his voice drops as he says it, but the look in his eyes gives it away mostly, and it leaves you feeling baffled by his praise for the first time.

“..what?” Your lips tug awkwardly, not knowing how to react or what to do, especially not with bloody PPE that has definitely been soaked all the way through.

—

Somehow, there’s a closeness between you that follows. Of things left unsaid yet understood. Often silently working like a well oiled machine, a singular unit perfectly in sync while caring for a patient, affirming your decisions and you wordlessly predicting what he needed in the ER.

When Robby had asked Jack who he would recommend as a fellow out of your group, he didn’t think twice when he said your name.

“She’s the smartest one out of all of us,” he’d once said to Robby while nursing a doordash order on the roof , “this hospital would be stupid not to keep her.”

He’d certainly be for not advocating for the best resident he’s had in years.

Robby had recommended Shen. Not because he didn’t like you or because he didn’t think you were capable. But reading Jack’s glowing recommendation about you only affirmed what he suspected. Time would only tell if Jack himself could see beyond his own words.

Shen stretches out a hand, blindly sipping on his coffee as Robby and Dana slip him a $50 bill each the next time they’re in front of the betting board.

—

Jack finds himself lingering, feeling a little more, without knowing how or when – only that he does, and you exist in him long after the sun has gone up and the moon has gone down.

The corners of his lips tug in a secret smile, as his nose is able to catch the whiff of your perfume and your own smell whenever he helps tie your surgical gown and you help with his.

He tries, he really does try to ignore the feeling that burrows itself deep whenever you pat his back after helping him tie on the surgical gown.

Your hands always lingered a little longer than they should, like a balm to soothe his aches, as if to tell him - “I have you. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Jack finds it easier to sleep in his bed on the days that you do, as if your touch carries him all the way to safety, away from sand & heat and the phantom burn he still felt in his leg.

On those nights, he dreams of a feeling that only wakes when he’s not.

—

The two of you never, ever fought. Disagreements? Sure. Difference of opinion only to arrive at the same answer? Definitely.

Jack knows that that’s what he likes about you since you came on several months ago. You’re definitely the favorite out of all the residents he’s taught. The prodigal resident that was never afraid to ask why decisions were being made.

It’s what makes you an excellent doctor in his eyes, noticing things that people often don’t. It was easier for him to teach a resident that was self confident but not arrogant, and unafraid to get their hands bloody.

But your fearlessness was something he didn’t like if it involved you making a decision that put you at risk.

Sure, he’d sometimes find it funny when you were the only one to vocally tell Gloria to fuck off when she knew fuck all about being on the front lines after she denied yet another increase in security (until then, no one had ever heard you drop so many f-bombs - Jack couldn’t not laugh when he was there to witness Robby’s eyebrows all but fly to his hairline when it happened). No one but Robby ever did that (less riddled with cuss words), everyone else simply ignored what she said.

Hell, you’d even ignore what Jack would say sometimes in light hearted, less life or death situations.

But this? It was never, never this – making a decision of this magnitude without consulting him on something you’d ever only seen him do once.

“You should’ve never, ever done that by yourself.” His eyes are full of bewilderment at the mess that he had walked into as the patient is rushed to OR 1 upstairs.

“Yeah, well, I did what you taught me to do – if I waited any longer for you to tell me what to do the patient would’ve fucking bled out!”

It’s the first time the two of you ever got into an argument. The two of you never, ever argued especially not in the middle of a literal bloody mess where everyone could see and hear. But your patience was worn past thin and your fucks had long flown out the window.

“I’m your attending, that’s not the kind of decision a resident gets to make on their own!”

Jack isn’t prepared for the way you all but stomp your foot on the pedal of the biohazard bin, practically shoving your bloodied scrubs and gloves into the damn thing. Nor is he prepared for the way you point at him furiously with your left hand, where he sees the thin band of silver taunting him.

He is not a religious man, but in that moment he knows he became a martyr for a love that could never be worshipped like he used to know how to do.

“You do not get to pull rank on me!” Your voice is loud, and you’re well past the point of giving a fuck after the way your life in and out of this hospital has been lately. “I may be younger than you, Dr. Abbot, but I’m not fucking stupid!”

“That was not the standard of care.” His voice drops, full of warning as he looks directly at you. For the first time in years, the tinnitus in his ears re-emerges as his eyes flit between your face and your hand. “You’re lucky that it’s something I’m not reporting.”

He regrets it the instant he sees the way the shock on your face melts into disenchantment, and the bile burns at his throat when he sees the way light leaves your eyes.

It's the first time in a long time he wished he’d rather fall on a sword, rather than ever see that look again.

The look that told him what everyone else could see between you – that you were to Jack what Psyche was to Eros.

That you cared about him and what he had to say in a way that was more than appropriate.

Your chest heaves as you look at him, eyes riddled with a rage that squeezes in his heart. His eyes zero in on the ring again as you rub your face, hair wild in all directions from the braid it was in.

“Well fuck the standard of care, and fuck you for making me feel like shit.”

The smallness and the vulnerability in your voice hits Jack squarely where it hurts, in the places where you had started to carefully stitch the broken pieces of him back together.

“Take a bre–”

The words die on his lips as you shoulder past him, shoving the door open and knob rattling as you let it go to storm your way out and past the nurses station and down the hall.

That night, a patient’s heart was saved at the expense of two.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

[zomquette]

You Ain't Kin, Bro (Part 2)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Negan’s sister)

Setting: Alexandria, six-year time jump.

Genre: Angst / Comfort / Drama / Negan being Negan / Pregnancy fic

Summary: When you agree to visit your estranged brother Negan in his basement prison, you expect anger. You expect regret. You do not expect to unearth everything you’ve buried for years, or to leave that cell clutching a ghost of your mother and doubled over in fear that something is wrong with your baby. What follows is chaos—an eruption of fists, guilt, and long-overdue truths. But in the aftermath, with blood still drying on the floor and your hands trembling, Daryl is there. And he always will be... Much to Negan's disapproval.

Warnings: Emotional intensity & unresolved family trauma / Verbal confrontation / intense monologue /Physical violence (fistfight between Daryl and Negan) / reader gets a lil (a lot) anxious /Pregnancy-related anxiety attack / abdominal pain /Mentions of death, terminal illness (mother with cancer) / Language (Negan and Daryl-level swearing) /Soft comfort scene / emotional vulnerability

Author's note: Jesus, this is long. It could have been longer, but this is cut down, believe it or not. I've edited this so much, hopefully it hasn't lost its character, but anyway, loads of dramaaaa and some angst. I have loads of ideas for maybe a part 3?! If you like this show, give it some love and idk maybe I'll get to work on a part 3 if this goes down well. The lore between the reader and Negan is kinda tea, I got a lil carried away, lol. idk I'm kinda nervous posting this I wanna make sure I wrote the characters just right so lemme know and yeah... enjoy☕️

______________________________________________________________

The door groaned shut behind you, sealing the world above into something distant, unreachable. Down here, the air was different. Cooler. Still in a way that felt deliberate, as if the space itself had been waiting, breath held, since the moment Negan entered the cell.

Negan was already standing, posture easy but alert behind the bars, like a man who knew how to command a room even when reduced to concrete and steel. He was thinner than you remembered, more grey threaded through his beard, but not smaller. If anything, confinement had only distilled him—leaner, sharper, stripped of the theatrics but none of the presence. His eyes found yours immediately, and for a breath, something flickered there. Not glee, not arrogance—something quieter. A disbelief with teeth.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice roughened by disuse and dust. And also Rick slicing his throat open may have had something to do with its hoarseness. “So the mountain finally moved.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t stop, didn’t give him so much as a twitch of muscle to feed off. You stepped forward with a composure that had taken years to earn—years of grief, of distance, of holding your tongue until it bled. Your arms stayed loose at your sides, face carved into something calm and unreadable.

“Please,” you said, cool and clear, your words clean as cut stone. “If I wanted to watch you rot, I’d have come down sooner. Get a front row seat. Popcorn in hand.”

He tilted his head at that, the old smirk tugging at his mouth but never quite touching his eyes. “Still got that bite,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice real, if a little frayed. “Thought maybe all these years would have squashed it..”

You raised an eyebrow, voice dry as dust. “Didn’t work on you.”

That pulled a low laugh from him—gritty and tired, like it hadn’t been used much in a while but still fit just fine. “Ain’t that the truth.”

His eyes didn’t leave your face, like he was trying to line it up with some younger version of you he still carried around. “Honestly? For a minute there I thought you’d bought it. Brought up your name a few times, just to see what would happen. Whole room would go stiff. Eyes on the floor, mouths shut like I’d said a damn curse word.”

He huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Didn’t take long to figure out your name wasn’t banned ‘cause you were gone. It was banned ‘cause you weren’t.”

“And you starving yourself for attention like a model in the 90s - that’s how you confirmed that hypothesis?” You crossed your arms slowly, careful not to shift your shirt from what is was curtaining, your eyes narrowing. “Ever occurred to you that maybe they just didn’t want to hear your voice longer than necessary?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like the answer had already long settled in. “Nah, someone made it a rule.” Then, slipping into a rough approximation of a Southern accent, he added with a smirk, “Don’t talk about her. Not around Negan. Don’t give him shit. Keep her safe, keep her quiet, keep her gone.” You rolled your eyes at the hyperbolic impersonation; Daryl was way sexier than that. “And if I had to guess who drew that line in the dirt…” he continued; “I’d bet it rhymes with ‘feral.’”

He stepped forward, close enough that his shadow stretched out past the bars, voice low with amusement that bordered on provocation. “Oh yeah, crossbow cowboy with the charm of a rabid dog? Thought so. Dixon’s got your name locked up tighter than I am in this cell. Man treats it like a state secret—like sayin’ it out loud will cause all hell to break loose.”

You didn’t rise to the bait - but you didn’t look away.

Negan’s grin spread wider, predatory now. “Whole community probably learned real quick—bring up Neg’s sister, and you’ll be on supply duty for a month. Guy’s got it baaad for you lil sis.”

Still, you didn’t speak. You impressed yourself at this point. Your silence, sharp and deliberate, was answer enough.

He leaned back slightly, letting the moment hang heavy between you. “What? You’re gonna stand there and pretend I’m wrong? Pretend you don’t see the way he looks at you like you alone make the world spin? That’s not love, little Miss Dixon. That’s possession.”

The smirk twitched, the showmanship creeping in like smoke. “But then again, you always were good at getting someone to throw themselves on the fire for you. Even when it burned everything else down.”

This time, you took a step forward. Not backing down, not letting the heat of his voice or the bite of his words push you off balance.

“You know what’s funny?” he said, tone shifting, still smiling but hollower now. “I used to be the one keeping people away from you. Thought I was doing you a favour. Kept the creeps off your back, the leeches outta your wallet. I thought I was—” he waved a hand vaguely “—lookin’ out for you. Doing my job as the big brother. But now?”

He stopped pacing.

“Now I guess I’m the monster in your closet. Boo. Fuckin’. Hoo.”

You exhaled slowly. Not because you needed to. But because you were trying not to explode.

“You done?”

Negan’s grin faltered just slightly, a crack in the performance. He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Not even close. But go on, baby sis. You’ve got that look your face - the one that usually comes right before you throw something.”

Well, at least his instincts are still sharp. You looked at him for a few moments longer before speaking up.

“If you think for one second that you’re gonna turn this into some jealous pissing contest, you can go ahead and starve to death, i won’t stop you this time.” You watched his slightly twitching face in annoyance when you held your reserve.“You think Daryl kept me hidden?” Your voice cut through the still air, low but steady, steady like someone who’s been holding this in for years. “Newsflash—Daryl didn’t hide me. I hid away from you. From the wreckage you left behind. From people who couldn’t look at me without seeing your ugly face in its place. From the shit I had to clean up just because we share some DNA.”

And you didn’t stop there.

“I didn’t need him to protect me.” Your voice didn’t rise, didn’t crack. It didn’t need to. “And I sure as hell never needed you to.”

You let that sit, before adding flatly: “I’ve been cleaning up after your messes my whole damn life. That’s not protection. That’s survival.”

The smirk vanished. The silence that followed was thick, tense, like a storm crawling in slowly. And you hadn’t even started yet.

You took a step closer to the bars, not out of intimidation or softness, but because the anger wouldn’t hold still inside you. It needed somewhere to go.

“You know what?” you said, quiet at first. “Yeah. This has been a long time coming.”

Negan didn’t move. Just watched you, still and waiting, but something in his face pulled tighter around the eyes.

“You didn’t drag me down here to check if I was breathing. You didn’t want to make peace. You just wanted a way back in. Like always.”

Your voice sharpened, cutting through the air like it had teeth. “I’m not here because you care. I’m here because you hate not being the centre of the story. Because no matter how many people you hurt or lives you blow up, you always find a way to come crawling back. To insert yourself into places you’ve got no right being in.”

You took a breath, steady but shaking at the edges, and stepped in closer, not out of affection, but to drive the point home.

“Oh, am I not ringing any bells yet? Ok, let’s see.”  Your voice dropped, not quiet, but low—like a warning. “Let’s start with freshman year. You got expelled for fighting a teacher, and guess who spent the next two years with that reputation hanging off her like stink? Every application, every reference, every interview I went into, they didn’t see me—they saw you.”

Your jaw clenched, breath hitching, but you didn’t stop.

“When I got rejected from the one college I’d planned my entire goddamn life around, it wasn’t because of my grades. It wasn’t because of sparkling character references. It was because admissions remembered your name. That’s how deep your mess ran.”

You shook your head once, a hollow laugh catching in your throat.“When you got fired from that high school job, I was the one who had to float you rent money. Your baby sister. Slipping you cash behind your wife’s back because you were too embarrassed to tell her you couldn’t pay your bills.”

“And then came the parade of boyfriends. Every single one of them, torched. Not because they weren’t good enough for me, but because you couldn’t handle the fact that I had something—someone—that didn’t orbit around you. You’d chase them off, chew them up, and when I called you on it, you’d say it was because you were ‘looking out for me.’ Like I was supposed to thank you!”

“And of course, Lucille. You remember her, right?” Your eyes were burning, but you didn't even register it, willing yourself to go on. Keep picking at his wounds. “When you fucked her best friend, who do you think she came crying to? Me. I begged her to leave you. Told her she deserved better. I said she should move in with me— that I’d help pay for her chemo. But she ran right back to you. Because your claws were already in too deep.” The look he now wore on his face was grim. You knew bringing her up would go down about as well as a salad in a polar bear enclosure, but you didn't care. You wanted him to hurt.

“You know what I realised the night she went back to you? I realised I had to get away. That loving you came with a cost I couldn’t keep paying. And even after the world ended, even after everything fell apart—I still couldn’t outrun you.”

You scoffed, gesturing around the dim, suffocating space. If you weren’t crying before you had brought up Lucille, the closest thing you’d had to a sister, you definitely were now. “I spent years trying to forget you. I even convinced myself I missed you. Told myself that even after everything, you were still my big brother, and that counted for something.” You couldn't even look him in the eye now, everything felt so raw, now out in the open. “You just couldn’t stay gone. You had to weasel your way back into my life and ruin literally everything, again.”

Negan’s mouth parted slightly, like he might say something, but the words never came. Tears were now streaming down your face, your eyes puffy and swollen.

A breath caught in your throat, sharp and cold, as your eyes locked onto something small and golden hanging from a rusted nail above Negan’s cot—delicate, almost absurdly so in a space like this, and yet so painfully familiar it felt like a punch to the ribs. You didn’t need to move closer to know what it was. That glint, even dulled with age, was burned into your memory. 

You hadn’t seen it in over a decade. And yet, here it was, hanging like some forgotten relic—less like a tribute and more like a confession he’d never bothered to make.

Your hand hovered near the key on the wall—looped onto a bent nail just outside the bars, easy to miss if you weren’t looking, even easier to justify if you were someone people trusted. You didn’t think. You just moved. The key turned in the lock with a low, mechanical groan, and the door shifted open in a slow arc, not because he allowed it, not because anything had been forgiven, but because the rage in your chest had crystallised into something sharp and precise and entirely unstoppable.

He didn’t move or speak. Just watched you step through the doorway and cross the cell with quiet, deliberate steps, like someone walking into a grave they’d dug for someone else but had come back to fill themselves.

You reached for the necklace, fingers closing around the chain like it might burn you, and pulled it free from the nail with one clean, decisive tug. The weight of it in your palm was heavier than it should’ve been—years heavier, grief heavier, betrayal heavier. This wasn’t just a necklace. It was everything that had been taken, dismissed, buried beneath someone else’s mess and handed back to you only now, in a place that reeked of dust and stone.

It had been the only thing you asked for. Not money, not the house—just the necklace. A gold sunburst locket, warm-toned and delicate, that your mother wore every day of her life, save for the few months she spent in hospice. She used to say it was her armour, her anchor, her little sun when things got too dark. You’d watched her fingers drift to it absently in every photo, every memory, every fading hour. And when she was dying, when the weight of her breath grew heavier than her body, it was you she reached for. You were the one who held the bucket, who changed the sheets, who caught the bile under her chin. And when it was all over—when grief was just ash and paperwork—you came to collect the only piece of her you wanted, only to find out Negan had lost it in a poker game three months earlier-around the time the doctors confirmed she wouldn't see the next year. You’d spent nearly every waking hour at your mother’s bedside, clinging to what little time you had left, while Negan was already out there dividing up her legacy like she was gone before she’d even stopped breathing. You didn’t speak to him for nearly a year after that. Not just because of the necklace itself, but because of what it confirmed: that no matter how deeply you loved her, no matter how much of yourself you gave to the end of her life, he’d still found a way to make her loss about him.

“You told me you lost this,” you said, voice low but steady, the words pushing their way out of you like heat from a cracked-open furnace. “You looked me in the eye and you said it was gone.”

Still, he said nothing; just watched. And still, you felt that old ache twist deeper—not because he was about to lie, but because, for once, it looked like he wasn’t going to try.

The chain dangled from your hand like it weighed a hundred pounds, the cool metal slipping through your fingers as your gaze remained fixed on it, mute, unmoving. Without noticing, you sank to the ground, gravity suddenly feeling too much to bear. You barely registered the scrape of boots on concrete before his voice finally cracked through the quiet.

“I found it… two years after everything went to shit,” Negan said, low and careful, like the wrong note might send you shattering again. “Some busted house outside Lynchburg. Was diggin’ through drawers for medicine. Thought I was seein’ things when I pulled it outta the dust. Couldn’t believe it.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not with the necklace glinting in your palm like a ghost.

“You can say all you want about me,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges. “Hell, most of it will probably be true. But I loved Mom. I loved you… I still do. And I know—” his breath caught, “I know you don’t believe that. I wouldn’t either, not in your shoes. But I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever.”

You shook your head, not in disagreement, just trying to clear the noise. “Don’t,” you whispered, fingers curling around the pendant. 

And for once, he obeyed.

You sat there, breathing in the stillness, letting the quiet settle where shouting once lived. The necklace rested against your palm like an old heartbeat, and your mind pulled you back to those too-few good months—your mother humming by the sink, her fingers threading the chain through her collar, her warm laugh when she caught you trying it on. She had been soft-spoken but impossible to forget. Nothing like Negan, and nothing like you.

She’d loved you with a patience Negan had never learned, and you had clung to her in those final months like a lifeline, swearing you could hold her together if you just stayed strong enough. The grief never really left - watching her fade away like that; it just dulled, buried under everything the world threw at you.

You blinked, and your throat tightened. She would’ve been so happy to be a grandmother. She would’ve cried, without a doubt—held your hand, brushed your hair back from your face, whispered that you were brave and strong until you finally, finally believed her. The weight of it pressed hard in your chest, the kind of ache that felt too old to name and too young to let go of.

But then something shifted. The fury burned out of you all at once, leaving space for something colder, deeper, and far more terrifying to rise in its place. A tension curled deep in your abdomen, sharp and tight, like someone winding a rope inside you and pulling it taut without warning. You inhaled sharply, a fractured breath that caught halfway and never made it out. Your hand dropped instinctively to your stomach as the pressure deepened and panic hit before reason. What if something was wrong?

Your fingers splaying protectively across your bump, heart thudding in your throat, your ribs, your spine. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was new. Deep. Wrong in the way anything unfamiliar is when you’re carrying more than just your own life.

Negan was already in front of you crouching where you sat. “Hey. What the hell’s going on? What is that? What’s happening—shit, are you—?”

His eyes were glued to your now very obvious baby bump. You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. The wave still held you, pulling tight through your lower belly and back like a rubber band stretched to its limit. Your eyes stung, and your voice came out hoarse, breathless.

“ I-I don’t know,” you managed, the words shaking in your throat as your other hand braced against the wall. “I think—maybe—fuck, maybe something’s wrong—”

Negan’s face drained of colour. “Wait, you’re pre-“

A door being swung open and hitting the wall stopped him from finishing the sentence. Here comes the baby daddy.

_________________________________________________________________________

Daryl’s boots hit the gravel harder than he meant to. He’d only gone for a short walk—a few quiet minutes to let the sun and silence work through the knots in his chest—but by the time he circled back and saw the porch still empty, the kettle untouched, your mug cold on the railing, something in him snapped taut.

You should’ve been back by now.

He moved fast. Past the rows of flowerbeds, the hammering at the church frame, the annoyingly chirppy people of Alexandria. But all he could think about was the way you had rubbed your back before you left, the way you winced without realising, the way you probably hadn’t eaten enough that morning. He hadn’t wanted you to go alone. Had almost said no. Should’ve said no.

And when the basement door swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang, he froze at the sight he was met with.

The second he saw you, crumpled on the floor, arms wrapped around your bump, cheeks wet with tears and pain, something snapped. Your back was pressed against the cold brick, body trembling as you tried to steady your breathing. Everything in you screamed to stay calm—for your sake, for the baby’s—but your limbs felt locked in place. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

His boots hit the ground in a blur. Negan barely had time to blink before Daryl was on him, slamming him into the wall with enough force to shake dust from the rafters.

“Piece of shit!” Daryl growled, voice rough with fury.

His fist cracked across Negan’s jaw before he could answer. The hit was savage, brutal. Negan’s head snapped to the side, body slamming back against the brick, stunned for half a breath—but only half.

“The fuck—” Negan spat blood, shaking the daze from his eyes. “You serious right now?!”

You tried to call out. Tried to say his name. But your throat felt raw, and your voice came out as a whisper, lost in the roar of rage echoing between the two men. All you could do was stay where you were, hands clenched over your belly, trying to shield it, trying not to cry out again.

Daryl grabbed the front of his shirt, shoving him back again, breath coming hard. “She’s on the floor, cryin’, in pain, and you’re just standin’ there— the hell did you do?”

Negan’s hands came up, not just defensively, but also with fury. “What did I—Are you outta your damn mind?!”

He shoved Daryl off hard, the two of them stumbling, chests heaving, barely a foot apart. “You think I’d hurt her?! That I’d let anything happen to my baby sister? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Dixon—”

You flinched at your brother mentioning you, my baby sister, too afraid to move, heart hammering behind your ribs. You wanted them to stop—wanted them gone, both of them—but you couldn’t find your voice. You were too focused on not panicking, not hyperventilating, not making the tightening worse.

His voice caught. And then it shifted, sharper, rawer, angrier.

“But you?” Negan barked a laugh—sharp, bitter, disbelieving. “You really expect me to swallow that load of shit? That you’d never lose it with her? I mean, you already knocked her up, how much worse can it get?” He stepped forward, shoulders squared. “C’mon, violence is kinda your common tongue, ain’t it? Growlin’ and glarin’ and throwin’ fists at anything that looks at ya funny".

Don't go there, don't go there. For the love of God don't go there.

"First, a baby, what's next? A black eye?"

Oh shit, he went there. Negan saw the punch coming a mile off, but whether it was guilt or pride, he didn’t move fast enough to stop it.

Daryl’s fist cracked across his jaw with enough force to whip his head sideways, and the sound echoed off the cinderblock like a gunshot. You winced, curling in tighter against the wall, every instinct in your body flaring with the urge to disappear. To protect yourself and your baby. To not be the reason blood was hitting the concrete.

The second punch drove into Negan’s ribs like a piston, and he buckled, catching himself against the bars with a ragged breath. His hands flew up—reflex, desperation—but Daryl was already on him again, grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him back against the wall hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

Negan barely got an arm up in time. The blow hit anyway—less direct but still solid, knocking the breath out of him. He swung back wild, more insult than threat, and Daryl caught it, twisting his arm and shoving him harder into the brick.

“You knocked my baby sister up,” he rasped, spit and blood flying. “And I’m the one getting my ass kicked?”

The next hit went straight for the stomach, folding Negan with a wheeze. He dropped to one knee before Daryl hauled him back up by the collar, slamming him again into the bars—once. Twice.

You pressed both hands to your stomach, rocking slightly as a new wave of pressure rolled through your abdomen. You breathed through it, teeth clenched, willing the world to stop spinning, willing them both to just shut up before something worse happened.You hated the helplessness clawing at your chest, but no matter how fiercely you begged your body to move, it refused—numb, heavy, like it had stopped answering to you altogether.

Voices erupted behind them—Michonne’s boots pounding down the stairs, Aaron shouting—but Daryl didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the image burned into his skull—you, crumpled on the floor, cradling your belly, face soaked in tears, while Negan stood there like it meant nothing.

It took three people to pull him off.

Michonne grabbed his arm, Aaron wrapped an arm around his chest, and Gabriel wedged himself between the two men like a shield.

Negan collapsed against the wall, panting, one eye already swelling shut, blood dripping from his split lip. He coughed and spat, glaring through the mess.

“This guy—” he looked to you, still hunched against the wall, eyes wide and shining. “Really?!”

Daryl lunged again, and it took all three of them to hold him back.

Gabriel stepped in, breath steady but eyes darting between the two men. “He needs to be seen to,” he said quietly to Aaron, like Negan wasn’t right there with blood in his teeth and an eye swelling shut. “Siddiq should take a look at him. Check for a concussion.”

Negan snorted, then winced, his knuckles brushing against his busted lip as he muttered, “that's sweet, guys.”

But when his gaze landed on you, everything shifted. The sarcasm drained out of him in an instant.

“She’s the one carryin’ a kid,” he said, louder now. “Jesus, y’all got me bleedin’ out like a stuck pig, but the pregnant one’s sittin’ on the floor white as a sheet—what the hell kinda triage is this?”

Daryl didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Ain’t your business.” The words came low, tight, clipped like he was chewing down the rest of what he wanted to say. “She’s got nothin’ to do with you no more.”

How he still managed to mouth off with a busted lip, you didn’t know. “It is my business. That’s my sister sittin’ there like she’s about to black out, and I’m the only one in this damn room sayin’ it.”

Negan wiped the blood from his jaw, his breath ragged as he nodded toward you.

“She’s the one doubled over in pain,” he muttered, voice hoarse but sharp. “I’ll walk it off. She needs the damn doctor.”

But by then, no one was listening to him. 

Every set of eyes had already turned toward you, still crumpled on the floor like a bird stunned mid-flight, one arm locked around your middle while the other braced your weight, trembling faintly where your fingers curled against the cold stone. Your breathing was shallow, lips parted as if that alone could steady the rhythm, but your chest felt like it was closing in from the inside. You couldn’t hear the voices—at least not clearly—not with the static in your head and the echo of fear pounding in your blood. The pain had faded, pulling back like the tide at dusk—still present, but distant now, no longer crashing over you, but the terror it left behind clung to you harder than anything else ever had.

You weren’t crying anymore, not really, but your cheeks were damp, and the trembling wouldn’t stop.

Michonne was the first to reach you. She knelt slowly, careful not to startle you, and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, her voice low and steady as she said your name in that soft, anchoring way of hers. But even that didn’t quite pull you back—not until the sound of boots scuffing across the floor gave way to Daryl dropping to his knees in front of you, his breath coming fast and uneven, his expression tight with something close to fear. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if any sudden motion might make things worse. Who was he kidding? Negan was now out of the room, so the possibility of things escalating dropped exponentially.

He didn’t touch you at first. His hands hovered in the space between you, unsure and shaking with restraint, as if he were afraid even a brush of skin might hurt you further. “Hey,” he said, and it came out raw and broken at the edges, a whisper with too much weight behind it, as if he didn’t say something quickly, he might fall apart right there beside you. “Hey, baby, look at me. Just look at me.”

When your eyes finally met his, it hit him like a punch to the chest. You looked scared—really scared—and that was what undid him more than anything. Your voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper, brittle and cracked like thin ice. “I don’t know what that was. It hurt. I didn’t know if it was normal or if—” Your breath hitched again, catching on the thought you couldn’t finish. “I thought something was wrong.”

Michonne crouched beside you, her hand sliding into yours with practised ease. “Hey,” she said softly, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “It can happen, alright? Braxton Hicks, stress—hell, they can scare the shit out of you but it’s perfectly normal. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

Daryl’s palm found your cheek, thumb brushing over the dried tracks of your tears—just like earlier, only now his hand lingered, trembling slightly.

His voice broke the silence, rough but soft, almost a whisper. “Can’t keep findin’ you like this, baby… It’s startin’ to feel like the norm.”

Not accusatory - not even teasing. Just weary concern laced with something deeper—like he hated that he was getting used to seeing you like this, that he didn’t know how to stop it, only how to hold on tighter.

He tried for a smirk, something small to soften the fear he still hadn’t shaken. But his eyes gave him away—wide, flicking between your face and the bump you cradled like a lifeline, searching for reassurance you didn’t yet have. His thumb lingered at your cheekbone as if the warmth of your skin might anchor him, might tell him everything was okay even when nothing felt certain.

But the reassurance didn’t sink in right away. You were still trembling, your heart still galloping in your chest, the memory of that sudden tightening in your belly burning too fresh to ignore. He moved closer, carefully pulling you against him, wrapping his arms around you with enough gentleness to keep from hurting you but with enough desperation to betray how terrified he really was. “I got you,” he breathed into your hair, lips brushing the crown of your head. “Just breathe, alrigh'. Just breathe for me, baby.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, pressing your face against the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of leather, sweat, and something warm and familiar that always reminded you of safety. Slowly, your breathing began to match his, anchored by the steady rise and fall of his chest and the rhythm of his voice murmuring quietly against your skin. “I thought I lost them,” you whispered, the words finally breaking free, and when he pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes, his own were wide with worry.

“Hey, stop that", he said quietly. "We'll getcha to Siddiq's n' he'll check ya out alrigh'? M' sure everythin' is fine.”

He was honestly surprised by how sure he sounded, but he was glad of it. Michonne nodded from where she stood nearby, her voice calm and clear. “I’ll go ahead and let him know.”

Without another word, Daryl crouched beside you, his hand curling gently around your arm as the other settled against your lower back, anchoring you with quiet strength. He didn’t scoop you up — just shifted his weight closer, letting you lean into him as much as you needed. You gripped his shirt, weakly at first, then tighter when the pain flared again. His head dipped low, forehead brushing yours as he whispered, “Let me do the worryin’, alright?” His voice was rough but steady. “You just hold on.”

And you did — knees trembling, breath unsteady, body weighed down by the echo of pain — still clutching the necklace in your other hand as if it might vanish, the cold metal pressing into your palm with every beat of your heart.

______________________________________________________________

The light in the infirmary was soft and golden, cast from lanterns draped in old linen, their glow pooling over metal gurneys and folded linens like spilled honey. Everything in the room felt hushed, blurred at the edges, like the world had slowed down out of respect—or exhaustion. Probably both.

You sat hunched over on the cot, your body a knot of tension slowly coming undone. Every muscle ached in small, inconvenient ways: your back, your thighs, the base of your neck. The faint ghost of that earlier pain still lingered, like your body hadn’t quite forgotten how it felt to panic.

You had spent the day being strong, being furious, being devastated. But now? Now you just felt frayed.

Siddiq moved with gentle certainty, his hands smooth and precise as they checked your pulse, traced careful pressure across your belly. His voice was soft, always soft, but threaded with something dry beneath it—like if he didn’t keep his tone warm, the truth might come out too sharp. Daryl stood idly by while Siddiq worked.

“Heart rate’s steady. Baby’s moving well. Blood pressure’s a little on the high side but I’m not too worried. No signs of labour, which is the important thing.” He pressed the side of his hand to your belly and nodded slightly. “What you experienced today was likely a false alarm. Braxton Hicks. Can be scary but they’re not uncommon.”

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It felt like dropping weight you’d been dragging for hours.

“Still kinda hurts,” you murmured, a little guilty for saying it out loud.

“That’s ‘cause you’re human,” Siddiq said, peeling off his gloves with a flick of his wrist. “And pregnant.”

You gave a weak smile. He raised an eyebrow at you in that way only doctors and tired friends could pull off simultaneously.

“Today that was your body waving a white flag. I’m pulling the doctor card,” he added. “You need to slow down. Drink more water. And maybe lay off the dramatic showdowns with ex-warlord siblings.”

“She will,” Daryl said for you. Well with hillbilly here you didnt really have much of a say in the matter.

He didn’t press. Just handed you a glass, touched your shoulder, and lingered for one more heartbeat. His presence was like pressure on a wound—not painful, but stabilizing. Reassuring.

You sipped the water slowly, then rested it on the crate beside your cot. The mattress dipped suddenly beside you, and you didn’t even have to look—you knew it was Daryl.

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned forward, forearms on his knees, his presence heavy with unspoken worry. You watched him from the corner of your eye—his jaw still set, one knuckle scraped, his whole frame coiled like he hadn’t exhaled in hours.

“I really gotcha goin’ back there, didn’t I?” you joked. This was going to be an uncomfortable discussion, and like hell were you going to be a serious adult about it.

His head turned, gaze locking with yours, full of something tight and unnameable.

“Yeah, ye did,” he said. No hesitation.

You reached for his hand, and he took it like it was the only thing tethering him.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added. “I just… I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what the pain meant. And for a second, I really thought—”

Your voice faltered. You looked down at your belly, your shirt no longer hiding it. Daryl’s hand covered yours. His palm was warm, calloused, grounding.

“What happened before I got there?” he asked, low and careful.

You blinked slowly. The images rose before you—Negan’s voice, the necklace hanging like a branch, your lungs locking up, your legs giving out.

“Stop,” he said. It was a demand, sure, but it was spoken with such tenderness that it felt more like a plea.

You took a moment, looking back, filtering through the bits and pieces of what happened, sorting them into things you would tell him and things you’d gloss over. The last thing you needed was him stomping back down there for a round two.

You felt his thumb rub gently against the back of your hand.

“What happened?” he asked again—quietly. No pressure, just patience. Just care.

You stared at the lantern’s glow bleeding across the curtain seams. At first, you didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t even know where to begin.

“It was strange,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Seeing him again. I thought I’d be angry right away. But mostly… it felt like I was staring into a mirror someone cracked years ago and never bothered to fix. Familiar, but all the wrong pieces.”

Daryl didn’t speak. He just shifted closer, his body heat coiling around yours like something steady.

“He tried to act like it meant something,” you continued, almost like thinking aloud. “Like me showing up was a sign. That I still cared. That he mattered enough to drag me down there.” You scoffed faintly, wiping beneath your eye. “He even did the whole victim act—pretending he was the one left behind. That I was cruel for walking away, like I hadn’t spent years scraping my life together out of the fallout he left behind.”

You felt your throat tighten, the memory bubbling up sharper now. “And the thing is… for a second, I almost bought it. Just for a second. Because he was still my brother. Still the person who used to carry me on his shoulders when I was little. Still the voice I remembered yelling at some of the douchebags I dated back then. But then—he smirked. That same old smirk. And it all came rushing back.”

Daryl’s hand rose to your shoulder, rubbing a slow, grounding circle with his thumb. 

“I snapped. All that crap from before came rushing back to the surface. All of it—the colleges, the boyfriends, the rent money, the way he made everything orbit him. And then Lucille…” Your voice faltered. “When I brought her up, it wasn’t even calculated. It just came out. And I wanted him to hurt. I think I needed him to.”

You turned toward Daryl more fully now, needing to see his face, to feel his weight in the room. “It all just… came flooding out. Everything I wanted to say to him before came out like it was practised. I didn't bother wasting my breath back then, but he actually listened. And when I finally stopped talking, I looked at him and—I didn’t feel stronger. I didn’t feel better. I just felt… tired. Tired of everything.”

You still clutched the necklace, fiddling with the chain like you did when you were a little girl. “What’s that?” Daryl asked softly, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blinked hard, trying to steady your breath as the weight of the necklace curled into your palm. Daryl’s hand was still on your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles, his silence as present as the warmth of his body next to yours. You felt safe here—just enough to let yourself crack.

“She used to wear it every day,” you said quietly. “My mom, even when she got sick, she wouldn’t take it off until she was sent off to the hospice.”

Daryl shifted slightly, giving you more of his shoulder, more of his attention, like he knew you needed the space to fall into this memory. You let your head rest against him, your voice growing softer with each word.

“She told me once—” your breath hitched, and you smiled through it, a little wet at the edges— “she said I needed to stop fussing over her. That I was driving her crazy. Told me to go live my life. Said she didn’t need a nurse, she needed a grandbaby.”

Daryl let out a soft huff through his nose, but he didn’t speak. You could feel the affection radiating off him, the way his arm curved tighter around you like he could feel her words echoing down through time.

“She said…” You wiped your cheek quickly, eyes stinging. “She said if I didn’t go out and meet someone soon, she’d rise from the grave and pick a man herself. Probably some poor gas station clerk she thought was ‘sweet.’”

That made Daryl laugh, a low, fond sound against your ear. “Sounds like she was stubborn.”

“She was,” you whispered. “In the best way.”

You looked down at your belly, your hand resting protectively over its curve. The locket still glinted faintly between your fingers—heavy, but no longer cold.

“She would’ve loved you,” you said, looking up at him. He only shrugged, but you pushed anyway, stubborn as ever. “She would! Always had a thing for Southern guys. Guess the apple didn’t fall far.”

Daryl scoffed under his breath, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice a gravel-soft murmur. “She’d be proud of ya.”

You closed your eyes at that, letting the tears fall—not from pain, not from anger, but from aching love. Grief and joy tangled together like roots in your chest, and Daryl held you through it, steady as ever, never letting go.

Your fingers brushed the necklace again, and Daryl’s eyes followed the movement. He didn’t ask—not directly—but you felt the question settle between you anyway, quiet and patient. He was giving you space. He always did.

You swallowed hard. “It was the only thing I asked for after she died.”

You didn’t look at him. Just traced the ridged edge of the locket, your eyes unfocused, your voice barely a breath.

“Everything of hers got left to him. Legal default, I guess. But when I asked for the necklace, just this one thing—he said he didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

A bitter huff escaped you. “Turns out he lost it in a poker game. Didn’t even have the balls to tell me that at first. Had to ring it out of him.”

Daryl said nothing, but his arm curled tighter around you, warm and steady.

“I think I spent years trying not to think about what it meant,” you murmured. “What it confirmed. That I loved her more than he ever could understand… and it still didn’t matter. He still walked away with the last piece of her.”

Your throat tightened. You stared down at the pendant.

“And then to find it, just hanging there like it was nothing. Like... I hadn’t lost a piece of myself watching her fade to nothing while he was off being a peice of shit.”

You let out a laugh, sharp and tired. “It’s stupid. I’m getting worked up over a piece of jewellery.”

Daryl rubbed your arm, slow and sure. “Ain’t stupid.”

You rested your head against his chest, voice muffled against his shirt. “It just brought everything back. All the ways he twisted things. Made me question if I even had the right to be hurt.”

His lips found the top of your head, warm and grounding, whispering comfort while your thoughts drifted somewhere darker. You didn’t speak again for a while. Just stared down at your hands, fingers trembling slightly over your bump. And then, so soft it barely qualified as a breath, you said:

“I hate him.”

It slipped out raw and clumsy, like something torn straight from your chest. Daryl’s hand stilled where it moved against your back. “Yeah,” he said simply. “He’s a prick.”

You almost laughed at that—just a shaky puff of air—but he didn’t leave it there. After a beat, his voice dropped low again.

“Still your brother, though... He's yur family.”

You nodded slowly, a sniff catching in your throat. “That’s the worst part.”

He turned slightly to look down at you from where you were slumped against him, his fingers brushing your hair back behind your ear, tender and unhurried. “Ain’t sayin’ you gotta forgive him.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I don’t want to hate him either. It’s just…” Your voice cracked. “It’s so exhausting.”

Daryl leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a soft anchor. “Then don’t do it for him. Do it for you.”

You closed your eyes, tears trailing down your cheeks. “I see him, and I’m twelve again. Trying to hold everything together. Pretending it didn’t matter. Like I’m made of all the things I’ve survived and nothing else.”

His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and steady.

“I don’t want to live back there anymore,” you whispered. “I want to focus on what’s next. On this.”

Your hand found his where it still rested on your belly. He turned his palm and laced your fingers together without hesitation. You leaned into him fully now, the weight of his chest beneath your cheek, his warmth holding you steady.

“You’re my family,” you whispered. “You, this baby, Dog. Not him.”

Daryl huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “That mutt’s more loyal than most o' the people I ever met.”

You shifted just enough to look up at him. “You’re the reason I still believe in any of this, you know. Being with you…” You looked down, face all of a sudden growing hot.. “ I get to be me.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to; just smiled down at you. God how the hell were you his? 

“I love ya,” he said without any warning, soaking in your features. Damn, he always made you feel like a little school girl when he got all sappy like this. Like a dork, your smile grew as big as Georgia, and you kissed him, cupping his face, pressing your mouth to his. What was he expecting when he confessed his love for you? You would never tire of hearing it, even if he didn't say it often, you knew in everything else. It just meant these moments were all the more special. You hummed 'I love you too' in between kisses, his lips moving against yours as the calm washed over you both.

And in that moment, there was no past. Just you and him, and the heartbeat between you.

Eventually, he pulled away to lean his forehead against yours. “Alright,” he murmured eventually, breaking the silence so gently it didn’t feel like breaking at all. “Let’s get ya home. Dog’s probably wonderin’ where ya are.”

_____________________________________________________________

The room had settled into that thick, velvety quiet that only came in the dead of night. The air was still and slightly chilly, broken only by the soft, steady rhythm of your sleeping exhale.

Daryl lay still for a long moment, one arm curled protectively around your waist, your back pressed against his chest. Though your breathing had evened out, it took a while before he really believed you were asleep. It was around midnight that he confirmed you were deep in slumber when you muttered something about frozen yoghurt in a sleep haze.

He learned early on that you were a light sleeper. Always had been. Shift too suddenly and your eyes would flutter open, bleary and confused, heartbeat already halfway to panic. He hated that—how on edge you always seemed to be, even in your rest. Like your body didn’t trust the world to leave you alone.

So he moved slow. He let his hand fall gently away from your stomach and eased his weight off the bed inch by inch, careful not to let the springs creak. Even then, you shifted, murmuring something barely audible as you tucked the blanket closer to your chest. His breath caught, watching you.

“Shhh,” he whispered—more to the room than to you. Just a hush to keep the peace intact.

Dog blinked up at him from the foot of the cot, thumping his tail once against the wood. Daryl crouched down and scratched behind his ear, murmuring low: “Stay.”

Dog gave a quiet huff and set his chin back down, ears alert even in rest.

Daryl stood and tugged his shirt and vest on from the back of the chair without a sound. He cast one last glance over his shoulder. You looked small like that, curled around your own warmth, the locket still clutched loosely in your palm. He knew he shouldn’t go. He’d told you it was over—told himself, too—but the weight of what had happened hadn’t settled in him yet. It buzzed low and sharp, like a splinter under the skin. No way was he getting a wink until he settled things.

He stepped out into he cold hallway and left the house, making a beeline for Negan's cell.

When Daryl entered, he found Negan sitting on the cot inside, back against the wall, one foot planted on the floor and the other bent up to rest his arm on his knee. He looked up, hardly surprised to see him, his mouth already twitching like he was trying to decide whether to smirk or spit.

“Well,” Negan drawled, voice scratchy from sleep but still coated in that same syrupy condescension. “Ain’t you a little overdressed for a midnight cuddle?”

Negan’s eyes flicked over him, assessing, measuring, baiting. There was a bruise blooming over his cheekbone now, angry and mottled where Daryl’s fist had landed earlier. He touched it with a slow drag of his knuckles, like he was admiring a souvenir. "Guessing you waited till she was asleep before you snuck out like a thief in the night."

Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice, when it came, was low and quiet but edged with steel. “Aint here ta chat.”

Daryl took a moment before he spoke again. "She thought she was losin' the baby," Daryl spat. "All that stress you put on her - the fuck were you tryna' do?"

Negan’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. Some of the bravado slipped, replaced by something tired, maybe even guilty.

“I didn’t know,” he said after a beat. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

Daryl didn’t flinch. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I ain’t trying to hurt her. You think I wanted today to go like that?”

"Yeah," Daryl said, a little louder than he meant "That's what you do. You start shit by runnin' your mouth."

Negan looked down for a second, jaw tight. “Look… she’s my sister-”

"Shut up;" Dary said, his grip tighteninging on the bars. "Shut up and listen ta me. You ain't gonna bother her no more. You do and there ain't no one savin' you this time - i'll kill ye."

The sureness in his voice would make any man shiver. But apparently it wasn't good enough for Negan.

Negan’s shoulders lifted in a quiet scoff. He stood then—slowly, deliberately—walking to the bars, hands loose at his sides. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, quieter now. “I was here before you. I know what she’s been through. Hell, I’m part of it. And I promise you this, Dixon… I’ll still be here long after you’re not.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even sharp. But it landed like a threat, soft-edged and passive, meant to slide beneath the skin. Daryl didn’t blink.

"That so huh?" Daryl leaned back, essentially taunting the man. “You gonna kill me before I meet my kid?” he asked, voice ice. “Like you did, Glenn?”

Negan froze. Just for a second. But it was enough. A silence stretched between them, thick and mean. Then Negan stepped back from the bars, hands raised slightly.

“I ain’t that man anymore.”

"Bullshit."

He wasn't gonna deny that him bringing up Glenn - that stung. Oh, so that's how it is. Fuck if he was gonna take the high road. He was gonna limbo this shit and go low.

"You think this baby changes anything?" he teased, raising his eyebrows as if the notion was ridiculous. "You won't last. And like always, she'll come running back to her big bro ; it's not an if it's when. I almost feel sorry for how bad she has you wrapped around her little finger."

His voice was cold, deadly certain.

"That's why I was so hard back at the Sanctuary-" he explained. The mention of that place had Daryl struggling to keep his cool, but somehow he did. "Sure i got a lil carried away when i found out you were together, but someone had to tell you that you werent good enough for her."

"Just cause she is having your baby doesn't mean you're irresponsible, Dixon. She'll always be a Smith."

....Nah.

He gave it his best efforts, Daryl would give him that, but it wasn't enough. He was tryning to start shit, that much was obvious. It worked before, but not this time. Making his way to the door, he hollered, "ya won't be bothering her no more. That's final."

Negan watched him walk away, a sly grin growing on his face.

Aw shit.

______________________________________________________________

Part 3

[littlewonders7]

Arcane isekai ideas for reader pt.3

(Not really a series just rambles of goofy scenarios ideas for mainly gen z reader surviving in the world of arcane and how the characters and world reacts to them)

warning: not good at explaining shit🤡🥲

_______________________

- I just think if a gen z reader were to be brought upon to the world of arcane, they would not have a normal conversation or introduction with any of the characters like you would see with x reader posts

- like I understand if the reader is sooo smart and a bad bitch who can anything for the plot and if it’s done right, HOWEVER I’m just saying it be nice to have the arcane characters being intrigued and curious about the reader for their chaotic and other worldly behavior that differs from and piltover and zaun, the reader being just them awkward, cringe, goofy self and the characters wanting to understand more about them because of it!

- like for example, I am a awkward but polite person, who tends to say sorry more times than I really should, I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed and I do enjoy helping people if I can, however I do have that spark were I will not stand injustice and acts of cruelty towards others so I guess I would clash with zaun’s way of surviving, but also piltover’s brutality towards zaunites if that makes sense(not a good example but I hope that makes sense)

- I think it would be nice to have readers outworldy behavior and understanding of the world and their personality have an effect on those in arcane as their presence slowly or unexpectedly give them viewpoints they never realized or understood until they came along and gave the cast an outsider perspective of their lives.

- like I mentioned a little in my first post, I say to keep our reader alive and add some “magical or advance” they will still have excess to our world/reality technology and can get still buy as well as use those items over in arcane, perhaps they have a home just outside of the land of piltover and zaun and customize their base/home like you see in games idk. As for their abilities it’s kind of like that character from that one anime “campfire cooking in another world” but maybe more to it, they still have to buy and pay to get items or get rewards for doing tasks idk though. (I will note that while having access to the “real world” they cannot access or see any arcane related stuff, only maybe one their phone or when they’re asleep)

- I kind of have the reader have that kind of power mainly because I know my dumb sad anxious ass could not handle being throw into a new world without connection back to home in some way, and I definitely know I would be fuck with my terrible communication skills cause I stutter and worry to fuck up my words due to ✨trauma and overall mental health✨

- another reason I would like the reader to have that power is I thought it would bring more chaos if the cast finds out about readers technology advances they have or use, and reader having the time of their life just vibing and not realizing that them just doing that has fucked up the timeline. Like you see them whipping out their phone playing games(I like puzzle-brain test games and rhythm games like piano tile) walking around town wearing headphones listening to music oblivious to the world while some stop and stare at them.

- maybe that’s how you get introduce to sky( cause I kind of want her and other side characters having some spotlight) and sky trying to help you out living the world of arcane, not realizing the shit she just put herself in, as I did mention maybe the reader time travel or like dream travel to arcane past before being isekai so the characters have some sort connection or something like, that’s why the timeline being change and alter without the readers knowing what they did.

- I’m also debating whether or not to have the cast yandere or the very least possessive for reader to give more bs to deal with understand wtf is happening but eh that’s all I got for now

[eunoiaaaivy]

🖇️ AUTUMN— NANAMI K.

00. NANAMI X READER

01. IN A WORLD FULL OF CURSES, AND CHAOS— NANAMI WAS YOUR SOLITUDE AND GROUND. BUT YOU WEREN'T HIS.

02. CW: ANGST, CHARACTER DEATH, UNREQUITED LOVE, POSSIBLE JJK SPOILERS BUT THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW THE ORIGINAL TIMELINE, MISUNDERSTANDING, OOC NANAMI, POTENTIAL GRAMMAR MISTAKES, IDK WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE SOOOO, LMK IF I MISSED ANY.

03. A/N: soooo uhh, hi guys. this has been rotting in my drafts for a long time and uh, i miss nanami. GEGE AKUTAMI COUNT YOUR DAYS. i tried to be angsty too. idk what i actually wrote but eyyy, we're trying to get out of reader slump. couldn't portray my thoughts well, and it's actually annoying.💔

— 04/07/18, JUJUTSU HIGH TOKYO

10:03 AM reads on the phone screen, the quietness of the building testing the chills against the skin. What an abrupt meeting— so abrupt it makes you curious, it’s unusual the higher ups call.

A special grade at that.

It was silent; you could hear the ghost’s footsteps as you trod your feet across the wood creaking floors. The only thing you could do was hope that it wasn’t that bad.

Somehow, there was something even weirder than being called by the higher ups, and maybe, just maybe you’d hope it wasn’t that.

The feeling of a ghost haunting you replays again, and again— those taunting footsteps, and those vivid memories, the laughter, and the—

“Hey, where are you going? We passed the room already.” That boisterous voice breaking the silence of your loud mind startles you for a second, realisation crawling back to you.

“Uh, sorry. Just a little lost,” you replied monotonously, gulping and avoiding eye contact, “let’s go inside.” Cue in Gojo raising his eyebrow from the unusual behaviour, opting not to speak.

He opens the door, and gestures you to go inside first— a sharp breath gets stuck in your throat, as a tall, blonde man, with his back glaring at you, faces the office window outside of the higher ups.

A figure that was oh so familiar, way too familiar.

For a second, you forget to breathe, your world stops and it tips off of its axis, and you can never truly explain what he does to you. Even after all these years, he was so familiar— it was like breathing air, like nostalgia; so known, yet so foreign.

And he stares so casually, so smoothly, as if you guys saw each other yesterday; it makes running fingers against chiselled bones stronger.

“YO Nanamin! Never knew you would be here. How’s your job going? Thought you hated anything jujutsu related things.” Gojo greets Nanami, who in return, grumbles and sighs from Gojo’s voice.

“I still do, especially with the both of you here.” Nanami grumbles back, piercing eyes looking through sharp periphery— and he admits, his breath was caught in a web of butterflies, so beautifully beautiful, yet so cold; he could practically freeze from that blank gaze.

His ribcage hammers, and it’s screaming with how violent it’s getting; for time to delude such endearing masterpieces, it never had the idle to change you from the start, you were too strong willed to be deluded.

Was he still breathing? Or was he dreaming? It’s a rollercoaster game; a never-ending ride to kill this feeling that will always last.

For once, he actually regrets saying his words, and he’s happy to see the both of you. He’s happy to see Gojo, and he’s happy to see you— and his words linger with enough regret in his mind. He wants to bite his tongue until it bleeds, and it feels euphoric so suddenly to see you.

“I see this is an abrupt meeting, please sit down.” Nanami can hear the higher up’s voices, and he can only force himself to peel his head away from your direction. The mere sight was too intoxicating and unreal.

“I thought it was me, Gojo, and someone else? I never heard of [last name] being here.” Nanami outs before he can control his tongue, and that euphoric feeling dies down with every ounce of regret.

All you can hear was a crack— your world tilts off and rolls, and it’s crumbling. You were atleast expecting him to miss you like how you miss him, but atlas, it was always wishful thinking.

You never meant anything to him, nothing more, nothing less. That’s that.

The higher up’s chatter enters one ear, and exits the other; a closed house, with something to enter with, and something more to exit for. It’s there, and the feelings are real; too real to even fathom.

The energy inside depletes, conscience gnawing with the growing ivy of overthinking somewhere in between. The meeting ends before you know it, and on autopilot you make your way out of that room. Decking the hall makes that burden heavier; it’s not easy to breathe, lungs punctured from the hit you took from the words and brain malfunctioning with the information in tow.

You’re not sure whether your heart was beating or was it slowing down, and it was the contrary to your pace; quick, hurried and a clear sign you want to get out of there as soon as possible.

The air colliding against your face has never felt this good, and you pay no mind as you quickly make your way through the parking lot.

The world was not on your side today as a hand grabs you by the shoulder, it is gentle and familiar; it makes you want to keep on walking.

“Are you not aware of your surroundings? What if you suddenly get attacked by a cursed spirit?” The smooth baritone asked, it was flat and you didn’t know whether he saw you as a burden or if he’s concerned.

You stayed silent, and for a while he didn’t follow up with any other questions, which was weird.

Nanami sighs upon seeing you not face him, his ribcage was thrashing around with its peculiar beat, yet he doesn’t know what aches beneath.

His words must have stung; and he knew it did— he knew you too much.

The blonde man wonders whether you’re going to retort or if you’re going to bite your tongue, he’d rather have the first choice than to see you so heartbroken; he can’t bear the look you’d give him.

You’re the only venom he’d be willing to take, even if it kills him instantly— even if it’s painful, and excruciating, and so unearthing, as long as it was you.

Well, that is if he doesn’t poison you first.

“It seems you haven’t changed,” The voice calms down his turmoil, and he doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or elated that he was answered; with enough venom to kill him or with a tone that was so flat or whether it wa— “you’re still so cold and reserved, I guess leaving Jujutsu High did make you a bit rougher to approach.” That tongue said in a way where it kills him instantly; quick and cruel.

That oh-so familiar face turns, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, and he could feel the venom pumping through his veins. The breeze surely heard him, and maybe it did; you look so beautiful in this light.

And everything cracks— beneath porcelain facades, everything is cracking inside, and it’s a waltz of beating hearts; both equally alive yet dead, stepping on each other’s feet as they cascade around old memories.

— 09/25/18, JUJUTSU GROUNDS.

“I never thought I’d see you guys in one room again!” Shoko mutters out loudly, greeting you with a hug and laughing at the sour expression Nanami wears.

“We’re here for professional business,” Nanami gruffly mutters out behind you, “besides, my personal matters with [name] have nothing to do with you.” The blonde man glares through his sunglasses, a pointed look that Shoko knew all too well— let me handle things I can never speak about.

And Shoko holds both her hands up in defeat, playfully chuckling while sending a look back at Nanami. The tension grows, and Gojo breaks it up with his loud voice.

“They’re still so goofy, Sho! I’m telling you, Nanamin never grew his balls!” The blue eyed sorcerer says, hands sliding along his face dramatically to emphasize.

Shoko chuckles once again, “who knew Nanami was such a coward to things?” said the brown haired beauty in a teasing tone.

Nanami shifts uncomfortably while loosening his neck tie a bit, his throat feels dry and there’s this blazing heat in this mist of uncertainness. “Oh quit it, Sho! Leave Nanami alone.” Your voice shouts from behind him, and maybe it made him more uncomfortable.

His last name slipped out so casually from your tongue, and maybe there’s this burning desire for him to hear his first name— like you used to do; it was always sweet, and buttery smooth.

“Whatever you say gal, just stating some things,” Shoko muttered out in defeat, a deadpan look on her face as she raised her hands up, “besides, I know you would sacrifice your peac— WOAH! Fine, I’m just playing. You know I’ll never spill your secrets.” The doctor chuckled out, dodging your punch sent her way.

She continues to chuckle, while Nanami and Gojo eye the both of you from behind. You were strangling Shoko, as she chuckles defeatedly, and Nanami wonders whether the doctor was this silly with you.

Gojo chuckles from beside him, the blue-eyed male holding a small-fond smile and Nanami couldn’t blame him; Jujutsu sorcery wasn’t a two-way trip where you go inside a train and come outside at your stop.

“What an irony,” the blond haired man thinks— it certainly was, you come inside the halls and come out even bloodier than before.

“So what guys? Are we just going to idle here or are we going to the cafè? I’ll treat you guys, since I’m nice today!” He hears Gojo shout from behind him, “aren’t you always kind, Gojo?” Nanami’s ears reel in your voice, and somehow his heart beats fast, not the good kind.

And everything fades for the rest of the day, just laughter with the once nostalgic image of you.

— 9/29/18, BAKERY BASKING IN AUTUMN.

The cafè bell rings, the door opens, and the blonde gentleman holds the door for you. The small thank you sent him fluttering like pigeons; warm and cozy despite the cold breeze passing by.

Nothing is spoken, no words, no sound, not even a small utterance of truth— just the silence of two people who know each other, or the right term, knew. It’s the white noise of the world, the chitter and chatter, the occasional hum of what used to be.

But it doesn’t matter— it doesn’t as you and Nanami stroll around the autumn–filled park, coffees and pastries dangling on each of your hands, it doesn’t as he ties the shoelaces of your boots, not once complaining about the way you’d accidentally bump into him.

It doesn’t matter because there was no “you and him” in the first place, only you, and only Nanami; nothing more, nothing less.

As you walk further and further away, you both hear a mother cooing her child, a memory you wish to tuck in a corner. Her partner doesn’t even hesitate to help her— she doesn’t even have to ask, have to beg for that love; the love where it smells like cinnamon, laughter, and warm hugs at night.

Why can’t this be given to you? Why?

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be chosen,” the slow beat, the slow tempo before a dance starts begins, dancers dreading every twist and turn of their bodies, “my mother never chose me, my father never did, the higher ups never did…I have always wanted to know how and why.” The dancers walk to the stage, testing their beautiful smiles.

“I’ve always wondered, why can’t I be like Satoru? I’m a special grade like him, I’m a risk-taker, I have a few charms, I come from a clan, I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, although not as loud as him, I’m still…me. Just like Satoru.” They take a little turn, leaping immediately off the ground, their heart momentarily stopping for a second.

“And yet, at the end of the day, I’m not like him. I’ve asked Satoru how it feels to be the chosen one, and he said it feels different all the time. It gets exhausting.” The dancers leap again, a larger one this time, “but is it as dreadful as not?” A big pause in the dance recital happens— no technical difficulties, just a huge pause for a big leap of breath.

“I came to terms that I did not want to be like Satoru; a hero being used, but it was just me. I have always wondered what we could have been if you had chosen me.” The dancers suddenly take swift turns— they're scared they might crack, that they might mess this up.

“You were the answer I was looking for, instead I ended up with even more questions; what would it feel like if Nanami had chosen me? What does it feel like to be chosen by Nanami? What does life feel like with—” the swift motion of spinning cracks, the dancers fall— each one slowly, but surely.

“Why are you so fixated on being chosen by me? We’re jujustu sorcerers for Pete’s sake, [name]!” Nanami cracks, just like how each dancer falls, adrenaline dying down with each breath they take, “I can’t choose you, I can’t afford to choose you. Not like this, not when we’re working in this messed up society!” Nanami explains in an exasperated voice, nostrils flaring up as frustrations collide in his veins, holding the bridge of his nose. Through his cloudy vision of unmasked truth— he can’t see the vision of your eyes tearing up.

“I can’t afford to risk you, knowing I could lose you at any given moment. So I do what I do best; leave. I leave, I changed, you’ve changed. Times have changed, time— time can’t choose us too.” Nanami replies in a tired voice, opening his eyes, only to be shocked by the scene in front of him.

“I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean most of it. I just need a moment, please? I have to go.” Nanami says, guilt clouding him as he leaves; again.

Nanami is amazing at many things, you can label them one by one, and the one he’s best at? Leaving— like what he did years ago.

As the dancers cower out the stage, the first fall of snow starts— and it signifies the love you and Nanami have; growing colder as the seasons pass.

Distinct, wistfulness, dancing beneath both of your lives.

Your youth is in his past.

— 10/31/18, SHIBUYA.

The fear settles in as anxious huffs leave each of the sorcerer's lips, the rattling feeling of the unknown chases them; death is on their doors, knocking loudly.

Shibuya was a mess, everything’s scrambled, destroyed, and only little is left of the beautiful city.

It was only the beginning, yet the end was very near— too near them.

It’s such a beguile torment; the agitation, the unknown. Yet, he clings on to your words— words from youth, flowing sweetly in his mind.

“There is always beauty in the unknown, good or bad. The unknown is just there. It’s just like tomorrow, we don’t know whether it’s sweet or bitter, but it’s a gift.” Nanami recalls your words filled with enough reassurance, and it weighs on his mind.

It’s an irony, with who he is as a man, as a sorcerer. He knows that familiar feeling of uncertainty, and the unknown is just right around his corner. Yet, he always liked controlling things, to prove that life can be a ruling state, but fate had other plans.

To the very thought of the unknown, he despises it, with his whole being. Words were heavier rather, and the brief flash back calms him down.

Embrace the unknown, find the beauty.

The unknown was right here, and somehow he ends up with you. Face to face with Mahito. The only beauty he saw right now was you. Despite the pants, the disheveled hair, the calm expression on your face, the sight of you made his heart race. Even if you guys haven't spoken ever since the incident, avoiding each other like the plague.

This is the unknown he was looking for.

The wreckage, the blood, the scent of flesh and screams blaring, screaming, in every inch of Shibuya— it wasn’t the one he wanted.

It was you. Always you.

Mahito attacks, and attacks, over and over again. Before the cursed spirit gets to him, a shadow shows up; too quick, too stealthy, and before he knows it, blood is on the floor.

Not his, but yours.

He could hear the cursed spirit scream, from agony or from mockery he doesn’t know.

You saved him, again, and again.

Yet he couldn’t do the same.

Mahito’s injured, enough to unstabilize him, enough for the final blow— to kill him. He sees Itadori witness the sight, the bleeding, your physique weakening. Your cursed energy standing strong as it still flames Mahito.

With the last of your strength, you pour one final blow on Mahito, making him stumble through various walls where Itadori follows him.

Nanami could hear his heart pounding in his ear, anxiety clamping his stomach, his throat tightening at the sight of you— collapsing slowly with severe internal injuries. You looked a bit disheveled outside but the damage inside is big, dark bruises are forming, blood trailing down your nose.

You were going to be fine, he repeats in his mind as he runs to you.

“This has happened before, she’ll be okay,” Nanami calmy reasurres himself, holding your already tired figure.

“What were you thinking!” He screams, and you’ve never heard Nanami talk this loud. His voice wasn’t muffled but your sight was blurry, as well as the distant future you have with him.

“You only have a few minutes” A voice whispers in your head, taunting and haunted, like how your life had always been. You reach your hands up to his chiseled cheeks, slowly and tremors residing.

“Kento,” you say his name like it was your lifeline, “stop talking, it’s not going to be nice. you’re going to be okay. just stop talking.” Nanami says with finality, rough and frustrated around the edges. He stops you before you even begin.

You chuckle, coughing blood out after as your cursed energy seeps once more in your skin. It’s ironic how his voice is so…aggressive, yet he holds you in his arms as if you were porcelain.

Before you knew it, spots of water droplets fell on your face, your eyes widening. The dam breaks before you could even process the fact Nanami was crying— that he was grieving you.

“Kento, I’m sorry.” You whisper out, lips and body trembling as he presses his forehead on yours. “Don’t say sorry, please. Just stop talking, we’ll get help soon.” Nanami begs, tears streaming down on to your face as you smile a small smile. You let out a small chuckle again, lips curving upwards, peace transcending throughout your body.

“We both know I’m not going to make it. It’s the seal my parents tied me to, Kento.” Words trembling, filling the ache in both of your hearts, and for once— you’re not unhappy, despite the pain surging through every inch of your body.

“I wish you a happy life, please live on.” You say softly, tears falling freely mixed along with blood, his hands were gentle as he wipes your tears, your blood staining his other hand.

“Can you promise me that? That you will live on, for me? Can you promise?” Your body hurts more as you ask that to the man who stayed silent, listening to your dying wishes; you feel him nod, and you couldn’t help but smile at his demeanor, never disrupting you as you speak— and only now do you realize, he did, he does love you. In ways you could ever fathom, just like him.

You smile at the thought again, wide and big, like the agony you’re going to leave him with. Using the last cursed energy you have, your palm on his cheek is activated with black flames; stinging, burning his body, but enough to heal his wounds, and bind his flesh altogether, creating an invisible shield on him.

“Say goodbye, [name]. It’s time to go.” The grim reaper inside you says, laughing hollowly.

Relieving every memory you had with him, your love settles in your bones, body going light as you drag his face closely to yours. Sealing your lips, you made one last memory before you go.

“I love you, my great lost love. This is the end for us.” Your words echoed slowly as your body slumps in his hold, bruises becoming prominent and your heart and lower abdomen tainting into black slowly. The palm on his face falls, and he catches it in his hands, pressing it to his cheeks as he seeks your warmth only for it to be cold.

Nanami sobs silently, tainting the face beneath him as he clinged to you for dear life. Itadori finally comes back, but he pays no mind to the kid.

He had lost you, forever. His greatest love.

Nanami Kento curses your parents, binding you in a slow death, a tango with the grim reaper who was in every corner in your life. They shackled you to misery, sacrificing you to a cursed technique— threading death. Sacrificing you for freedom, for death to knock on your door anytime. Overusing your technique lessens your life span, and you’ve been like Gojo; used as a tool for Jujutsu High.

As the chaos seizes, he realizes your love was akin to that Autumn day; a love that was once warm, turning into something cold and hazy.

Like a great lost love. Warmth seeping out cold.

A/N: HWHSHSHHWSHHE, idk what i even wrote but yeah! luv nanami, WHEN I CATCH YOU GEGE ITS ON SITE!

[the-monkey-ruler]

i've been seeing so many comments about the possibility of wukong (after rebirth) and/or many yaoguais/mortals going to war to overthrow the heavenly palace and seize the emperor after the events in black myth: wukong. is that possible to happen? i've read something in your posts about how despite their actions, the heavenly palace/jade emperor is needed to balance the three realms? if that is so, how is overthrowing going to solve any problems? like i get the unfairness of the treatment of yaoguais but ngl, going to war felt like an even worse solution. idk im not knowledgeable of the rules.

i've been seeing so many comments about the possibility of wukong (after rebirth) and/or many yaoguais/mortals going to war to overthrow the heavenly palace and seize the emperor after the events in black myth: wukong. is that possible to happen?

Think of it like this.

There needs to be a Jade Emporer in charge of heaven without a doubt. I've seen some adaptions have it that if he does fall then the world goes through a small apocalypse but isn't unsavable or unliveable. Personally, I think that the world is more likely to fall into an unliveable state, with no weather regulations, ghosts could leave hell and haunt earth, there would be nothing separating the three realms and honestly, humans would be taking the full brunt of the impact. With at least someone in charge of most of the large phenomenons on the planet I do think that would make earth, the underworld, and heaven into a mess of chaos where maybe ghosts and immortals could survive but humans would be nearly wiped out.

That being said while there needs to be a Jade Emperor for sure but that doesn't always have to be the same guy. I believe the original plan was something like Sun Wukong was going to overthrow Heaven and then take over as the Jade Emperor. I've seen this taken in the Lotus Lantern series in a 'what if' dream if Wukong 'won' the fight in heaven and now HE was in charge. One thing that you have to understand that Black Myth Wukong is taking GREAT LIBERTIES with is that Wukong is fighting for yao rights when in the original novel Wukong was fighting for himself. I have to give credit to the detail that Black Myth put into the game but it HEAVILY changed the lore of the story and can almost be an alternative universe within itself with how heaven functions in relation to earth.

Like there are cultivated creatures in heaven, even in the game we see many heavenly beasts that still keep their cultivated form in heaven and are treated as works/disciples/coworkers. The Zodiac animals have humanoid forms. The Plum Brothers, originally Yao in FSYY are Erlang's sworn brothers. Black Wind King and Red Boy are Guanyin's disciples. Yellow Wind Demon is an OFFICAL disciple rather than being a lil mongoose thing that just run away pet. If anything in Black Myth it just shows how maybe Yaos are in heaven. Sure it frames it as them being oppressed but I truly don't think this reflects the original story.

In the original book, Wukong wasn't trying to overthrow heaven in order to overthrow an oppressive regime against yao, but because he broke the laws, ran away, and knew that war was inevitable. He wasn't looking to dismantle an oppressive system, he was going to become the new head of the system and rule it in a way that only benefited himself.

WUKONG IN THE BOOK IS THE BAD GUY.

We love him, we adore him, but HE IS THE BAD GUY.

You can argue that maybe the Jade Emporer wasn't using Wukong to his full ability with how powerful he is, sure, absolutely, but also he had TWO FORMAL COMPLAINTS about him from KING YAMA and ALL FOUR DRAGON KINGS. He wasn't starting his new job with any good recommendations on his resume so it could also be understandable why he started with a low-entry position and maybe worked his way up. This is a job at the end of the day, Wukong COULD have just worked his way up the corporate ladder, that isn't impossible and with how strong/powerful Wukong is, he could def have done that personally.

i've read something in your posts about how despite their actions, the heavenly palace/jade emperor is needed to balance the three realms?

If Wukong won then he would undoubtedly try to take over as Jade Emproer but considering that Wukong at the start of the book had very lil care of humans or yao (I think people forget how Wukong didn't care that his non-monkey yao army was captured and he was only pleased not a single one of his own monkeys were captured) so that he would only rule the heavens where only monkeys made rights and would benefit him and his Sun Clan. He would be grandfather of the year but the rest of the world would be in shambles. Wukong was never trying to overthrow the system, he was going to be in charge of that system and just choose who he wanted to oppress instead.

The Jade Emporer is the Jade Emporer because he has spent his entire lifetime training his mind and body to balance all three realms to keep all life protected. He studied for about 327 million years to get this job, it is not just something you can casually fight him for and take it, like there needs to be credentials. Ghosts are directed to the afterlife, humans stay on earth to live, love, cultivate, and die, and cultivated humans turn into immortals who then can turn into gods who are in heaven to help continue to keep the balance of the world.

if that is so, how is overthrowing going to solve any problems? like i get the unfairness of the treatment of yaoguais but ngl, going to war felt like an even worse solution. idk im not knowledgeable of the rules.

I love that we are getting more media with Yao being sympathetic but the original creation of Yao is that they are unnatural beings. They go against the balance as they are animals/objects that skip their reincarnation process and just jump into being sentient beings without being reborn as humans first. While not inherently evil it does mess with the flow of nature and does make them more prone to be chaotic as it is in their nature to be unbalanced.

Wukong going against heaven was more for the sake of his own ego at the height of his warlord years and could have been completely avoided. The reason that it seems like a bad solution to fighting for Yao rights is because modern writers make it so.

There is no changing the outcome of the story. Wukong has to lose if the plot is to resemble anything like the original tale. And modern writers know this. The war was NEVER INTENDED to be a good solution because it is a plot device to make Wukong look better and make Heaven look bad. Writers don't have to worry about a 'what if he won' because that isn't possible and was never made to be possible.

Wukong was written to fight a war that could never be won to highlight the hopelessness and powerlessness Wukong is facing, making him more human and sympathetic to a large audience. I've spoken about this maybe times before but the plot of Bio of Wukong 悟空传 from 2000 NEARLY 20 years ago really made this popular. That kind of "It is better to die trying than to live a slave" mentality that Wukong is going to lose this fight but at least he is going to fight at all. It is that early 2000s angst that affected many movies and shows after it and even 20 years later we still see how Black Myth Wukong is following this old plot line of "Heaven is actually the bad guy and yao are the oppressed ones." It's not that this plot hasn't been done well just that this is such a common plot point in modern media that it diverts from the original story so much.

Modern writers change it so that instead of Wukong being an egotistical warlord who doesn't think about the consequences of his actions, he is a freedom fighter who is trying to save a marginalized group. The issue is that it seems hopeless to help the Yao cause because there was never a Yao issue in the first place until this point of view came into being. We see in the story that actually many Yao Kings are taken under heaven or were run away from heaven itself who came to earth for personal power. Guanyin takes in Black Wind Demon, Red Boy, and the Centipede Demon to help her. In the book, there isn't an inherent prejudice against yao (because most of them are flat characters that just want to eat Sanzang) and there are many chances of mercy given to them despite their transgressions.

But we see in Black Myth Wukong that any of these attempts to give Yao grace are framed more as 'subjugation'. Any goodwill or olive branch is now just heaven trying to control this marginalized group and they are just manipulating them into being subservient to heaven's will. I really love that the game takes time to flesh out Yaos in the story and still doesn't shy away from showing how they are still the ones at fault for their own current predicaments. Yellow Bros is still an egoistic more worried about winning than truth, Yellow Wind was using the kingdom to his own gain, and the Elder Abbot did let his disciple die to his own greed. I will say I'm not a huge fan of Red Boy's backstory change and then him just killing himself at the end as it felt disingenuous.

What I'm trying to say is that there is no winning in these kinds of storylines. They are twisted for the sake of making Wukong as a tragic hero who is fighting a losing battle that he shall never win which they do a wonderful job at. Everyone loves a tragic hero story and even makes it relatable to people's own struggles with conformity. Wukong is NEVER going to win, Yao are NEVER going to get their rights and it is meant to be just SAD and EDGY but how people shouldn't stop trying to fight even if it is a losing battle else than fight they would in a fate even worse than death. Spoilers but the end of 悟空传 is that WUKONG DIES because he rather die than be subjugated and THAT HAPPENED IN BLACK MYTH. This is a 20-year-old light novel and they are still rehashing this plot. (I'm sorry if it seems I don't like this trope, I do, but I have seen it for years and find it unoriginal at this point. I have seen it be done very well but I shall say I did enjoy it more in my 'teen angst' years than I do now.)

The OG light novel never made it so that anyone can 'win' and the same can be said in the Black Myth Universe. It almost glorifies being a martyr rather than living in subjugation because modern writers didn't write any viable solutions where our heroes 'win'. And you can't apply this with the original Xiyouji mythos or else it starts to fall apart when looking at what ACTUALLY happened with Wukong and how yaos are treated.

Also having that the fillet isn't gone and that buddhahood is a lie in Black Myth is also a HUGE divination from canon. Just know that if Wukong is a Buddha he wouldn't be bound to the fillet because he isn't bound to his physical body anymore and IS AS POWERFUL as the OG Buddha himself making any case of this null.

Personally (we are getting into AU territory) if there was a case of fighting for Yao rights in a frame of actually trying to find applicable solutions to make a real difference in the world then I truly believe that the ACTUAL JOURNEY TO THE WEST is the answer.

I'm taking some inspiration from the 1996 TV series when Sanzang wants to actually save every demon he comes across on their journey and he believes that the scriptures can provide that way. That through the Buddhist texts, Yaos could cultivate without eating humans and they can reach full human-hood and even enlightenment with the sacred texts thus creating a world where both humans can become more enlightened and kind to one another and where Yao can live peacefully without needing to cause harm to others.

I think that if there was ever a story that really captured the essence of what Journey to the West was about, that anyone can have a second chance and that no one is beyond the line of being saved, then Wukong trying to liberate Yao kind is to find a solution to why there shouldn't be Yao Kings or yao-eating-humans and thus dissolving any reason heaven would see Yao as threats to humans. Not all Yao eat humans yes BUT MOST DO to cultivate, and if the scriptures can bring that kind of enlightenment to a human then they could offer an easy and safe way that Yao can be accepted into society.

Journey to West to me has always been about second chances and how it's never too late for people to change and learn from their mistakes. Even a warlord monkey, an ex-marshall, a disgraced general, a banished prince, or a cast-out disciple could come together on a strange journey and find that violence doesn't have to be the answer but how compassion, teamwork, and understanding lead to try change within a person.

It makes it so that the journey isn't just a 'tool of heaven' but a valid solution not only to humans but also to Yaos who are genuine in wanting to become human and not cause any harm. Even humans can learn how to let go of their prejudices by becoming enlightened and letting go of fear and hate of new things. Bringing in a better world where the goal isn't separation but learning how to connect with others through understanding and patience.

That is more MY THEORY on how a better way to handle a (hypothetical) yao discrimination issue would arise.

I'm sorry for the LONG winded answer, I did have a lot to say on the matter but I hope that clears up more why the 'Wukong fighting heaven as a rebel' is a popular trope but also why it was never written to explain how it would be a viable solution as it was always written to make Wukong a tragic hero than anything else. You are right that it would not likely fix anything but also it was never intended to 'fix' as Wukong is always fate to lose that battle.

[bitchinbarzal]

Hi! I was thinking, why don’t you write the first time they get Lucky? Idk if in your AU he is there. But as Kells and El mentioned on the pregnancy announcement one, it could be fun and sweet :) (I’m obsessed with this AU and your work)

You read my mind bc i was already writing this today

Lucky Makes Four (And a Half)

Kaia did not expect to wake up to the sound of her husband and daughter conspiring in the kitchen.

She groans, rubbing a hand over her face before rolling onto her side, her growing belly making the movement slower than usual.

It’s early.

Too early for this much whispering.

Too early for Elodie’s excited gasps.

Too early for,

“Shhh, bug. We gotta be sneaky.”

Kaia sits up instantly.

Because when Clayton and Elodie are sneaky?

That means chaos.

She hauls herself out of bed, padding toward the kitchen, and—

She stops in her tracks.

Because there, sitting in the middle of the floor, is a tiny, black-and-white ball of fluff.

A puppy.

A wiggly, excited, black and white doodle puppy.

Kaia blinks hard.

Clayton is grinning sheepishly, one hand on Elodie’s shoulder, the other resting casually on the puppy’s back—like this is all completely normal.

Elodie, however, is beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s about to explode from happiness.

Kaia stares.

“Clayton.”

Clayton winces. “Hi, baby.”

Kaia crosses her arms over her chest, her pregnant belly making it slightly less intimidating.

“Would you like to explain why there is a dog in my kitchen?”

Elodie gasps, her curls bouncing as she turns toward Kaia with wide, pleading eyes.

“Mommy! Look! Look at him!”

Kaia does, reluctantly, because she already knows—

The puppy is adorable.

His tiny tail is wagging wildly, his paws are too big for his body, and he’s already trying to climb into Elodie’s lap like he belongs there.

Kaia presses a hand to her stomach. “Clay…”

Clayton scratches the back of his head. “So… we got a dog.”

Kaia lifts an eyebrow. “We got a dog?”

Elodie nods aggressively, hugging the puppy to her chest. “His name is Lucky! Because we’re lucky to have him!”

Kaia looks at Clayton, who shrugs. “I tried to pick something hockey-related, but she was very insistent.”

Elodie huffs, crossing her little arms. “You wanted to name him Zamboni.”

Kaia snorts, covering her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Clayton grins, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, baby. Look at them.”

Kaia does.

Elodie is practically glowing, hugging Lucky like she’s never going to let go.

Lucky is already obsessed with her, licking her face, wagging his tail, acting like she’s the best thing in the world.

Kaia softens.

She sighs, resting a hand on her belly. “We’re about to have a newborn, Clay. You really thought this was the best time for a puppy?”

Clayton kisses her temple, grinning. “It’s called multitasking.”

Kaia rolls her eyes, but she smiles despite herself.

And when Elodie looks up at her with her big, hopeful eyes and asks

“Mommy, can he stay?”

Kaia melts completely.

She sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of Elodie’s head before murmuring—

“I guess we’re keeping Lucky.”

Elodie squeals, and Lucky barks happily, like he understands what just happened.

Clayton squeezes Kaia’s waist. “You’re the best, babe.”

Kaia huffs, but she leans into him anyway.

Because sure, maybe this isn’t the best timing.

Maybe this is going to be chaotic as hell.

But watching Elodie cuddle her new best friend? Watching Lucky curl up into her lap like he belongs there?

It already feels exactly right.

[slime-sandwhich-nom]

You guys gotta hear me out.

like.

Do you know how SIMILAR Gumball and Nicole are compared to the rest?

Like it's such a cool detail how gumball and Nicole are two distinct characters who have their fun personality and personal depth but are so similar.

Like you can tell that these two are related.

Like seriously, in earlier seasons gumball was more similar to Richard, actually.

He was a sweetheart, naive and always trying to help people because he wanted to. He was very easy to bully and make fun of because he was naive and "stupid" like his father. the only difference is that Richard never stands up for himself, gumball doesn't. There were several times where gumball gets made fun of and he just screams at them to defend himself because there's no Nicole to defend him (and when he doesn't stand up for himself, penny does.)

Which is a trait he most definitely got from Nicole.

But later on? When he gets his iconic sarcastic personality? He's so much like Nicole.

there were many scenes in some episodes where he just is a tiny version of Nicole, it's actually kinda wholesome. Especially if you count that he looks up to her ( thinks she's cool) so he subconsciously mimics her (like children do, in the end. Especially because he didn't have an older sibling to look up to, unlike Darwin and Anais do.)

And like.

I do have some examples.

> This one is my favorite honestly, when gumball had to make everything perfect because penny was coming over, so he took over and asked (ordered) everyone to be perfect.

This resulted in everyone making more chaos than usual because of how pressured they were (and low-key looked mildly scared whenever gumball came over and screamed at them that they had to do better, and faster, because everything has to be perfect.)

there was a point where he literally picked up trash the same size as him and threw it at his mother (because she had to take out the trash) and ended up throwing her and the trash out without much difficulty.

> Gumball variously shapeshifting into some weird monster things whenever he was slightly pissy or annoyed.

This is one example

> just like Nicole, he too can be super athletic. Remember when rob kidnapped Barbara and then threw an entire bus at gumball? Gumball literally did those cool action scenes where he jumps through the bus and walks away like nothing.

Something his mother does a lot

> Both gumball and Nicole have some immense strength, dude. Despite one never actually exercising for it and the other who didn't do any kind of exercise is years.

Just this whole ep where gumball is a sore loser.

> Him when he was younger.

Yes he was hyperactive, but at the same time he managed to do shit only his mother could

(Being super fast, walking on walls and CEILINGS and having the strength to break through doors too((when he was trying to stop Richard from flushing Darwin.)))

Yeah there's probably more but I'm too lazy to look them up.

ANYWAY.

I NEED someone to write idk. A fic about maybe Nicole slowly figuring out (by these points I just said) that gumball is more similar to her than she imaged, and it can either go into something wholesome, or angst. Your choice

[consumerofsoup]

Potential concept and throwing it out there but have you considered doing something Mermay related for Chaos and Daryl? I feel like chaos would make a very interesting merman, like a shark or something, idk about Daryl as a pirate but maybe as some sort of sea captain? (or just...another merman idk)

I haven't considered this before but my thoughts are very thinking right now. so very very unconventional and leaning toward sci-fi more than anything else: deep sea gigantism creature Chaos. in my defense, Chaos would be a weird creature hybrid, yes?? something strange, something that kind of bends the mind, something with observed intelligence in nature maybe?

SO. I'm thinking probably a cephalopod or maybe something else like a giant oarfish?? those fellas are supposedly harbingers of disaster so it would fit. but octopi and squids to a lesser extent are smart and also very cool?? OR you could take a further step and make Chaos a hybrid of something believed to be extinct, so he's even more of an anomaly (cough cough opabinia my love if it wasn't so tiny sobgzsjs I miss it coughcough)

that leads to deep sea researcher Daryl, which is where sci-fi comes in. he'd have to be stationed at the bottom of the ocean, something beyond our current technology, but maybe not so advanced in 2187 normal AU??? excuses excuses basically he gets to live on the seafloor and I get to be jealous

Daryl is out researching, feels like he's being watched, sees signs of attempted entry into the base etc. etc., so he is in a horror. Chaos, on the other hand, is in a The Little Mermaid rom com because he's infatuated with this strange creature. obviously Chaos is smart, so he copies the behaviors he observes and breaks into the base woohoo for him, super dread for Daryl. he's freaked the fuck out especially when Chaos starts smiling at him, so 1) he was watching Daryl 2) more accurately observing Daryl and his coworkers, and 3) trying to be... friendly????

yada yada yada I'll do more research on what Chaos could be when it's not a billion million degrees and my computer doesn't heat my room like an oven, but you get the idea!! I'll also flesh out the semblance of a plot because holy shit this is my excuse to talk about hydrothermal vents in a fic. ANYWAY Chaos is something super weird and also intelligent, so ofc Daryl throws danger to the back of his brain to study Chaos. Chaos quickly learns human mannerisms, language, etc. and they fall in love

[yannaryartside]

Why did Claire convince Carmy to drop HIS ideas for the menu?

So, did somebody else get upset when Carmy explained to Sydney that Claire made him realize "there are things I don't really care about...anymore" about the menu?

Like, wtf dude, this is YOUR menu, the whole point of your restaurant, why the fuck do you now think you don't care?

On Claire changing the menu

I think that Storer was really smart for not showing that scene, where Claire is comforting Carmy after his panic attack. Now, from what we can gather of the actual events, Carmy got a panic attack, then they talked about Donna driving a car through the wall of their house, and sometime before or after all that, they talked about the menu. A couple of things that, if they happened, could have been big red flags about Claire:

Why was Claire's solution to tell Carmy to forget about his original ideas for the menu? that is like "Oh honey does this cause your anxiety (you know, because you care about it) why don't you just drop it? Maybe then you will be happy" You have to treat the anxiety, not avoiding the things you care about because of it.

Did Claire dismiss Carmy's intentions on the menu, because it had to do with Syd? Like, did she actually recommended to drop it all because it would mean that Carmy and Sydney won't collaborate anymore? because Claire felt threatened? We all saw the way Claire looked at Syd.

Even if you could justify all this by "she was doing the best she knew to help him" I think the audience wouldn't have appreciated her talking Carmy into forgetting his vision for his own restaurant. That is the equivalent of Mary Jane telling Peter not to be Spiderman.

Now, and this is the really weird part, at this point Carmy is trying to make all the dishes his family made, but change them a little, recontextualize them. To make them "his own" and he told Claire about that, he part that is not clear is why he dropped the "thoughtful chaos menu" and just left the "chaos menu" My interpretation of this, again, is because thoughtful chaos can only be made by Carmy and Syd's collaboration. So Claire agreed with the things relating to the Berzatto traditions, but not, idk, Carmy's original vision for the restaurant, which may have not so much to do with her mother's recipes, and wanted to explore more to create something unique with Syd ideas too?

On Claire comforting Carmy.

Just a little last note. They had sex. Like, Claire and Carmy had sex after he got a panic attack, and the next morning he was still stressed as fuck. While just the memory of Sydney was able to calm him down from a huge panic attack (while he was thinking of Claire). Jejejeje.

Now...being serious. Idk if you think that offering sex for calming someone down is cute...I don't think it is. Even if they have already calmed down and you just want to "make their night better" or whatever.

Some people get really into sex while they get stressed, but a panic attack is more of an "I am dying' feeling, and it can depend on the person, Carmy is the kind who gets frustrated, exasperated, and violent while trying to handle his anxiety. So trying to make somebody not feel any of that that by asking them to be in the mood for fucking...Like "Oh, the trauma that you are trying to process right now honey, just don't feel it, but I want to fuck, and I know it can make you feel better" Personal opinion: gives me the ick, like 'Oh, my affection must be the answer to all your problems, my love is the only medicine you need" It all gets worse in my mind when I remember this woman is an emergency doctor, she is supposed to know some recommended procedures to help people with panic attacks, maybe she used them before they got into bed, but still, she can only presume that he is in a different head space just a few hours later, and you kinda look like and ashole if she offers and you say no.

I just don't like the idea of forcing mood changes on someone by offering them affection, especially sex. That can be really toxic for both parties.

[burning-academia-if]

Since its Christmas 🎄. It can be naughty if you want it to be 😜How would the Ro's spend it with Mc? Also what would they like as a present 🎁 and what would they give Mc?

MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS!!!

Also, I answered what the ROs would like as gifts here!

Rook: He honestly doesn't like most holidays for a variety of reasons, and usually pretends they don't exist. If it's something you'd like to celebrate though, then he'd go along with it, and it's one of the few occasions where he's going completely at your pace. For a gift for MC, I think it's something practical or something you've been needing that you mentioned offhandedly and he kept a mental note of it for later

Beck: Christmas used to be family time! If you've been together long enough, you're definitely being dragged to his parents house, and they are definitely going to try to feed you everything you're willing to eat lol It's also a pretty melancholy time for him, though, since it's a bit of a reminder of things he's lost. I think after all the family chaos winds down, you're left with him and a very fragile peace. He'd give you something from a show or game you like! Like a cool shirt or mug or something lol

Rhea: She doesn't want you near her home because she knows how that would go down, so you're spending Christmas Eve together instead! And since its Christmas Eve, things are still opened so the two of you can order in from your favorite place and just hang out. She'd probably make you watch classic holiday movies just because she never really got the chance to growing up and she wants to make up for lost time. I also think pre Christmas, she'd make the two of you decorate your own ornaments together too. Anyway, her gifts remind you that she comes from money because it's like Rook but like times ten. Multiple things you need all from the high end brands. She just blinks if you comment on it. There will also be a hand made card in there, somewhere in the depths of that giant bag she gave you

Zoe: Christmas is also family time, but this is the chaotic cheerful version ft siblings! You're being dragged into all the holiday activities. Gingerbread house competitions, baking cookies, all the Christmas games where the winner earns ten bucks about. It's non stop, and at the end of it Zoe just drags you to bed for cuddles and sleep but they're likely exhausted lol I think anything Zoe got you would be related to your hobbies, but they'd also include a care package of your favorite snacks or drinks.

Lars: You probably couldn't convince him to celebrate a holiday if you tried, but he is going to get you a gift because he knows you probably got him one. (Idk why, I'm also having flashbacks to the 'MC tied themselves up as the present' ask fakslfja). Anyway, his gift is probably a replacement for something you should have replaced a million years ago. Those busted shoes you've had for five years, the threadbare jacket, maybe even a new laptop if yours looks about ready to break down. ALSO, if your into a specific band he might grab concert tickets for the both of you to go.

???: Not necessarily Christmas day related, but I think they would be enamored with the idea of decorating a tree, so they'd ask if the two of you could get a small one and decorate it together askjskj They've never celebrated Christmas before, just like they've never celebrated anything else. They'd probably have fun just doing festive things for the novelty of it, but ultimately, they'd treat the day the same as any other day more or less. Unless you want something more from them, they'd be happy to provide. Gift wise, it'd probably be that one guilty pleasure thing where you want it so bad but you have no real reason to get it, so they just get it for you lol

[arcaneodysseyconfessions]

I need to talk about Revon too after mentioning Revon x Julian in my Julian ramble post. Similar to Julian, Revon is characterized by one defining moment: the one where the player easily defeats him, he cries, and swear bloody revenge on us. From that moment onward, the majority of the community viewed him as a joke, a weak pathetic crybaby loser (“how’s your brother!” type posts). That’s probs bc they don’t view the characters as seriously i do which is fine (I’ll cry the day when I find someone as crazy about him as I am).

But as Revon’s defense attorney, I have to say Revon was perfectly reasonable to cry in that moment. His brother died, last month or so ago geneal Argos died, his kingdom is basically in chaos, and he is unable to stop the perpetrator of it all: the player. He was probably filled with grief from their deaths, shame from not being able to fight, and panic of the future to come. Can’t a man have a panic attack in the middle of the beach without being called a crybaby?

Besides that, unlike Julian, we get to see how he acts outside of that one moment. When we come to Ravenna, Revon basically holds a speech about his brother going away or something yap, yap. From this scene, we can gather he’s rather diplomatic. He knows how to rally the people of Ravenna in support of Calvus. Later, when we talk to him and ask him who he is, he kindly introduced himself to us. He isn’t offended that we didn’t know his name already due to position as prince. His immediate thought was that we are a foreigner and welcomes us in Ravenna. This could be seen as him being just diplomatic but also quite friendly. I also just want to point out that Vetex perhaps meant for this to be a friendlier moment between us and Revon than it actually was bc in Revon’s dialogue at the beach, he cries out “And you, [Player's full name], I had a conversation with you at Rasna while not suspecting a thing!”. When really, we barely had a conversation with the prince for him to have this betrayed reaction. We are literally a stranger to him. But let’s go with the narrative that we had a longer conversation with him, get to know him more, maybe make him laugh. This shows that he’s humble and trusting enough to befriend us without regard to our background.

In addition, there are the civilians’ thoughts and gossip about him. I particularly like one where a woman goes something like “ahhh, he’s so handsome”. As for the gossip, it’s about him and his girlfriend breaking up and her attempting to kill him (we get to see her later in the mines). And it’s very interesting to say the least. There comes this questions of like why did they break up, why did she try to kill him, what the hell happened. (I would definitely be among those who gossip about him). That being said, he’s probably gossiped about a lot.

Oh, and Revon’s ignorance to Calvus’ crimes. He definately didn’t about them as seen in his cries at the beach. But then there’s a Tiberia, a town Calvus promised to rebuild but never seems to do. From an outsider’s perspective or by simply talking to a Tiberian, it’s obvious that Calvus never intended to make due in that promise. The town is shambles compared to the others. It could be perceived that Revon is willfully ignorant of the town’s current state or actually ignorant/never been to Tiberia/completely trusts his brothers word. Idk why Calvus chooses not to help the town (or maybe I forgot). Perhaps it’s to cut back costs or something Winterviel related.

Another thing in general is Winterviel. Do the ppl of Ravenna even know about Winterviel. Does Revon? Perhaps some of the soldiers/General do bc had a mission of continuing the Ceasar legacy of wiping them all.

That’s all my brain could rack up for today. If only I could place this amount of effort in my 10000 unfinished fanfics then I’ll be yeah

.

[iizora]

I don't know if you will do this but it's worth a try to ask so can you please do a platonic chaos council x reader so the reader was from the prime verse and is the daughter of eggman she was caught up in everything the reader is also dating neo metal sonic (sonic heroes never happened) so when the reader and neo metal sonic find them self's in new yoke city they go into hiding with neo using his shape shifting ability to disguise himself as an organic looking version of him self. now with the chaos council they see the reader and neo walking the streets but luckily the reader was using something that can disguise herself as a mobian but the chaos council aren't folled and captured the reader and neo they are shocked to find out that neo is a robot and that the reader is human but what shocked them most was there memories because when the chaos council used a device that can look into others memories they find out that the reader is basically related to them and they all accept the reader into the chaos council and basically allow neo to date the reader

Author note: I am not really confident idk what I am doing in this but I tried my best.

Family bond

It's been a few weeks or maybe a few months since my father doctor robotnick shattered the paradox prism. me and neo have been careful to hide from the doctors after realizing what happened to new yoke it's best not to confront any variants of my father... Not after I've made the bold decision to date what he calls 'his finest creations'.

Neo metal sonic and I have been exploring new Yoke for a while ever since we finally found a safe space to stay, we quickly learnt the pattern to my dad's crazy robots that rampage through the day so it's pretty safe for us to just go out in disguises, that's how its been up until today, I was sure the disguises were full proof barely any hints to give us away the slight suspension on the robots that were sent after us, but when sonic the hedgehog finally got here setting off alarms and getting me caught up in his messes again.

I couldn't remember anything after getting trapped, no clue where neo is or what they would do to him if they found out he was a robot, and I couldn't care less about sonic.. It felt like every 10 minutes I was brought to the councils base to be questioned none stop never replying to a single one frustrated them to the bone my father's variants could never agree on a fitting punishment and all the punishments they planned sounds like something straight out a nightmare I can't think of any way out of this situation.

"the council has finally decided if you won't willingly tell us what your up to and why your conspiring with that hedgehog then we'll just force the information out of you" the egg man variant with a red jumpsuit resemblance to a racers suit and a star for a zipper spoke up acting as the leader for this debate words filled with what I can only describe as hatred disgust and joy at the idea of forcing his way to an answer.

With just a snap of his fingers signalling 4 robots to go fetch something but only 2 returned with a device in hand, the doctor eerie smirk only grew as he held it in his arms the council all snickering to themselves as he took slow steps leaving me with the agonizing thoughts of what could happen to me if that device is put on.

It wouldn't take long for me to find out the answer as I feel my weight shift through the shackles, my head getting heavy nearly tumbling me over. The pain was just as unbearable as I thought shrieks of pain couldn't be helped but spilled out my mouth as they searched through my memories every good and bad thing that happened till now, every fight I've had with my father, every confrontation with sonic and his friends, every moment spent with neo metal sonic.

There loud snickers turned into shocked gasp at the new information of me being there daughter not moments later that the 2 other robots came back with a half dismantled metal sonic, the excruciating pain making it hard to lift my head but seeing that he wasn't destroyed was enough to put my mind at little ease.

"What took you so long, can't a guy find good help around here!" The oldest of the council spoke up in a harsh tone sliding his chair over to the robots "you fix him up and don't keep us waiting" he continued pointing to another robot and with quick mechanical steps they were gone with neo again leaving me with nothing but worry again.

As they turned back to their only daughter mixed faces of confusion, maybe disgust, or unwillingness to believe those memories. Each one of them had a different expression turning around to bicker one final time before my fate was sealed.

Nothing in the world could have prepared me for the aching pain and thumping of my heart as they turned back to me, who was silently on the ground chained, nothing could have prepared me for the familiar warmth of my father, the original eggman that made them collectively agree on the fact I am their daughter.

It didn't take long for them to untie me and shower me with affection until they had to make a say about neo, last I talked to my father about this we didn't leave things on good terms, maybe it was the fact they've never had a daughter in this world or the close bond between all of us that made them agree on letting neo metal sonic in our little family reunion but I do know after today the bond we had strengthen and that's all I really need to know to continue living in New Yoke with them.

[wildmrmix]

Shut up shut up shut up I’m actually thinking about the mlp au. This is not how i expected to spend my night, jesus 😭

Saying stuff below the cut cause I hate having super long texts on my blog if I can shorten them

So!! In G4 mlp, unicorns were the super pretty ones, with jewelry and honestly who didn’t grow up being told unicorns were beautiful. However!! In G5, it’s the pegasi that are seen as beautiful with their fluffy/ elegant wings. I want Soda to be the prettiest dude ever so I’m debating between the two. It would also likely decide which ones Darry and Ponyboy would be. I’m leaning towards pegasi honestly, cause: Darry could use his wings while working on roofs and Pb could use it for track. So Curtis bros are probably decided. Maybe Mrs. Curtis was an earth pony and she met Mr. Curtis when he moved down from Cloudstale (though it’ll depend on the generation this will be set in)

Dally changeling is so interesting to me I’m sorry. Like the concept of feeding off other peoples love and shapeshifting into anything is something i feel fits Dally??? Like, maybe New York was the hive, and he somehow escaped and is living off chaos. Literally. He picks up broads to feed off their love, then moves onto the next one. Idk if he’d get the redeem transformation. Maybe when he goes to help Pony and Johnny with the church fire? If i have that? Or maybe he’s able to find some kind of alternative so he’s not just starving all the time. Or maybe he’s a hippogriff that moved away from Mount Aris

I’m kinda 50/50 on my changeling Shepard siblings idea. I think they’d be good as ponies. Maybe unicorns and they use their magic to get away with stuff. Unicorns in G4 can only study one kind of magic relating to their cutie mark (unless their cutie mark is magic, ex: Twilight Sparkle and Starlight Glimmer), so maybe they learn their own stuff. Maybe they use unconventional spells or mix stuff together to get outcomes that appeal to them and nobody else

I think earth pony Two-Bit would be fun, y’know, give him the world bending powers of Pinkie Pie and set him free. Lotsa earth ponies seem to work on farms or food growing jobs, likely because of how close they are with nature in comparison to the other pony species, so they’re generally physically stronger. So maybe Two-Bit is a mix of the two, strong and silly. He loves to make people laugh and he’s able to deliver a mean kick

Earth pony Steve interests me as well. Maybe his dad’s a pegasus/ unicorn but his mother wasn’t and he was born an earth pony. Maybe his dad found it pathetic that his son was plain or something. Maybe Steve threw himself into anything he could to prove his dad wrong. Maybe he’s unnaturally good at stuff, cutie mark assistance or otherwise. He has magic flowing through him, but not enough to be recognized as a unicorn, more like extreme luck in things?

I think pegasus Johnny would be neat. He’d sleep on clouds to try and avoid his parents, and then maybe that’s how he met Ponyboy or Dally (as changelings can fly too). His parents still hate him, but he doesn’t feel like someone completely useless since pegasi have a lot of natural perks. Like sleeping on clouds, being able to create tornadoes with enough speed, the ability to make a sonic rainboom, etc. He has all this, yet he’s still a blank flank. It haunts him, the fact that he’s apparently good at nothing. That he somehow still hasn’t found his calling. It eats at him constantly, but he’s learnt to live with it. To walk with his wings covering his flank as a way to hide what isn’t there from the world. Maybe he ain’t too good at flying, maybe during the jumping that super traumatized him in the book, the socs messed up his wings, and now he can’t exactly fly right or for too long?

[hylianmewmew]

If u were to start that hypothetical MiphZel fic, then a prompt could be that zelda keeps leaving things at the domain during official visits, so she has the excuse to "warp" back (maybe the sheikah slate is only at "1 warp per day to the towers" bc the shrines haven't been activated yet idk but oh no looks like zelda has to stay the night at the domain while the slate recharges 😏)

Or link keeps trying to set up his (insert familial relation here) zelda with his good friend mipha. so he keeps setting up group "hang outs" and then either has to cancel bc he got hit by a horse(which i imagine he'd do just bc I think in his mind he kinda has to or its an actual accident (but ONLY AT FIRST muahahhaa)) or bc "something else came up but oh no u guys should totally watch that meteor shower since u both r there what a weird wacky coincidence that it happens to take place at a heart shaped lake"

EEEEEE ok i love both of those so much i actually have yona do the same thing to sidon and link at the beginning of maybe i do LOL

i love a good friend set up of a relationship that was bound to happen but this makes me so excited????

link is definitely the kind of person who will cause positive chaos and mayhem like hes gonna maybe get in an "accident" to make sure zelda gets with her probably long time crush (mipha)

[pluto-supremacy]

Well firstly hello, i really like your writing it's amazing i have a request so it goes like this

Any Marauders or poly (whatever you are comfortable with) x ftm reader idk maybe coming out to them the fluff kinda hurt/comfort i really wanna see how tou would write them anything is okay with me thanks

Poly Marauders Fic: Our Tweety

➼ First thank you! I wasn't sure which marauders you wanted included, so I went with all four of them! Tbh now I feel like I need to make headcanons for each of the marauders, so if you guys want that lmk! I also went more of a fluff route than hurt/comfort, I hope that's okay!

➼ All the marauders are dating each other already but not the reader

➼ Just as a general aside: there is no one right way to dress, act, or feel as a trans person. In this fic the reader is described as a bit more as a 'stereotypical' trans person, just to try and make it easier to relate to. By no means do you need to have short hair, dress masculine, dislike certain parts of your body, etc., to be trans. All that matters is how you personally identify, how you feel in your own skin.

➼ No beta we die like Regulus

➼ Warnings: None! This turned out a lot longer than I first anticipated though-

Fanart is not mine! Credit goes to @upthehillart, go show her some love!

It was Saturday, a day that should have been restful. Instead James was banging pots and pans he got from Merlin-knows-where bright and early in the boy's dormitory. "Up and at-em! Quidditch practice! Wake up!" he rang out, a chorus of groans answering back as well as a pillow being chucked in his general direction. It landed on the floor in front of James, not doing any damage. Unfortunately. "Are you trying to wake the dead?" Remus groaned, pulling the covers up over his and Sirius' head. They had slept together last night while Peter had crawled into James' bed. Really what they needed to do was push their beds all together so that they wouldn't be crammed between two beds. Plus Peter squirmed a lot in his sleep so he'd stop falling off the bed in the middle of the night. Even if it was funny when that happened.

You were spared from the chaos in the boy's dormitory, the girl's dormitory was still nice and quiet. Everyone still asleep bar from you. Recently you had been reflecting a myriad of things. One being the fact that you liked four different guys at once. Four guys that were all dating each other. Well, four people technically, Sirius was genderfluid, though last time you asked he was currently going by he/they. Which was another thing. Sirius came out a few months ago and since then you had been thinking. He described it as never feeling always like a guy, sometimes he felt more feminine. Othertimes he felt, as he described it, 'in between', or that he didn't care, or neither. You didn't really think that was possible before.

Of course everyone in Gryffindor Tower was supportive. Or everyone for the most part, including you. Lily had made Sirius little bracelets with pronouns he could wear if he wanted, his boyfriends were of course happy that Sirius was comfortable enough to reveal that to them. All of that helped you come to the realization that you never really felt like a girl. You didn't like how your hair looked when it got super long, you wore baggier clothes to try and hide your chest, swapped out the usual uniform skirt for trousers, and showers? Those were hard. You hated looking down at your body most of the time and tried to get out of there as soon as possible. Sure every now and then you may have wanted to wear a dress or skirt, or something considered 'girly', but that didn't mean that you felt like a girl when wearing those things.

It was scary and confusing, trying to figure it out. Perhaps if you had talked it out with someone the realization would've came sooner or easier. Either way you ended up at the same conclusion. You were a guy, a man, a wizard. Not a girl, a woman, or a witch. It was almost freeing to figure that out. Or at least it would be if fear wasn't consuming the forefront of your mind.

That's why you were up so early while your classmates slept around you. You were trying to figure out what to do. You wanted to tell people, maybe even see if you could get switched to the boy's dormitory. But that fear was winning out. Despite how kind everyone was to Sirius when they came out, what if that same grace wasn't extended to you? What would people in other houses think? Professors? Would anyone even start calling you a guy? Would they use the new name you had decided on trying out? There were so many unknows, and the unknown was frightening.

Eventually you had spent enough time stewing in the dorms and moved down to the common room for a change of scenery and a nice fire. When you plopped down on the red velvet couch that's when the stampede from the boy's dorms came down. The first wave was excited second years in their quidditch jerseys, then the tired older quidditch players, then the marauders. James was as energetic as ever, Sirius not too terribly far behind him, Remus half asleep, and Peter practically sleepwalking. Remus was currently using his crutches, walking over and sitting down on the couch next to you. Peter followed suit and sat on the other side of you.

"One of James' early morning practices?" you asked already knowing the answer. Peter groaned in response, slumping against the pillows. Just like that he was back asleep. "Yes. I think he snuck into the kitchens to get our wake up call this morning" Remus mumbled, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. James just looked so proud of himself. He leaned over the couch and pressed a kiss to the top of Remus and Peter's heads before grabbing Sirius' hand. "We're off! Be back in a few hours. Keep Tweety company, will you?"

That damn nickname. You both loved and hated it. James nicknamed you 'Tweety Bird' after you discovered your patronus. A small yellow bird, a Hooded Warbler. "We will Prongs. Or at least I will. Petey is down for the count" Remus chuckled slightly, setting his crutches aside. With the crowd gone you had Remus' full attention. "You're up early. The pots and pans reach the girl's dormitory?" he asked, adjusting a few pillows on the couch to try and get comfortable. "No, just..thinking" real specific.

"About what?" was of course the next thing the werewolf asked. You were quiet for a while, Peter's soft snores the only thing filling the air. Remus patiently waited for an answer, a bit of concern in his eyes at the silence. After a moment he had to ask a follow up question. "Everything alright? Something bothering you? I'll listen if you want to talk. The other's don't need to know."

That broke down what resolve you had left. You didn't realize this but you had been getting worked up in that short amount of time, you face feeling a bit hot and hands shaking. "I'm a guy. I want to go by Y/N." you blurted out. There, it was out in the world now. No taking it back. You were staring down at your feet, trying to expect the worst. Remus let out a small hum then held his hand out. "Well Y/N, I'm Remus, pleased to make your acquaintance" he smiled. That earned a chuckle out of you ask you shook his hand, feeling a little better already. "You're..you're okay with it?"

He almost looked confused. "Well why wouldn't I be? You're my friend, Tweety. No matter your gender, orientation, what have you. And when you want to tell the others they'll have the exact same sentiments" he promised. Though that did mean that he needed to change a few things around for a surprise the four of them had planned. "Am I the first person you've told?" to which you responded with a nod. "Yeah, you're the first. And Peter if he can hear us in his little mini coma. I want to tell them after practice, then just..bring it up to everyone else when it comes up, I guess" it's not like you wanted to call a house-wide meeting about this.

"That makes sense. Sirius and James will likely be a while. James created a new training routine he's trying out. Ever since Slytherin won the cup last year he hasn't eased up. I think if we lose again his head might explode" it was an outrage in the tower after Slytherin won. James and Sirius lead that outrage. Remus as the announcer swore up a storm over the microphone. House points were certainly deducted that day. "All I'm hearing is that the newbies on the team are going to be regretting joining the team" you chuckled. There was a reason why you didn't join the team, and it was James' rigorous training schedule.

For the next two hours you and Remus hung out on the couch, Peter waking up around halfway through. When you first told him the big news he simply blinked at you a few times and went "Huh?" He didn't mean anything by it, poor man had just woken up from a deep sleep. Once he was more awake and could process what you said he was of course happy for you, pulling both you and Remus in for a hug to celebrate. Around breakfast time, the quidditch team came up. As you expected all the first-year players looked miserable. Really everyone did as they marched back up the stairs to lay down. Even Sirius looked bushed. James was the only one still smiling and bouncing with energy. How he did it, no one really knew.

"Moony! Moony our boyfriend killed me! I think I need some mouth to mouth to be saved" He exclaimed, dramatically draping over both the couch and Remus. The wizard rolled his eyes and lightly nudged Sirius. "I think you'll be fine. You sign up for this torture year after year." "What can I say? I'm a masochist" he said with a cheeky grin. James sat down between you and Peter, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "My training isn't that bad! Everyone else is just being dramatic. If you think that's bad just wait til our practice after dinner" that was followed by a groan and loud complaining from all. "Speaking of dramatics, can you two spare them for a moment so I can tell you something?"

For once both Sirius and James were quiet, their attention fully on you. Remus gave you a small nod of encouragement, gesturing for you to take a deep breath. You did so and looked between Sirius and James. "I'm trans. I want to start going by Y/N, he/him." it was a lot easier to say now that it was the third time and yu had already gotten two amazing reactions. Sirius and James didn't dissapoint. Both were smiling brightly and suddenly you were being tackled in a hug by both of them, Peter throwing himself on top of the dog pile and dragging Remus along with him.

"Mate that's bloody amazing!" James chuckled out happily "One of us! One of us!" Sirius playfully chanted, poking your arm. "Does that mean I can get first dibs on all your old skirts and dresses?"

That was all a week ago. Sirius had helped you pick out new clothes on a trip to Hogsmeade while James insisted on picking up the tab. Peter had accompanied you to each of your classes to help you explaim to your professors about your name and pronoun change. Meanwhile Remus had been hard at work in the headmaster's office to get a few things changed around.

Today was the day of that big change. One you had no idea of. James simply told you to meet him in the common room. Then a blindfold was covering your eyes. "James if you lead me to the window and push-" "I would never! How dare you even suggest such a thing!" he gasped in mock offense. "No no! We just have a big surprise planned and you don't get a sneak peak. Stairs, stairs" he warned, helping you up a rather large flight of stairs. But what stairs? You two were just in the common room, the only two staircases were to the dormitories. Even then the girl's staircase was enchanted so that no boys could walk up them. So then-

Suddenly the blindfold was off before you could even complete that thought. You were now in the boy's dormitory, all of your things on the bed in front of you. Bedding, clothes, posters, school supplies, everything. All of the marauders were standing around with big smiles on their faces, though Peter seemed a bit nervous, his cheeks a light pink color. "I talked with Dumbledore and arranged for you to be moved to the boy's dormitory. We had Lily get your things. Though we can move it all back, if you don't want-" "I love it!" You interrupted, rushing to hug all four of them. "Thank you guys, seriously. I was nervous about asking myself"

"Of course Tweety. Though there is something else" Sirius said as he pulled away from the embrace. James looked excited, Peter was now clinging onto Remus. The energy had seemed to shift a bit, in what way you couldn't tell. "Well what else is there? You guys giving e money or something?" you teased with a small smile. That made Sirius chuckle, shaking his head. "No, no. We were all actually wondering..if you wanted to join the polycule?" he asked, giving you a hopeful look. "We all like you, we have for a while but didn't really know how to ask you" James added on. "We were afraid we'd scare you off, y'know, four people fancying you. I know it's a lot" Remus spoke up.

How two amazing things happened in one day, you have no clue. The four people you had felt guilty about liking all liked you back. Merlin if this was a dream you didn't want to wake up. For a moment you forgot to even respond, a bit of panic settling in on their faces. "Oh! Ah yes! Yes sorry, sorry I forgot to even say it out loud." you laughed, smiling from ear to ear. James was the first to tackle you into a hug onto his bed. Well, more accurately, his, Remus', and Peter's beds. They had gone through with their plan of pushing the beds together and just hadn't done Sirius' yet. The other three were quick to follow, all smiling and forming a pile on the beds.

"Bloody hell I thought you were going to say know at first-" Peter chuckled out, resting his head on Sirius' chest right next to Remus. "No! No. I've liked you all for a while, I just..I just didn't think you felt the same way." "Well we do, so clear your schedule Tweety. We'll get all your stuff put away today..after a nap." James declared, struggling to pull enough blankets over everyone. And how could you say no to that? You settled into your place in the cuddle pile, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around James. James did the same for you, reaching one arm a bit further to also be touching Sirius. Sirius had Remus basically laying on top of him and Peter curled up in his side. That's how you all settled in for a rather long nap, and you hadn't been this happy in years.